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Saparata had been stalking the area for weeks.
Weak doors, flimsy windows, it was a miracle it was still standing, much less in Piltover of all places.
As far as he knew, only one child and two parents lived in the old white house.
It was easy.
Too easy.
“I need to borrow one of your bombs.” Jinx barely looked up from her tinkering, the sound of welding and creaking gears filling the silence between them.
Why?” She held up some kind of grenade to the light.
“Because… I just need it.” He smiled sheepishly. “You still owe me for freeing your ass last December you know.”
Jinx sighed through her nose, tossing him the grenade that was previously just purple colored wires on the rusted table.
“Just take it, I need to test it anyway.”
She stood from her seat, snatching it from his hands.
“Don’t pull this pin,” Jinx pointed towards the pin that one would think to pull to detonate a grenade, a blue rod protruding from the top of the colorful mess of wires and metal.
“Pull this one.” She then pointed to one that wouldn’t be noticeable at all, a small lump, no bigger than a penny.
“The other one self-destructs instantly, the smaller one gives a delay.”
“Is there a difference?”
Jinx laughed, as if it was obvious.
“Do you have a death wish?”
She pushed him out of her workshop, practically dragging him out of the room.
“Get out white boy, I got stuff to do.” She slammed the door in his face, the frame quivering slightly.
Saparata shook his head.
What could she possibly be working on?
₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚
He tossed the grenade between his hands, not quite a wise thing to do but it was as entertaining as it was reckless.
Saparata noticed the intricate patterns and duller colors coating the explosive, hardly his sister’s style at all.
And not his either.
Instead it looked quite similar to another rising criminal in the streets of Zaun.
A man who called himself Elanuelo.
The only thing that could be used to identify his crimes were his intricate and swirling patterns, scattered in the shrapnel that painted the bombed areas.
“Genius…” Saparata muttered under his breath, stowing the explosive in his tattered and faded marble blue vest, as he stepped into the streets of Piltover.
He pulled his hood over his head, covering the fluffy white hair that would easily be his doom if it was seen.
By now, he’d memorized the route to get to the house, though the shining streets of Piltover were just as difficult to navigate as it was to maneuver the streets of Zaun.
They were all at work on Thursday, the child had after school clubs and the wife was at brunch with her ‘friends’.
Though every time, she came back smelling like another man’s cologne.
Looking back, it wasn’t exactly a wise decision to bring only one, very loud grenade to the most enforcer riddled part of Piltover.
But would Saparata do it again?
No doubt.
He peeked inside the sunlit house, his heart lurching as he spotted three figures, two teenagers, brother and sister most likely, though he couldn’t tell from the shadows and an adult, most likely a woman, screaming at both of them.
“You’re completely useless! You damn brat!” He could hear the adult figure screaming at the top of their lungs, as they slammed what sounded like a piece of paper on the table.
Saparata couldn’t help but step closer toward the scene.
They looked rich.
Upon obtaining the right angle, he could see the morning light spill into the scene.
Saparata’s eyes widened, as he realized this wasn’t any family.
The daughter, who didn’t look as young as he thought, stepped beside the other figure, a boy with curly black hair and glassy purple eyes, as if he was going to cry.
Though miraculously, his face stayed completely straight.
“How could you fail school?! We hire the best tutors for you and Caitlyn!” Caitlyn.
Kirraman.
They were Kirramans.
How could he not realize?
But his eyes drifted back to the amethyst eyed boy behind the curtains.
He bit his lip, looking down at the oak wood ground.
“It’s not his fault mothe-” The girl, Caitlyn Kirraman he presumed, tried to argue, a posh accent they all shared twisting her words.
“Don’t.” The boy whispered, grabbing her arm so hard his knuckles turned white.
Saparata waited for the boy to leave.
He didn’t want to hurt him.
The last thing Saparata remembered was the boy and girl walking out of the building.
He pulled the pin.
Then,
He was running.