Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jinx loved the Undercity at night. Well, she loved it at any time of day—the sunlight never reached this far down to give the place any sort of shift in texture and tone. But night had that special… something that she liked. Zhuzh. Pizzazz. Sparkle, shine, whatever. All the creeps and weirdos and hooligans got to hang out, and she got to play target practice with neon signs without anyone bothering her. Just another part of the unending freakshow, she was. Night was fan-fucking-tastic.

However, nights in the Undercity were such a goddamn drag when Silco decided he wanted to be all big and important. That got soooo boring soooo fast. Seriously, prowling around the streets like some jackass in his big coat, with Sevika the Goon trailing him like some weirdass guard dog? Geez. Jinx could do without all the dumb posturing that got nobody anywhere. Seriously, it would all just go so much faster if he let her shoot up wherever he was going. Pewpewpewpew…

Technically, she wasn’t invited along tonight, on account of having done the shooting-up-the-place shtick last time (oops). But Silco couldn’t exactly stop her if she followed. Well, he could try. But Jinx was great at not listening. She’d win awards at the Not Listening Contests. Hey, maybe they should hold those—she’d love to win something.

Now that was what the Undercity lacked: awards! All those Pilties up there got participation award for every little thing they did. Place seventeenth in a science competition? Participation award. Show up for five minutes at a chess tournament? Participation award. Put your pants on in the morning? Participation aw—

“Jinx.”

“What?” she asked, looking ahead to Silco. He had that dumb little scowl on. The “for five minutes, Jinx. Five minutes, could you give me some peace?” look.

“The can,” he said.

“Huh?” She glanced down at the tin can she had been absentmindedly kicking down the street. The thing rattled with great vexation as she toed away at it. “Oh. Haha. Whoops.”

She wound up a punt, kicking the thing up and onto the awning of some shop. Sevika glared at her, but Silco just gave a tired shake of his head and resumed his grumpy little prowl down the street. Jinx jogged to catch up.

“So,” she said. “What’s the plan? Ruffle some feathers? Shake some heads? Kick them in the—”

“The plan,” Silco interrupted, “is that you go home.”

“Sounds lame.”

Sevika gave a long sigh on the other side of Silco. Jinx stuck her tongue out at her. Silco ignored them both.

“What’s ol’ Medarda doing wrong this time, anyway?” Jinx asked. “She seems on top of her game.” Or on top of the game. In general. Seriously, Jinx wondered if the woman wasn’t half prepared to run laps around Silco’s whole operation. ‘Course, Jinx wasn’t going to say that out loud, in case Silco got pissy.

“That is none of your concern,” Silco said, boring and enigmatic. Blah.

“Hey, do you think you can fork some paints off her? She’s got that expensive stuffs. Probably imported from somewhere so rich you can’t even pronounce it. I mean, she’s criminally lacking in pink, but I can make do.”

“We will not be there to trade art supplies,” Silco said.

“That’s not a no,” Jinx sang.

“Just stay quiet and out of the way,” Sevika said on Silco’s behalf (he was too busy pinching the bridge of his nose). “We don’t need you messing things up with Medarda.”

Jinx waved it off. “Pfft. You don’t have to worry about that—she likes me.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

Well, Sevika could doubt all she fucking liked. Medarda did like Jinx. She smiled at Jinx once. Like, one of those real-deal smiles, and not the fake ones she puts on right before she oh-so-politely tears someone to shreds verbally. The woman was wicked cool. And also just plain wicked. Hell, nobody who ran a Shimmer factory could be anything but—even Silco couldn’t be excused of that. But, again, Medarda for-reals smiled at Jinx, so she was all good in Jinx’s book.

Besides. Medarda’s neck of the metaphorical woods was nice. Jinx liked hanging around here. They had honest-to-god plants down here. Loads of big, fanned leaves, all purple and green and veiny. Mosses dotted the cracks in the streets, vines and ivies crawled up the side of brick walls, and the occasional blue cupped flower poked through with them. Jinx swore she even saw something that could possibly be a baby tree, once upon a time (she forgot where she found it and has not seen it since, but she swore she saw it). But, most importantly, there were these strange yellow flowers everywhere. Seriously, where Jinx would look around and see litter in any other part of the Undercity, she saw instead blossoming yellow buds. And people actually put whole flowerboxes on their windowsills for the things. It was so strange. Like, really really strange.

Jinx had tried pointing it out to Silco, once, but Silco had brushed her off.

“Medarda has a taste for gold,” he had said. “I’m not surprised she’d mark her territory with it.”

But see, that wasn’t it. The flowers here seemed almost mandatory. Compulsory. And not in a bad way—not like the citizens were forced to plant them. More like just a “for your own sake” sorta kinda thing. Plus, Jinx has seen people watering the flowers. Watering. Wasting precious good water on flowers? That was fucking insane. And Jinx knew insane.

But Silco didn’t care, so Jinx just kept her suspicions to herself. And sometimes allowed herself to go pick a flower and smell it and wonder what the hell Medarda liked so damn much about these things. Like now, when she stopped to look in the dirt.

“What are you doing?” Sevika asked.

“Saw a bunch of crows around here the other day,” she said.

“In the muck?”

“No, stupid,” Jinx said, “in the sky.”

Sevika responded with something probably very dumb, but Jinx wasn’t listening. She was still looking for the bugs that should have been here to draw in so many crows. Jinx didn’t see a lot of bugs other places. Well, cockroaches, sure, but not the cute little pill-like guys she found all the time around here. She didn’t know if she wanted to squish ‘em or pick ‘em up and carry them around in her pockets.

Eventually, the the scenes changed. It was easy to tell when you hit the inner sanctum of Medarda’s territory—the place looked like it could be the Undercity’s version of Piltover. Sure, it wasn’t all white-coated and perfect, but the upkeep seemed ridiculously expensive. Jinx had never seen nice buildings down here until the first time she’d tagged along with Silco. He’d brought her to Medarda’s home and she’d all but lost her jaw to the floor, the way she gaped at everything.

She still felt that way now, honestly.

“Nice digs,” she said, as if she hadn’t said it a thousand times before. “Why can’t our buildings look like that?”

“Got a few thousand grand to spare from your Noxian relatives?” Sevika asked. “No? Then no fancy buildings.”

Jinx had a very special finger that she presented to Sevika.

“If the two of you cannot coexist for ten minutes,” Silco snapped, “I will leave you both out here and let Medarda’s guards haul you home.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jinx said. “Whatever.”

“Hmph,” was all Sevika said.

The guards at the front door didn’t stop them. (Jinx couldn’t even call them thugs. They were dressed up nice and look all official and shit. Silco didn’t even have that. Silco has just got whoever was the thickest and meanest posted up front.) However, the guard inside the… the foyer, Silco called it once, does stop them. He held out a shining silver tray. Jinx kind of wanted to swipe it. Nice and shiny. Great for target practice from far, far away. But Silco was dropping a knife and his hidden pistol on the platter, so Jinx had to make nice and drop her own gun. Boo.

“All weapons, please,” the guard drawled when the two of them had finished. He had his gaze set on Sevika.

“I don’t have any,” Sevika said.

“I am quite sure you do.” The man’s eyes roved down the length of Sevika’s prosthetic arm.

“Surely, you don’t think my arm can do any damage.” What a stupid thing for Sevika to say. Everyone freaking knew the thing was lethal. She’d gutted plenty of people with it—no secret about it.

“The Medarda Estate is quite aware how… aids… may be used as weapons,” the guard said, sounding tired of the argument already.

Jinx snorted. “Yeah, I bet.”

With quite the glare and harumph, Sevika detached her metal arm. She all but slammed it on the tray, rattling Jinx’s gun. Her gun! Jinx would kick Sevika’s shins for that, but Silco had his eye on her already, daring her to be good. Not fair.

Satisfied that they were now disarmed (ha), the guard began leading them down the grand hallway of the building. Jinx skipped dutifully behind Silco, but she kept her eyes on the wall. There was quite a lot of art here. Some of it was sculptural, and some of it portraiture (half of which were of Medarda), but she ignored those. Instead, she sought out the landscape paintings. Those were done by Medarda, no doubt about it. Had her signature style everywhere. Scraped colours, gouged into the canvas with a palette knife, tangled and weaved into beautiful scenes. Lots of them were of the Undercity, but a couple of them were of somewhere Jinx had never seen. Some harbour in front of some grand, monolithic city. Not Piltover, surely. The sturdy greys and reds were too harsh for that.

Jinx wondered if she could one day steal one of those. She really hated those pieces. Hated them. The were beautiful, no doubt, but so much so that she could only feel repulsed. And if she stole them, she could hang them up in her little lab and stare at them and hate them forever.

The guard kept leading them down halls, presumably to wherever Medarda was. Jinx got bored of that the moment they left the hall with the paintings (all the sculptural work that sparsely dotted the rest of the place was booooring), so she decided to do her own exploring. Well, it wasn’t exactly exploring if she knew exactly where she wanted to go.

She trailed behind enough for a bit that the group slowly grew accustomed to her being distant. Then, when they were no longer expecting her to be in-step with them, she stopped walking with them altogether and darted down a new side hall. She went up, down, all around… bingo! The place she wanted to be.

The room was a small one, filled with the clutter only a great mind could make. Sheets taped and tacked everywhere, loose books and binders in piles on every horizontal space that was not currently occupied, and no small amount of shelves covering the place wall-to-wall. A desk sat near the wall by the door, and at the desk sat a man. A shrimpy, scrawny, sickly man, with his nose almost smudging the ink he was scrawling down, with how far bent he was over the paper.

“Well, if it isn’t the world’s greatest fortune cookie!” Jinx crowed. She shoved aside a tower of papers and slid onto the desk. “How’s it goin’, oh wise-one?”

Viktor, Medarda’s pet scientist and accountant, took a deep, deep breath in through his nose, then released it into a long, long sigh. That must be his favourite thing to do, because he did it aaaalll the time around Jinx.

“Jinx,” he said, with the practiced air of patience, “how did you get in here?”

“Oh, y’know. Guards let me in. Standard affair.” She swiped the paper he was writing on. “Watcha working on?”

“Bookkeeping,” Viktor said. He sat back in his chair, watching her examine his work.

“Bookkeeping, schmookkeeping. Don’t know why they call it that. But maybe you would. On account of all the books you do actually keep.” She swept an arm out, gesturing to all the gigantic-huge-massive-big tomes he had everywhere.

“Hilarious,” Viktor said drily. “Please return my work.”

“What is it?” The lettering on the paper didn’t even seem like real words. She turned the paper this way and that in her hands, trying to make sense of it. She even held it up to the light and everything. No dice. Still meant diddlysquat to her.

“As I said. Bookkeeping.” He plucked it from her fingers and placed it back on the desk, smoothing it out.

“Are those even real words?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“In a normal language?”

“Yes. Though perhaps not one many can read.” He peered up at her with narrowed eyes. “Would you tell Silco what was on it, were you able to read it?”

Maybe. Maybe not. But probably. “Aw, Viktor, don’t you trust me?”

“No.” Fair enough. She did tell Silco last time. And the time before that. And the time before that. And—

She flicked a braid at him. It flung across his shoulders, making him a nice and fashionable scarf. Well, fashionable, except for the fact that bright blue seemed to wash him out and make him look even more ghostly than usual. Seriously, the guy looked more dead than some people she’d shot through the brains.

“Wanna help me with a bomb?” Without awaiting his answer, she snatched a prototype out of her satchels and slammed it on the desk in front of him.

“Hm.” Viktor picked it up and turned it in his hands with detached disinterest. “Why do I have the feeling you do not need my help at all?”

“Come onnnn,” Jinx said, kicking her feet rhythmically. “I don’t have anyone to talk to about science. It’s boring!”

Viktor carefully set the bomb down and levelled her a sharp look. “Jinx, why are you here? Do not say science,” he interjected when she opened her mouth. “I mean, truly: why are you here?”

“Silco wants to talk to your boss,” Jinx said. “I tagged along.”

“Talk to her about what?”

She shrugged. “Not sure. Didn’t quite get an answer. Don’t really care, either.”

“Jinx,” Viktor said. “This is important.” Geez. This guy got so touchy. He didn’t like it when he didn’t know things. Jinx supposed she didn’t, either, but Viktor was a special sort of tightwad about it. Had to know every little thing…

“I don’t know,” she repeated, honestly. “I just got bored, okay? Now, help me with this bomb!”

Viktor sighed again (see! Surely it was his favourite thing to do), but he picked up the prototype once more.

“I better not regret this,” he said to her. “If I am needed—”

“Bupbupbup,” Jinx said, wagging a finger. “Less talking, more science.”

“Fine.” Viktor slumped back in his chair and tossed the prototype back to her. “Tell me what your toy does.”

“It’s not a toy!”

She explained her new grenade to him, then let him play around with it for a bit. She kept her eyes peeled for any loose papers she might actually understand. No luck. They all made no sense. All squibbly scribbles.

Hm. Seemed like he really did learn his lesson. Her so-secret-mission-Silco-didn’t-know-about-because-even-she-didn’t-think-about-it-until-ten-minutes-ago had failed. Darn. She did still kind of wanted to know Medarda’s secrets… Next time. Maybe. Probably not. Medarda and Viktor were smart like that.

Well, at least she got to learn science, anyway. Not a total bust, then.

Especially not when the bomb blew up in Viktor’s face.

Chem-barons, Sevika figured, were the only fools left in the world who made Silco wait. Medarda was no exception. Never had been, never would be. The woman enjoyed making Silco work to her time. Gall or balls, Sevika didn’t know which, but she did know it was risky. But Medarda seemed to like risk.

Still, Sevika had to admit, it was a little funny to watch Silco fume silently at a door while someone else got to waltz into a room and announce them. It was like watching the little joy he had left shrivel up and disappear into his head like that stupid fucking eye of his. If Jinx were here to see this, she’d love taking the mickey out of him for it.

Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—the girl had dipped some short while ago, off to do whatever nonsense she usually got up to. With any luck, Sevika wouldn’t have to clean up her mess, this time. But that would indeed require luck, which Jinx seemed to snuff out faster than a thief with a candle. 

But Jinx wasn’t here and also wasn’t her problem, and the attendant that had told them to wait outside the office door had just returned to usher them inside. The brat could vaporise into smoke for all Sevika cared, at this point.

Medarda’s office sure was something. Sevika had been in here a grand total of four times—tonight included—and each time felt just as overwhelming as the first. Maybe it was the sheer size of the place, with ceilings that shot all of three stories up, or perhaps it was the cool green-blue tones of the Undercity replicated in the room’s atmosphere. Maybe the long, ornate table coupled with its high-backed chairs that took up a good third of the room. Or maybe it was just the woman herself, imposing her presence through every inch of the place.

“Medarda,” Silco snapped.

“Ah. Silco.”

Medarda was near the back of the room, dressed to the nines as always in a black-and-white draping gown. She had her back to them as she stood painting she was clearly in the middle of creating.

Jinx was right, Sevika noted. Medarda worked the landscape of the Undercity in its vibrant blues and greens and violets, but the lack of the neon pink highlights the city screamed into the night was quite alarming. Instead, those lights were scraped in bright, bold reds—so sharp a contrast that made Sevika grimace. The painting was beautiful, no doubt about it; however, Sevika didn’t much enjoy looking at it for too long. The saving grace of the painting was, undoubtedly, the dotted yellow Medarda had clearly just laid down. Sevika didn’t know what they were—those pestilent bulbed flowers, or reflected lights on pavement, or, hell, even piles of litter and junk. Whatever they were, Sevika found them captivating.

Another attendant, a dark teal fishfolk stationed at Medarda’s side, took from her the paint palette and knife and wrapped it in plastic. She nodded to them, and they took the materials and retreated from the room. 

“Good evening,” Medarda said, clasping her hands in front of herself, poised and polite. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Cut the shit, Medarda,” Silco said. Suave as ever. Sevika rolled her eyes to herself.

“Hm.” Medarda left the canvas then, gliding across the room with a sharp staccato of heels. She gestured for Silco and Sevika to sit at the table. Silco made no move to accept her offer, so she shrugged and instead turned to a scaled-down model of the twinned cities. She studied them with some scrutiny, as if they mattered to her most now. “I take it this is not a social call.”

“This is a call for you to do your job,” Silco said.

Medarda adjusted the spire of a miniature building ever-so-slightly. “I was not aware I was slipping in my duties.”

“The Chem-barons met today. You weren’t there.”

“Yes,” she said, simply. “As I recall, the summon was not mandatory.”

Now, that was what Sevika didn’t get. Medarda liked her fingers in all pies, metaphorically speaking. Why she wouldn’t attend a meeting that readily gave her information, Sevika couldn’t fathom. If she was Medarda, with all that plotting and scheming that the woman seemed to do, she wouldn’t miss a single minute of watching those buffoons bicker and let slip whatever dumb shit they were planning to do next.

“Mandatory or not,” Silco said, “you’re expected to be there when all others show up.”

“My apologies.” Medarda moved to the long table and took a seat at the head. She folded her legs daintily and nodded down along the length of the table. “Fruit?”

Sevika’s eyes followed the gesture and, indeed, landed on a bowl of fruit. Fresh fruit, at that. Apples, oranges, no small amount of grapes… Hell. Medarda pulled out all the stops. Who the fuck just had so much excess money that they could let fruit sit out on the table for decoration? Only the woman with enough dough to get golden plating embedded in her skin, that was who. Silco couldn’t even do that shit. When was the last time Sevika had seen him eat fruit, anyway?

This seemed to piss Silco off. Instead of taking the offered food, he simply took a seat at the table, making no small deal about it. The chair legs scraped across Medarda’s beautiful floors, making an unholy sound that grated any eardrum within range. Silco sat down heavily and leant forward in the chair. Sevika took her own usual post at Silco’s back. She was down an arm, but she still had a job to do.

“Had you attended the meeting,” Silco said to Medarda, “you would have learned that Smeech is making another play for power again.”

Medarda’s placid expression did not change. “Isn’t he always? The man has little better to do with his time and coffers.”

“You may joke, but he sounded quite sincere this time.”

As sincere as Smeech could be, anyway. The little rat had his brains half washed-out from one too many Shimmer overdoses. How he could form a coherent thought, Sevika couldn’t fathom. She supposed that was why he hired people to do most of the thinking for him, though. Gave him a chance to down another vial of Shimmer, concoct hair-brained schemes, and amputate another piece of himself for an upgrade.

“What does he want this time?” Medarda asked. “Money? Territory?”

“Well, he seemed more concerned about your technological prowess,” Silco said, “but I wouldn’t put it past him to covet the other rest, as well.”

“You mean he wants my scientists.”

“I mean,” Silco said, “he wants whatever he thinks you’ve got squirrelled away for yourself.”

“Such as?”

“You don’t exactly read like an open book, Medarda. Anyone worth their salt would think you’re hiding something. Even Smeech can put that together.”

“All of my cards are on the table,” Medarda said, plainly. “If there’s something he thinks I have that I have not already brought forward, then he is mistaken.”

Silco hummed, notes of disapproval in the sound. Medarda sure was all pretty words—saying exactly what everyone wanted to hear, while leaving half-truths unspoken. Sevika could admire that about her. Hell, she’d admire quite a lot about the woman, honestly. But that was another life. In this one, her job was to shift behind Silco. Remind Medarda of the expected hierarchy.

In the far corner of the room, tucked in the shadows, something twitched.

Ah. There he was. Medarda’s pet freak.

Talis was a tall, broad-shouldered man that liked to lurk anywhere Medarda’s presence graced. He’d stand by her menacingly, every inch of muscle taught and ready to bash in heads with that ridiculous hammer of his that he kept hanging at his side. Sevika had seen much bigger men in her life (one such man came to mind with no small amount of unease), but what Talis lacked in his thin waist was made up for in the sheer tenacity of the man. Not to mention, the man was insane. Not like Jinx, who freaked out to the voices in her head and kept to herself about it. No, Talis had near crushed the windpipe of one of Finn’s men who he thought had been standing too close to Medarda.

Word had it that he used to be a scientist up Topside. Got caught up in something he shouldn’t have, was exiled, and found himself penniless down here in the Undercity. Sevika didn’t know the details—only that Silco got faintly annoyed whenever the topic was brought up. She did know, though, that the man had wound up down in one of those deep crevices just outside the city: the ones even the miners didn’t touch anymore. The guy got stuck down there for half a year or something. Medarda fished him out eventually, half wild and mostly deranged. He clearly never recovered from it; half of the time Sevika saw him, he seemed caught up in his own mind. He’d stare off into the distance for a while, then give a single, vicious shake of his head. Sometimes he would just press the heel of his palm between his eyes and grit his teeth. Sevika didn’t know what he was seeing, and she did not care to find out. Whatever demons he had, he could keep them to himself.

The thing about him being cracked to hell, though, was that he was a wonderful deterrent. After that issue with Finn’s man, nobody ever made even a peep about Medarda when he was around. That meant, of course, Medarda dragged him everywhere, but the man never seemed to mind. Sevika was sure that the two were shacking up (Silco swore that Medarda had a thing for that pasty little toothpick of a scientist she kept, but Sevika watched the woman dance her fingers across the back of his hand one too many times to think that he was her lapdog only because she rescued him the once).

Right now, Talis had slipped behind Medarda's chair, mirroring Sevika’s position behind Silco. He had his hands tightly clenched at his side.

Well, if that was the game he wanted to play… Sevika squared off her good shoulder and levelled him an even stare. Talis might be a loony with a good few inches of muscle on his arms, but she had taken down much stronger men with less than half his faculties. Her arm was missing, and she still had good faith she could pin him before he whipped out that over-large mallet of his.

However, neither Medarda nor Silco were interested in the addition to their company. Silco’s good eye flicked up to the man once, but Medarda did not heed Talis at all. Maybe that meant Talis would play nice, for all his posturing.

Deciding that what she needed to get through the next however-long with Talis staring her down was a decent smoke, Sevika reached into a pocket for a cigarillo. She had it to her lips and was searching for her lighter before she was stopped.

“No smoking indoors,” Medarda said, smoothly, as if had been a natural part of the conversation she was having. “If you should like to do so, please, step outside the building.”

Sevika looked between Medarda and Talis for a second. She narrowed her eyes at the latter, noting the way his eyes had locked onto her like a rabid dog on a bone.

“Nah,” Sevika said, pulling the cigarillo from her lips. She returned Talis’ stare the entire time. “I’m good.”

“Thank you,” Medarda said, and returned her attention to Silco. Behind her, Talis’ nose twitched, lip curling slightly. Then he scrunched up his face and jerked his head to the side quickly.

“Loony bastard,” Sevika muttered to herself.

If Talis caught the comment, he made no indication of it. He had the meat of his palm pressed against one eye.

Sevika kept a watch on the man a while longer, just to make sure there was no funny business, but it seemed he had shaken the demons out of himself again. He’d glared at Sevika just a bit longer, then turned his attention to Medarda. Sevika decided she could let herself be convinced that he wouldn’t pull any stupid shit.

Meanwhile, Silco and Medarda still had not moved on from Smeech.

“If he is such a concern of yours,” Medarda was saying, “then why not simply unseat him? I’m sure that is well within your powers.”

Well. That was a damn bold statement. Not entirely untrue, but it did toe the line of incredibly dangerous thinking.

“You know as well as I that his Shimmer-huffing cronies are not much better than he is,” Silco said. “Why would I want one of them to succeed him?”

“Who says it needs to be one of them? You’ve had no qualms with absorbing territories from wayward barons before,” Medarda pointed out, far too smoothly. “It shouldn’t be a hardship to do so again.”

Silco’s jaw worked for a second as he tried to find a suitable retort. Medarda had struck a nerve.

There had been another Chem-baron before—an older Vastayan woman named Satch. She’d had a rather… lenient hand on her allotment, to put it lightly. If anyone wanted the worst high in the best place to get their ass beat, Satch’s territory was where to go. Suffice to say, she didn’t last long on the panel of barons. (The place hadn’t gotten much better since then, but at least it was out of that old hag’s claws.)

However, Silco’s actions then were not replicable. Since then, the other barons had knit their own crude webs, making deals under the table. Nobody wanted their Shimmer and land taken from them. And while deals were easily broken—Sevika had watched quite a few go incredibly sideways in the years gone by—they were enough to keep Silco from stepping out of line himself. If he made a move toward any territory, the others would be up in arms in an instant. The only thing that brought those windbags so readily was to have a common enemy, and Silco couldn’t risk that being him. His grip on his own territory was tenuous at best; Jinx was ruining a lot of deals for him lately, the brat. Even just two barons united against him would topple the whole operation on its head within a day. The Undercity would be complete chaos.

And Medarda, being Medarda, knew this all too well. Hell, she probably even wanted it. Sevika was under no illusion that the fall of Silco’s empire would result in the collapse of Medarda’s. The place was too well-guarded, too well-structured, and too well-run.

But Medarda’s face now showed neither avarice nor enthusiasm; she merely wore a mild, overly-soft smile as she watched Silco inwardly seethe.

Sevika didn’t know if she admired the woman for that or not. Well, she did—she couldn’t not. In another life, Sevika would’ve joined Medarda in a heartbeat. Less than, even. But this was not that life. Sevika had made her bed, and she would lie in it just fine. She had no time for regret and less time for what-ifs. So, as much as she could commend Medarda’s wit and fortitude (and all the other things that made Medarda herself), Sevika also had to condemn it.

Silco finally got over himself then, suppressing all the anger down deep where he will undoubtedly unleash it onto some poor fucker later. He stood, scraping his chair once again across the floors. Sevika stepped back, giving him space to loom.

“Attend the meetings,” he told Medarda. “I won’t be dropping by to warn you again.”

Medarda only smiled, pointedly polite as ever. “Then I shall be grateful you did so today.”

Silco’s fists curled up at his side. Behind Medarda, Talis stiffened. But Silco let the tension go, forcing a returned smile to Medarda in the name of civility.

“But of course,” he said, all saccharine.

His expression dropped the second he turned away, stalking out of the room. Sevika made to follow, but not without one last look at the room, Talis, and—finally—Medarda. The woman waved at Sevika, still wearing that too-genuine smile of hers.

Fucking Chem-barons. Sevika would never understand them. 

At least she could go get her goddamn arm back, now.

When the doors finally closed behind Silco and his lieutenant, Mel finally let out a sigh. She pinched at her brow, wishing away the headache that threatened to form.

Dealing with a man like Silco took every ounce of patience, poise, and propriety she had ever worked to perfect. The Chem-barons as a whole enjoyed testing her—most of them unknowingly—but Silco always found a special way to twist a thorn into her side. She would thank him for the mental stimulation it gave her amidst the idiocy of their peers, if she actually found it stimulating. Instead, she felt drained after every conversation. She wasn’t made for this. Her brother had taught her diplomacy, not subterfuge. One could argue the two were one and the same, but Mel had long learned there was quite the difference.

Nevertheless, she had made it through another meeting, and she would live to do it at least once more.

“Are you alright?” asked Jayce softly. His hand enveloped her shoulder, thumb brushing against her spine.

“Fine,” she said, removing her face from her hand. “Tired, is all.”

“I don’t like him,” Jayce said, as he always did after a meeting with Silco.

“You would be hard pressed to find someone who does.” She stood and turned to him. “You seemed upset.”

Just a hair too quickly, Jayce shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Jayce…”

He held onto his stoicism a moment longer, then deflated with a sigh and a rub of his hand to his forehead. “She looked like she was going to… I don’t know.”

“She wouldn’t have done anything. She’d be a fool to cause trouble here—she wouldn’t have made it out of the building if she had.” Mel reached out Jayce, smoothing down the lapels of his dark overcoat. “Besides, Silco can’t risk losing me. Sevika knows that.”

“I know,” Jayce sighed. “But…”

Mel hummed a note, stilling her hands against his chest.

Jayce had the inclination to… jump the gun, one would say, on perceived threats. He read danger where few would even look for it. Mel couldn’t say for sure—as she had no data from beforehand—but she would bet good money on Jayce’s time down in the Fissures feeding his predisposition. He had been so jumpy in his first few few months back in civilisation. Every little thing would set him off. One of her guards still had a crooked nose from a stray fist on the third week. Eventually, the near-constant agitation had worn down to something manageable, but it never left Jayce. He appeared ill-at-ease in even some calm situations, almost looking for something to come running at him. In fairness, his mind would often supply that something, should nothing in reality give it to him. The reoccurring visions—hallucinations, for a more apt term—kept him wired.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Mel asked.

Jayce sighed again. “I think it’s just…” He shifted minutely under her hands. “It was just the shadows again. It’s nothing. The usual.”

Ah. The shadows—Jayce’s intangible tormentors from the Fissures. He claimed he saw figures moving down there. Great masses shaped like over-polished bodies, with no features to speak of and eroding with complete decay. Jayce had explained them many a time, each time with surety of what he had seen. Mel did not disbelieve him, but she did not entirely buy the idea of such beings living in the Fissures. She did think, however, that the gases and mildly toxic newts had started eroding the grey matter of Jayce’s brain when he had been down there. Not to mention, the complete lack of socialisation he’d faced. Anything that had even twitched at him would have been registered as entirely foreign and entirely threatening. The shadowy figures might not have been real to the world, but they were real to Jayce. And that was enough for Mel.

“Would you like to turn in for the night?” Mel asked. She wouldn’t never say so in as many words, but Jayce did seem to suffer the shadows just that bit more when he was underfuelled in sleep, food, or water.

Jayce shook his head. “No. I’ve got some things I want to work on in the shop.”

“At this time of night?” They did not keep regular hours, but to go out and sweat in the forge at such a time seemed a little foolish. “You have but one good leg,” she pointed out. “It would be a shame to drop a hammer on it.”

“I’m not going to hurt myself,” he said, accompanied with an unamused frown. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Hm. Last time you said that, I believe you had come home with a bruised metatarsal or two.”

“I was fine.”

“You complained about it for a week,” Mel said.

“And I was fine,” Jayce reiterated. “It was months ago. Besides, there’s a part Sky said she needed. One of the pistons I’d made dropped. Dinged it, or something. It won’t fit. I’ve got spares that I can just refine.”

“And that can’t wait until morning?”

“It would be much easier for us all if it didn’t have to,” Jayce said.

That did catch Mel’s attention. “Would production stall if it isn’t replaced?”

“More like slow,” he said. “Like I said—I’ve got a few extras near made. I can get it done quickly.”

“Alright,” she agreed. “I suppose I should check in on the factory, then. Make sure everything is still on schedule.”

Jayce nodded, beginning to pull away from her. She grasped his lapels to hold him still. When he frowned down at her in confusion, she reached up and placed a hand to his cheek.

“Don’t push yourself,” she told him. “The two of you do it far too often.”

His hands went up to cover her own. “I won’t. I promise.”

If only she could believe that. If only she hadn’t known him to burn hours into the forge, putting himself through pain and misery, working himself down to the bone, just because there was something in his head he couldn’t work through. If only she hadn’t watched him treat his own torn muscles in silence when he thought she wasn’t home. If only she hadn’t seen the incomprehensible notes he left himself when he went too long without sleeping, letters sloppy and words half-formed. Jayce worked like self-retribution would save him. Nobody could convince him otherwise. When the end justified the means, nothing would stop him.

(And, if Mel allowed herself to be honest, she would admit that those convincing him were rather hypocritical. However, now was not the time for that conversation.)

Jayce took her hands and brought them to his lips. His beard rasped against her fingers and his lips were chapped, but the gentleness was unhindered. That was her Jayce: gentle. Not many saw it, and Mel selfishly liked it that way. He was hers to cherish—hers, and Viktor’s.

“Hm,” she said to him. “Either you leave now, or I won’t let you.”

He smiled against the back of her knuckles, hazel eyes crinkled behind a curtain of shaggy hair. He left her then with that image, of happiness through exhaustion. She missed it the moment it fled.

But Mel had her own work to be done, and she had no time to dwell. Personal life could wait—the safety and production of her operations could not. She had contingencies everywhere, and no one thing could easily topple what she has built here, but she would rather not deal with fallout of any degree. Even something as small as this could cause headaches down the road. Loss of profit caused loss of development. Loss of development caused loss of expansion. Loss of expansion caused a stall in her plans. She did not have the time for setback.

When she left the office, Makko, an assistant, joined her side.

“I’ve returned your paints to your studio,” they said, falling into step beside her with practised ease. “I did notice that there was some blue footprints on the floors, so I sent some cleaners out before it stained the carpets.

“Mmm.” She knew this meeting couldn’t have ended so smoothly on its own. “Around where?”

“The hall for the smaller offices. They should be cleaned by now.” Makko fidgeted, facial fins twitching. “Is there anything else you need tonight?”

“No, that will be all.” She put on a smile. “It’s late. Go home. Tell the family I said ‘hello.’”

Makko flashed a wide, sharp-toothed grin. They thanked her, promising they would indeed relay her message, and left. Mel waited, watching as they retreated down the hall. When they were out of sight, she let out a long sigh and rubbed a hand against her brow.

Just what she needed. Another problem.

She changed trajectory minutely, taking herself down the aforementioned halls to inspect the damage. As assured, the floors were shining anew, and the hall carpet looked just that much brighter. Maybe she should give overtime to anyone willing to clean the rest of the place that well. The Undercity trailed grime into even the cleanest of places like nothing else. What she wouldn’t give for the spartan halls of some Nox—

No. No, that was not a good line of thinking.

Mel sighed to herself, and then pushed open the door of Viktor’s office.

“Oh.” She was unsure what else to say at the sight of Viktor’s office finely coated in blue dust. “My.”

“Do not,” Viktor said, muffled by a respirator as he swiped away with a dusting brush at his stacks of books, “say a word.”

“I did wonder if she had tagged along, that Jinx of theirs,” Mel said. She wafted a hand in the air, fanning away a few blue motes. “I see her fascination with antagonising you has not yet curbed.”

“That,” Viktor grumbled, “was more than a word.”

Mel ignored that. “Is anything destroyed?”

“Destroyed? No.” He gave another vicious swipe with the brush. “Defiled? Somewhat. Damaged? Absolutely.”

“Anything important?”

“I don’t think so, no. Not unless you count the collection I spent years curating—including those I have had to specially order from overseas—as ‘important.’” He held up a book and displayed to her its new, blue cover. “Look at this. How am I meant to work with this?”

“Well,” Mel said, as pragmatic as possible, “as long as it did not change the contents within, I’m sure you’ll work with it just fine.”

Viktor scoffed, tossing the book back on the desk. A small poof of blue smoke curled out from beneath it. “Perfect condition. Ruined. Just like that.”

She tactfully did not point out that this particular book still had its spine uncracked, yet untouched after years in Viktor’s hands. Most people held their vanity in their appearance—Viktor’s vanity regarded his amassment of knowledge, both mental and physical. When she’d met him, he had but three books to his name: physics textbooks worn down so much that their spines were frayed, their covers falling off, and riddled with holes from bookworms. They were still on his shelf now, actually, now painted with the freshest, neon-est blue. But the rest? Donations from Mel, at the beginning, and then later Viktor’s own purchases he made with the abundance working directly for a Chem-baron gave him. And, despite disuse, he was truly proud of each and every book he owned.

“I’m sure there’s something that will loosen the dye,” she said to him, instead. “I’ll have someone look into it. For now—”

“Yes, yes, your accounts are still fine.” He gestured an irate hand to the open sheets in front of him. “I will be squinting when I consult them in the future, but they are legible enough.”

Mel reached out, pinching away blue from the ends of his hair. The strands crunched beneath her fingers. Jayce’s hair was thick, but silken to the touch. Viktor’s hair was wiry and brittle, no matter how many times Mel replaced his useless soaps with something more lush. “Good. And… you?”

“Me? Eh. Fine.” A rehearsed, fast-thrown line. Same as always. It could be truth, it could be many lies wrapped up in one… She could either dig into his patience with her or she could accept what he gave her.

Today, she didn’t have the fight in her to pry. She would trust that the restructured Enforcer respirator Viktor himself agonised over for a week had today done its job. “Good.”

“Is this all you came to pester me about?” he asked.

“Is there something else you wanted?” she countered.

Viktor mumbled to himself, nonsense words cut off by the mask, and he turned back to brushing away at his station. Stubborn man.

She gently placed a hand to his back, first soothingly, and then with a touch of added pressure when she felt his under-exerted posture. Viktor hmphed, but tried to comply as much as he could. Not much of his deteriorating spine could be fixed by adjusting his posture; however, the pillbug-esque position he held over his desk certainly didn’t help it. This only proved to her, she had been considering in the past few months that his soft brace was no longer helping. She and Jayce had privately spoken about what constructing a rigid brace would entail, away from Viktor’s unrelenting presence. Viktor was vehemently against limiting his movement more. Mel did understand it—much of Viktor’s freedom had slowly disappeared over the last few years—but she understood more the necessity to keep him safe and upright. They’d talk to him about it eventually. He just… needed more frustration first, as sad as the idea was. Then, and only then, would he accept.

“Jayce is at the forge,” Mel informed him. “Something about a dented piston. Would a stall in production impact us, should this not be fixed in time?”

“Ehh,” Viktor considered, shifting around some stained documents in front of him. “I don’t think so. We are doing quite well, all things considered. Production is at a stable pace. The books are balanced between pay and profit fairly decently. If things quit for a day or two, there wouldn’t be a notable dent.”

That did appease her slightly. “Good,” she said again. “I have little time to deal with fallout.”

“Mm.” He stacked a few papers together, tapping them decisively against the desk. “With how things are going, I was, eh, thinking I could head back to the lab a bit more.”

She removed her hand from his back, refusing to let him feel the way she tensed. “If you’re sure.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I’m a scientist, not an accountant. I can only do this for so long without feeling… trapped.”

“I see,” Mel said, measuring her tone. “Well, in that case, I’m sure Miss Young would be appreciative of your help. For now, I think your day is done.”

He sighed, then let the documents fall from his hands. “Perhaps you are right. I cannot get any more work done in this—” he flung an angry gesture at the disarray in front of them “—mess.”

She brushed a hand against his hair again, raking out a few more particles of blue.  “Go. Relax. I’ll join you in a bit.” He frowned up at her, question expressed in his brows, and she told him, “I’m checking out the factory. If this piston is causing an issue, I need to see the damage myself.”

Mel left him then, giving him time to finish a few more important sweeps of his desk, papers, and self uninterrupted. She did wipe off the arm of his crutch before she went. He had forgotten it in favour of his work, and she did not need the cleaners chewing him out more for the excess neon under the arm of his shirts.

That Jinx. Mel couldn’t exactly stop the girl from entering the manor—even if stopped at the door, she would find a way to slip in, anyway. Some window she would break or some hole she would blow into the wall… any way to get in to cause trouble. Mel understood it to a degree. Viktor and Jayce were the only two minds that Jinx had met that rivalled her own. Mel had seen enough of her interactions with them to know that the way she pestered them relentlessly was just a guise for a deep-seated need for direction and recognition. Her pranks were ingenious, and if someone else experienced the full brunt of them, then they would have to acknowledge it too. It didn’t help that Viktor and Jayce would begrudgingly admit that about her even when she pissed them off beyond words. They were a sure-fire way to get the attention she desired, and she knew it.

But, as much as the girl enjoyed her time terrorising the two men, she also had unwavering loyalty to Silco. Multiple times had she found a way to distract Viktor enough to rifle through documents. Fortunately, most of it had been loose equations, or just balanced accounts. But even the smallest breach in security was a threat to this operation. This was why Mel made damn sure Jinx never met Sky Young. They could not afford to have her looking into their Shimmer products.

Ten steps out of the building, a guard flanked her: a man with a strangely shaved head. Nixx, she believed his name was. A newer hire.

“No rest for the weary, huh?” he remarked casually as they made their way down the streets.

“No, indeed,” Mel replied.

However, the man did not seem put-out by the excursion this late, though. In the milling crowds of the Undercity’s night, he followed Mel dutifully in with nothing more than an unremarkable look on his face. If he disliked his job, he did not seem to express such.

All in all, she had no true need of a bodyguard. Years spent under her mother’s tutelage gave her more experience than any common bruiser from the alleys. While it had been years since she last sparred with the woman, Mel had her own ways of keeping her skills refined. However, she was not so vain to believe that she couldn’t use another pair of eyes and another set of fists. Anything could happen down here in the Undercity—anyone with half a brain learned that within minutes of stepping foot down here. In the end, too many things revolved depended on her safety and security for her to play foolish and walk into the night alone.

That did not mean she enjoyed it, though. Having a tail from the moment she left the halls of her home was… tiring, in a way. It added another variable to every step. Another person to look after, and another to be wary of. Money bought protection, not loyalty. She did not expect to be put upon by her own hires, but she couldn’t rule out the possibility, either. This was why she preferred to bring Jayce along. She trusted Jayce sometimes more than she could trust even her own person. His unwavering faith in her stood fast in times of her self-doubt. Should the world crumble around her, he would be the last pillar still standing. He would follow her to the end of Runeterra if she asked. That was why she brought him with her to audiences and meetings: he was smart enough to keep up with her when she asked his thoughts, and devoted enough to keep it between just the two of them. That, and he seemed to unnerve people enough to keep even Chem-barons in line. 

But, in the end, Jayce was not a bodyguard. He was a man who belonged science and wrought metals.  He simply not meant to stand guard and keep council, and she could not ask more of him than she already had.

Perhaps this was where she envied Silco. A hard thing to admit, but a truth she could not avoid. The man had devoted followers. That Sevika who followed him… Mel would forever berate herself for not finding the woman before she had gone to Silco. She was a blunt woman, clever in her own ways, and a good right-hand. Mel could use someone like that. Pity that those grew in such short supply down here.

“Wait here,” she instructed Nixx when they reached the facilities.

Nixx nodded. He leant against the wall, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter without once looking back to Mel. He lit the cigarette, and she left him to it.

Workers toiled away in the front of the factory, shifting boxes and barrels around by hand and machine alike. They stopped to stare at her when she passed by each one. She nodded a hello in return. A few nodded back, others just gaped, and one or two gave a puzzled frown. Her visits to the factory weren’t rare, but they were never so late at night. She was a disturbance to this shift of workers.

Inside the primary factory, Mel found herself amidst pumping machines, bubbling vats, and milling workers. Pipes groaned and pneumatics hissed. Nothing, to Mel’s eye, was out of the ordinary.

She watched as factory workers bottled and packaged vials of Shimmer. The neon liquid looked so harmless like this: clinking vials with no agency, stuffed into boxes with disinterest and efficiency. It was just liquid to be processed, like a shampoo on a store shelf.

How strange it was, that something handled like any another product could ruin so many lives.

Mel had no love for Shimmer. She found it distasteful to ruin a body and mind. To be addled with need for something, again and again and again, to the point of ruin? It was everything she had been taught to distrust and dislike. Performance enhancing or not, even Mel’s own mother couldn’t have abided its uses conquest. That had been Silco’s original intent, had it not? Make the biggest, meanest thing he could, to brute force his way through the Undercity. His own cruelty then turned it into a commodity. If half of the city was too dependent on his product to revolt, then they were tucked into his fist as pawns.

She supposed she was no better, in the end. After all, she was here, in her own factory, wasn’t she? But here was where she was needed. The top of the pecking order down here was in the Shimmer scene. She wouldn’t make it anywhere if she didn’t have this.

An independent Undercity was worth fuelling addiction for a few years more. She had to believe that. If she didn’t, then it was all for nothing.

A joined pair of heel-clicking footsteps came toward her. Mel gave the two approaching women a pleasant smile. They returned it each with their own—Elora courteous and Sky nervous.

“Fancy seeing you out so late,” Elora said.

“I could say the same to you,” Mel mused. “Then again, I heard you’ve been having trouble.”

“Trouble?” Elora looked at Sky, who gave a shrug. “Not that I’ve been made aware of.”

Mel frowned. “I thought there had been an issue regarding a bad piston.”

“Oh! Yes,” Sky said. “Though it’s not so much an issue as an inconvenience, really. It’s just part of a gauge for a vat. We’ve had it out of commission for a while and were looking to use it again. It’s not a big deal. It can wait another few days.”

“I see.” Mel folded her fingers together and composed herself. Irritation would do nothing useful now. “There must have been some form of miscommunication. Jayce was under the impression he needed to make another now. It seemed dire.”

“Oh,” Sky said. Her shoulders pulled inward slightly, and she pulled the clipboard in her hands closer to her chest. “I didn’t mean to—I mean, I hadn’t thought I had…”

Elora cut through gracefully. “Misunderstanding on both ends, I’m sure. Perhaps our eagerness to get the vat back into rotation impressed urgency.” This was why Mel had hired her as the head of Shimmer production. Elora could smooth over any situation with ease. No issue was too minimal for her to ignore, no crisis to great for her to rationalise.

Jayce, on the other hand… jumping the gun, once again. Mel supposed she could not fault him. If he wanted to turn to the forge after pushing away his warring thoughts, then that was his right. However, if he could impress less of a dire circumstance next time, she would appreciate it greatly.

“I’m sorry,” Sky said, deeply sincere. “I hadn’t meant to rush anything.”

“Never mind,” Mel said gently. “It was an honest mistake.” And she could leave it at that. The night had gone on too long now for her to linger in frustration. “Is everything else running smoothly?”

“Yes, I should say so,” Elora said.

She started down a list of quotas and goals, marking every box they ticked off this week. Mel half-listened, noting only the important details. Anything smaller was not on her list of concerns tonight. The moment they caused issues, Mel would care, but for now, she was too spent to pay them much heed.

“And how is research going?” Mel asked of Sky when Elora had finished.

“Um.” Sky looked down to her notes. “Slow. Steady! But slow.”

Mel nodded. She expected as much. “And you’re still sure this is an avenue we can pursue?”

“Definitely. Trials are still in process, but the outcomes… they’re promising.” Sky sounded just short of excited. She had reason to be: spearheading research had been all that Sky wanted. When Viktor had stepped down from his position, Sky had been overjoyed to take over. She had said she was inspired by what Viktor had done, but in truth, she had surpassed his farthest reaches into the field just in her own musing notes alone. Viktor was built for mechanics, in the end, while Sky delved deep into biology.

“And…” Mel hesitated, thinking of how best to phrase this. “Has anyone seen your work? Have you spoken to anyone of it?”

“What? No!” Sky said quickly. She then shrunk on herself somewhat, pushing her glasses up her nose. “I mean. No. I keep my office locked at all times. I’m careful to hide anything. And the only one I’ve spoken to about it is. Well. You and Viktor.”

Mel nodded, relief sinking deep into her core.

“Well, then,” she said. “I suppose my trip down here was not in vain.” She smiled to them both. “Thank you for the updates. I will have to check in again when this vat is up and running.”

“Out again so soon?” Elora asked. “Quite a walk for a short chat.”

“It’s late,” Mel said. “I suggest you two end your night soon, too.”

“We’ll be fine,” Sky said. Mel did not doubt that. Sky seemed to have turn into something of a night owl recently. Mel supposed that went along with science. Or, at least, Viktor and Jayce had always given her the impression that was how science worked. Late nights, frayed nerves, and manic breakthroughs.

At the door, Nixx tossed out his cigarette, grinding it to the pavement with a toe. Mel raised an eyebrow, and he had the decency to look apologetic. Shimmer factory or not, the place could do without the added trash in front of it. The streets didn’t have to be a communal rubbish bin.

They walked unimpeded for all of two blocks before Nixx spoke.

“Ever done Shimmer?” he asked gruffly, apropos of nothing.

Mel glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at her, still striding down the street beside her and keeping a watch out front. He didn’t seem malicious in his question, nor overly curious. Idle chat, then.

“No,” she admitted eventually. “I have not.”

Never had she wanted to. She had seen enough of how it mutated a person to even think about putting it in her system. She truly did dislike the stuff. Jayce and Viktor had both tried it, but never her.

“Smart,” Nixx said. “Stuff’s janky. Feels good at first. Then you’re vomiting it up. Rather have a drink do that. Better that way, yeah?”

Mel hummed noncommittally.

So, he had managed to avoid a ravaging addiction. That was more than most could say. Even recreational users could find themselves entangled in an instant. The power got to their heads. They liked it. They couldn’t get enough of it. And thus, the cycle of crawling back to a bad trip, again and again, was born.

“Still,” he continued, “’s nice for my pa. Says it fixes his back. Not sure if that’s true, though.”

Ah. Self-medication. The other vice of Shimmer addicts.

Mel knew self-medication well.

Jayce, at one point, had thought it would hide his shadows—that the rush and burn of the drug would let him forget. But, instead of moving past his racing thoughts, Shimmer only exacerbated them. The one time he had tested it, Mel found him pushed into the corner of an abandoned room, sweating heavier than he would at the forge. He wept greatly in her arms until he came down from the high. The day after, he isolated himself completely, and when he returned, he would not speak on the matter. They still had not had a conversation about it to this day. He had never touched Shimmer since.

Viktor, on the other hand, had a much different experience with the drug. He had started microdosing long ago to manage his pain. It forced his muscles to work overtime, but that was what kept him upright some days. Mel did not relish the idea. Any mistake in his dosage could be another proverbial nail in his coffin. The man had the brains to keep his calculations right, but the scientific curiosity to push it too far. That curiosity forced the abandonment of his work to Sky. He had come home late one night, dizzy in madness, and confessed to Mel he could no longer work with the substance.

“It called to me,” he had said.

He swore it wasn’t addiction addling him, nor was it averse side affects. This was something external. Mel didn’t know what to believe. She trusted Viktor, and she knew he believed what he had experienced. For Shimmer to have taken on a siren’s call, though? She could not reconcile that with what she knew of the world. But she had allowed him his leave of the project and gave him the time to act as glorified accountant.

He wanted back on the project now, but Mel had her reservations. She supposed it was only fair to let him back on—as much as Sky had far more knowledge in the field, it was Viktor’s own research on his body that drove the studies. That very same self-medication now fuelled the creation of medical-grade, synthetic Shimmer. Something not reliant on one, over-exploited source, and something that could ease the pain the way Viktor claimed it could.

It was Mel’s only hope for a progressing future in the Undercity. Phase out the old Shimmer, create a supply that Runeterra demanded, and then… And then. Mel’s plans went far, but she knew her limits. She couldn’t bank on a substance that did not yet exist.

She also could not plan too far ahead when rats the likes of Smeech were breathing down her neck. That was what he was searching for, after all—a Shimmer independent from the source Silco kept hidden with his own scientist. The yordle would care little for the medicinal application of it all, but he desperately wanted to be free of Silco’s clutches. Without Silco to drag him down, he would be able to do with the Undercity whatever he so wished. He certainly had the manpower and the arms (both literal and weaponry alike) to do so. Mel could not let that happen. Too much of her own subversion of Silco’s reign relied on that Shimmer. So, the less planning of said subverting, the better. If Mel had nothing, Smeech had nothing. That fool couldn’t think of his own plot to save his life.

Though was he smart enough to send to her a spy? That wasn’t much like Smeech. He was a slimy, slippery bastard who didn’t make any move without surety of success. And Sky did say nobody had seen her work, and she had spoken to no-one of it, save for Viktor. The pair of them were trustworthy enough on their own, too.

Maybe Mel was paranoid, then. Maybe this was just another bluff from Smeech, who had used the opportunity of her absence to make idle threats. He often did such when the others took their leave of a meeting. Perhaps the threats just sounded worse from Silco’s scheming mouth.

In the end, she could not dwell on it. The rumination did nothing for her, save spark anxiety. She had already given in to it and walked this far this late. What good would it do her to continue down that path? Besides, there was no way she could plan for a theoretical infultration, anyway. Smeech would have to make the first move.

Mel inhaled through her nose, laced her fingers together politely in front of her, and let go. 

“I hope your father’s health improves,” she told Nixx.

“Nah. ‘S an old problem. Just happens to people down here.”

Mel nodded. “Yes. I suppose it does.”

They fell into a silence for the remainder of the journey. Nixx seemed satisfied with the quiet; he pulled out another cigarette and lit it. Mel, however, had little ease of mind. The concerns of the night still weighed upon her. Hours ago, she had been painting. How she wished that had been the end of her day.

When they reached the manor, Nixx abandoned her. He bade her goodnight, claiming he’d like to finish his cigarette. He’d have to do that outside, of course, “on account of them rules.” Mel returned his farewell, then left him outside to eventually greet the dawn.

She considered her options—returning to her painting, checking on Viktor, waiting for Jayce—and eventually settled on heading for bed. Her feet were tired from the late-night stroll, and her mind not much better. The painting would be there tomorrow, and the boys would come to bed when they decided. There was little else she could do now tonight but rest.

Her bedchamber welcomed her with soft lights. She slipped off her heels, flexing her toes into the soft carpeting to relieve the tension between her joints. After a day in those shoes, it took a while to regain all pliability. A few stretches later, she made her way to the vanity.

The face that stared back at her in the mirror looked exhausted. She held its gaze, then sighed. One day, she would stop needing to mask the bags under her eyes with purple and gold.

She managed to only remove her earrings and untie her hair from its bun before she heard a splash. She halted, hairpin midway from hair to desk, curious. The sound didn’t come again, so she craned her neck around to see where it came from. Her only answer was the lights shining beneath the door of the en-suite.

Pin dropped to the table, Mel stood and made her way to the other room. She knocked, allowing a few seconds before opening the door. Instantly, steam greeted her, and warmth soothed the tired ache in her bones. The lighting she blinked at. Shining tiles made the place the bathroom far brighter than the candle-like glow of the bedroom.

Moments of adjustment later, and she was back on track, moving farther into the room.

“I see you’ve made yourselves comfortable,” she said to the men in the bath.

One of the first things Mel had requested in renovations when she purchased this place was a grand bath. Of the Noxian comforts she had left behind, this one she refused to be without. A soak after a long day was less an obligation than an earned right. Round and deep, and inlaid into the floor of the room, Mel had long decided the bath was the treasure of the house. The heat of the Fissures kept the waters warm, as if placed atop a natural spring. In a tiring world, this was her respite.

It seemed that Jayce and Viktor sought that out tonight.

“Back from the forge?” she asked Jayce, coming to a stop beside the elbow he had thrown over the side of the bath. “All in one piece, I see.”

“I told you, I know what I’m doing,” he said.

“Hm. Well, I fear that you may have overestimated the urgency of our… problem,” she told him. She searched the ground around them and, finding the driest spot, sat down. “Sky was in no need of your piston.”

Viktor, across the tub from them both, made an odd noise in his throat. Mel shot him an unamused look.

“Oh,” Jayce said, ignoring Viktor’s vulgarity. “That’s… uh. Well, at least it’s ready, anyway.”

“Yes, at least.”

Mel slid her feet into the tub, welcoming the warmth. Her heels still hadn’t quite shaken off the feeling of walking all the way to the factory in ill-suited shoes. Jayce reached out instantly, his arm wrapping around her ankle and hand resting softly against her calf. Mel returned the gesture by slipping her fingers through his still-drying hair.

“You need a haircut,” she said softly, fondly, stroking down the strands a few more times. She glanced to Viktor, his own hair plastered to his scalp. “Both of you.”

Viktor, oh-so-eloquently, grunted. Jayce just hummed, lulled by her touch.

The three of them sat in silence a while. Jayce and Viktor stretched out their bad legs, while Mel focused on reviving her feet. Viktor eventually moving to massage his own atrophied muscles. Jayce’s thumb rubbed gently against Mel’s leg. Mel simply let the warm air and water soak her through.

“You could get in,” Jayce murmured eventually, sealed with the lightest of kisses to her calf.

As tempting as it usually was to submerge to her shoulders, and let the heat soothe her, Mel did not find the wish to get too deep into this particular bath.

“With your sweat and soot?” She rippled water beneath the surface with a toe. “All that powder? I think I’ll pass. My feet are quite enough, thank you.”

As if suddenly aware of what manner of grime they were now pickling in, Viktor and Jayce stared at each other. Mel kept her smile to herself.

Viktor cleared his throat. “I think I should like to get out, now.”

Jayce released Mel, and she fetched plush towels for the pair of them. She and Jayce helped Viktor out of the bath. Like a wet cat, he started shivering the moment he exited the water. She brushed his hair from his face, adjusted the towel around him, kissed his cheek. He played the affection off staidly.

“Let’s say we end the day, shall we?” Mel asked.

She relieved no disagreements, and thus corralled her men out towards bed.

Outside, the Undercity lived on. People slept, drank, smoked, worked. And Mel would do her own dance of progress with them again tomorrow.