» One week later
"It's a pretty good plan, right?"
Violet glanced across at Callian seekingly.
The masked man laced his fingers, leaning back on the basement couch—his gaze thoughtful.
The girl's plan was sound.
"It is a possible one," Callian replied.
Violet rubbed the back of her neck, slightly disheartened.
"That's good enough for me," Mylo chimed in, pacing the room.
He paused—throwing a hand toward Callian's left.
"But please tell me we're leaving the jinx behind. We can't risk another gig going sideways—especially not a Topside one."
Powder scowled at him from her seat.
"She'll be coming with us," Violet said firmly, folding her arms and meeting Mylo's glare. "She's ready."
After a beat, the wiry boy rolled his eyes and sighed—huffing in a grudging acceptance.
"Fine. But if this thing goes wrong—you're the one explaining it to Vander."
"Deal," Violet replied, nodding.
✦ ✦ ✦
» Two days later - Piltover
Callian crouched behind a chimney stack which stood upon a sloped, blue-tiled rooftop—his eyes fixed on the building opposite.
It was a workshop—and the gang's latest target.
He watched as the four crept down onto the open balcony and forced the door open.
He knew who this workshop belonged to. That information alone was enough to warrant his presence here.
Just in case.
A few minutes passed.
Familiar, frustrated shouts reached Callian's waiting ears. A door banged.
The children had been discovered.
Then, without warning, the rightmost section of the building blew outward.
The surrounding balcony crumbled shortly after—scattering an array of dust and debris down onto the street below.
Callian's eyes shimmered faintly as they registered the tell-tale wisps of energy that were left dotting the air above the crumbling wreck.
Alarmed shouts lit up the avenue like wildfire, driving the escaping children forward across Piltover's interconnected rooftops.
The four dropped back to street level quickly—sprinting through Piltover's winding, bustling streets.
A swarm of enforcers raced after them—growing in number the further they ran.
Some officers yelled—demanding the gang's compliance and surrender.
After their shouts fell on deaf ears, they turned to more unconventional methods of persuasion.
Sharp, string-like contraptions were primed and aimed toward the gang.
Ankle biters—as they were so aptly nicknamed.
The spinning weights sliced through the air toward the children—missing—but only barely.
The incoming volley of projectiles prompted the four to start zigzagging as they ran—leaving the ankle biters to fall harmlessly against the ground below.
Callian followed the chase at a distance—flitting across Piltover's rooftops like a shadow—his masked face shrouded beneath his dark hood.
He watched the gang cross the Pilt River and disappear into Promenade's urban depths—the dwindling swarm of enforcers still hot on their heels.
The children were on home turf now. They wouldn't be caught there. Not by topsiders.
Callian turned away, eyes flickering back toward where the workshop lay out of sight.
For now, he would return and investigate the blast site.
There was something he needed to confirm there.
✦ ✦ ✦
» A few hours later
"You know this crossed the line upstairs."
Vander grimaced inwardly.
"Was… anyone hurt?" he asked, grey eyes flickering to his companion.
The woman tilted her head, exasperated—her dark brows drawn in frustration.
"A building was blown to bits," she replied, slapping a hand onto the counter firmly. "What do you think?"
Vander grimaced again—this time outwardly.
"Those who did this will be dealt with—" he started.
"That workshop belonged to the Kirammans."
Vander stilled.
"You know what kind of stuff they had in there?" Greyson continued, fixing Vander with a look.
She spun a finger bitterly—pointing around at the inside of Benzo's workshop.
"Makes this place look like a candy shop. The council needs someone to make an example of. People need to feel safe."
Vander scoffed—his tone equally bitter.
"Yeah. Topside people."
Greyson's look sharpened.
"We had a deal Vander—you keep people off my streets, and I stay out of your business. The council's already got their eye on your lot because of the two guardsmen who went missing a few weeks back. You know that as well as I do."
Vander turned away—his hands tightening around the edge of the counter.
"Give me a name," she continued, her voice quieting. "We'll do things quiet. No one will know you were involved."
"I can't do that," Vander replied.
"You don't seem to realise how serious this is," said Greyson, her tone darkening.
She inched forward along the counter—moving closer to the resolute man.
"If I don't put someone behind bars tonight—the next time I come down here I'll have an army of enforcers with me. We both know how that'll go."
Vander turned his head away in regret.
"I'm sorry Greyson," he replied, his eyes flickering toward the woman. "But I can't offer up my own people."
The dark skinned woman stared at him for a moment longer—then sighed.
She retrieved her helmet from the counter—followed by a small item from her belt.
She placed the latter down onto the counter beside him softly.
"If you change your mind—this will reach me. And only me."
With that, the woman departed the workshop—her lingering presence leaving a heavy silence in her wake.
✦ ✦ ✦
» Three days later
Callian stood upon a rooftop.
Thick dark clouds hung overhead—brimming with rain not yet loosed upon the world below.
He gazed down upon Promenade's Westside docks. They were a familiar sight to him—even this early on.
An explosion erupted below—rattling the warehouse opposite and sending a wave of indiscernible force blasting across the docks.
Callian brushed past the subtle, dispersing energy without concern—his focus aimed at the avenue below.
Powder came tumbling to the ground—rolling over and over until she came to a halt halfway across the street.
Then came Vander—exploding from the building's upper floor in a ball of orange flame. His sudden exit was accompanied by a further spray of bricks that came crashing down onto the street beside him.
Violet's unconscious figure lay cradled in his arms—protected from harm.
The man's skin was dyed an ashen grey, his veins thrumming with a quickly fading strength.
His purple eyes rose upward—to stare at where Callian stood poised upon the nearby rooftop.
Vander's confusion quickly shifted to a silent plea for help.
His shimmering, glassy eyes were imploring—right up until his final breath.
Vander died.
The rain began to fall.
✦ ✦ ✦
» Two days later
Northside was now officially under Silco's control.
Despite the setback he had suffered at the unknowing hands of Powder back at the factory—the man had adapted to his new circumstances quickly.
Two days were all it took for him to take over Entresol's most populated district.
The chembarons, seeking opportunity, had rallied beneath him—eager to reap the rewards an ungoverned Northside could offer them.
Dethroning Vander might as well have been a revolution.
Callian strolled through the quiet of Southside, eyes open for any sign of unrest.
Silco's influence had yet to stretch so far. But that was only a matter of time.
Five months to go. Then he would be inactive no longer.
A faint wail drew Callian's attention back to the present.
He turned a corner—stepping into a wide, occupied street.
A girl broke free of a man's grasp, stumbling forward and landing by a battered, bloodied body on the ground.
"No," she sobbed. "No no no. Mum? Mum wake up. Please."
Another man laughed at his companion for struggling to contain a child.
The first man scowled—storming over and seizing the girl by her spiky, shoulder-length hair.
His bloody fingers left sticky, crimson streaks across her green hair.
Callian stepped forward as a third man knelt beside the fallen woman's body, reaching to tug the necklace from her throat.
The frail ornament glittered faintly beneath the earthy green glow of the streetlamps overhead.
Callian recognised the network of stones studding its pendant.
Worthlessly ordinary. A common find underground.
The man likely recognised its lack of value too—judging by his irritable sneer. Nevertheless, he pocketed the cheap trinket.
The girl screamed in fury and desperation upon seeing the corpse-looting, clawing at her captor's struggling arm.
Then her eyes sparked.
Callian froze.
Electricity—green and wild—arced between her grasping fingertips.
Her palm glowed—searing a visible handprint into her captor's arm.
The man dropped instantly, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, twitching and spasming as he fell.
The other two men stiffened in shock—before the smarter of the two began to reach for his gun.
Then his head blasted apart as Callian's armoured shin hammered through it—sending a splatter of blood, flesh and bone into the air beside him.
Callian's blood burned. His flesh felt aflame.
The other man died soon after—his throat cut by Callian's sharp, armoured fingers.
The masked man turned—his eyes narrowing with suspicion as he found the girl's own staring back at him.
Callian's shimmering pink irises locked with the girl's glowing yellow.
She could track his movements—if only with her eyes—despite his slowed time.
Who was she?
Callian's blood burned out.
He walked past her slowly and bent down—retrieving the stolen necklace from the dead man's grasp.
"Who are you?" the girl croaked—tears still streaming down her face.
The man looked back, pink eyes shimmering softly beneath his shadowed hood.
A moment of silence passed.
"Who was she to you?" the man asked.
"My mum," she answered, choking on her reply. "She was everything to me. Everything."
Her gaze fell back toward her mother's battered body—and she choked, again.
More tears filled her eyes. Her vision blurred, hands clenching weakly into fists.
She barely even registered the man walking past—too caught up in her own sorrow.
Then a sickening crunch echoed across the street behind her.
She turned abruptly.
The hooded man retracted his bloodstained boot from within her captor's flattened skull.
He pivoted, moving toward the girl and scooping her up over his shoulder in one deft movement.
The girl started in shock.
"N-no," she stuttered, falling forward over his back. "What're you doing?"
"Stay quiet," he answered, beginning to move. "Those three were not alone."
"Put me down!" the girl cried out—her voice rising to a scream. "Put me down now! I can't leave her like that!"
Misery turned to outrage in an instant.
And with it—came power.
A sudden rush of warmth flushed across her hands—rushing upward to arc between her flailing fingertips.
Then, before she could do anything with it, the man stopped abruptly—flipping her back onto her feet.
She stumbled backwards—disoriented from the sudden, reeling shift.
Then both of the man's palms struck either side of her head.
The girl collapsed—unconscious—falling forward into Callian's waiting arms.
He looked down at her unconscious frame—at the streams of electricity still fizzing faintly across her fingertips.
Then Callian holstered the girl over his shoulder once more—taking off at a run—eastward bound.
✦ ✦ ✦