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Every morning, Ekko rose with the first rays of the sun, as befits a responsible leader.
That is, of course, if you considered that sunlight only reached the hideout closer to noon, and even then, the timing varied depending on the season. Ekko would slowly open his eyes, red from lack of sleep, lift his head from the blueprints on his desk, wipe the drool from his chin, and stretch, his spine cracking, until a cramp seized his back, or his leg, or his arm—it was different every time.
The first thing Ekko did after getting up was his morning exercises.
Staring into the eyes of his greatest enemy—or more precisely, at the "Wanted" poster he'd torn off one of Zaun's buildings and brought back to base—Ekko would perform his routine 100/100/100. One hundred push-ups, one hundred squats, one hundred sit-ups. Yes, it was a drop in the ocean, but it helped him wake up and work out the stiffness in his limbs. And the image of the blue-haired beast before his eyes helped him maintain his pace until the very last rep—the hatred made everything inside him burn, serving as his source of energy and fueling his resolve for the rest of the day.
Then came breakfast time.
Breakfast was the most important meal for the Firelights. They all needed strength to work for the community's benefit all day and to stand against threats like Silco and Piltover. The meal was usually accompanied by light conversation with his comrades, who, like him, were filled with enthusiasm to get to work.
"Boss, Chelsea stole another hoverboard from the warehouse!"
"Some rat ate a whole sack of our apples! Again!"
"Ekko, there's a cockroach floating in my soup! It's wiggling its legs, Ekko!"
"My knee's acting up again—that means rain, I'm telling you! We can't dig trenches today!"
Ekko listened to them with a smile, leisurely sipping his stew from a wooden bowl, just like everyone else in the dining area. Scar sat nearby, calmly, almost serenely, feeding his daughter, who was swaddled in several layers of cloth so that only her tiny face was visible. Children are the flowers of life. One day, Ekko would have a kid too. Maybe.
"Ekko!"
"Ekko!"
"Boss!"
"Ekko!"
Finishing the last of his broth, Ekko set the bowl on the table and exhaled, feeling his stomach blissfully full. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, the leader of the Firelights slowly rose from the table, squinting contentedly in the sunlight filtering through the tree's foliage, and took a deep breath.
"Shut THE FUCK UP, YOU HELPLESS SONS OF BITCHES! CHELSEA, GET THE HOVERBOARD BACK TO THE WAREHOUSE, YOU'RE ON TOILET DUTY TODAY! DOROTHY, STOP CALLING MIKE A RAT. MIKE, STOP SCARFING DOWN OUR APPLES, I'M SICK OF IT. YOU'LL BE THE ONE STEALING THEM FROM THE PILTIE SWINES NEXT TIME. DONNA, IF SOMETHING'S FLOATING IN YOUR BOWL—YOU SHUT UP AND EAT IT. SAY THANKS FOR THE EXTRA PROTEIN. BOB, I'LL PERSONALLY BREAK YOUR FUCKING KNEE IF YOU PREDICT THE DAMN RAIN ONCE MORE. GRAB A SHOVEL AND GO DIG THAT TRENCH! SCAR!"
Scar looked up at Ekko questioningly, never stopping the gentle rocking of his daughter, who was actively drinking her milk from the bottle.
"... Good morning."
Scar nodded in greeting, and with that, the morning was concluded.
After breakfast, Ekko moved on to other important matters:
Held important meetings (where serious topics were discussed, like Shimmer, the increased number of Enforcer patrols, new weapons development, the moral acceptability of pulling Jinx's hair during a fight, and whether they should change the hoverboard lights to rainbow colors—no, Jeena, we're not doing that, we're not magical rainbow ponies.)
Conducted hoverboard flight lessons (no flying with eyes closed, no jumping off the board into the river, no disassembling it, no using for pranks—yes, Chelsea, I'm talking about you.)
Helped with security system checks (we are not setting up a giant rolling boulder trap in one of the tunnels, Scar).
And made his rounds, helping where hands were needed, all while listening to complaints and suggestions ("Yes, I know there's not enough hot water for everyone, but have you tried not having your depressive episodes in the shower? What's that, Suzie? Someone stole your pink crayon again? I'll catch the thief, don't worry. Niko, if this is about the strange noises under your window, I already told you—Jinx doesn't know where our hideout is, and she’s not going to steal you in the middle of the night.")
After a late lunch, leaving Scar in charge (babysitting), Ekko set out for his daily patrol. As the leader, he couldn't let his subordinates roam the Undercity alone, so he took matters into his own hands. Changing his route each time, Ekko checked alleys and dead ends for Shimmer stashes. When he found them, he burned them and left his symbol—a green hourglass—on the wall. Let Silco know who he was dealing with.
His route had two mandatory stops: The Last Drop and Jinx's lair.
(Yes, Ekko knew where his greatest enemy's lair was.)
(Nothing unusual about that.)
Thanks to always wearing his mask on missions, Ekko could come and go from the bar freely. He'd order a drink, take the farthest, darkest table in the corner, and observe. Listen. Gather intel.
Sometimes the blue thorn in his side would also visit the bar—in her ultra-short shorts that showed off her long, milky-white legs, in her tight crop top that barely covered her chest, allowing the eye to freely wander over the blue clouds of smoke tattooed on her skin. She never noticed him, lost in the pulsating rhythm of the music and dance. She never drank, never took Shimmer—just danced and danced until beads of sweat gathered on her almost-transparent skin and slid down, down, past the leather belt on her wide, temptingly curved hips.
(Ekko was closely watching for any weak spots he could exploit in the future. Battle, of course.)
Sometimes Jinx didn't show up, and Ekko would head to his second stop. Here, on the roof of a neighboring building with a view of the entrance to the lair, he could sit for hours, sketching in his journal, recording new data, adding to his intel on his enemy.
By nightfall, Ekko returned from patrol—"What the fuck do you mean you didn't dig the trench because it was raining?"—and sat down with his projects, refining, reworking, and inventing new things, tirelessly striving for perfection for the good of the Firelights and Undercity.
Closer to midnight, after finishing a sack of apples he'd taken from the kitchen—Ekko stole them, Ekko eats them, and Ekko will keep eating them—and wishing goodnight to the blue-haired beast whose poster lay on his adjacent pillow—a reminder even in his dreams of his heavy duty,—the leader of the Firelights went to sleep. So that the next day, he could rise with the first rays of the sun and once again labor tirelessly for the good of the community.
How wonderful it is—to be the Firelights' leader.