“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for boarding this passenger basket this fine noon and if you would excuse me I would like to start explaining the safety mechanisms aboard this craft.”

Oh boy.

“First of all I’d like to declare that you lot are perhaps the least ruffian crowd I’ve had the pleasure of dealing with this week.”

Nataly’s gaze scanned the passengers, composing of four Half-Pilts coming back down from Hell, seven mercenaries (herself included) and The Boss, who was currently in a formal sort of outcast get-up (mainly just a suit with a hood).

Wow.

“Needless to say that most of you…”

Understand the safety features…

“But in the instance that this vessel capsizes, we’re completely fucked.”

“Told you Gustav knows his stuff,” The Boss whispered to Anton.

“Regardless, the most important thing that all of you need to know is this light.”

A Piltoverian stoplight likely salvaged after some surface racing event.

“Green means we’re out of the Grey, about 10 parts per million. Orange means get your masks on, if you have them. I don’t need to say anything about Red, do I? Please note that if you are planning on returning to this basket stall with any luggage heavier than 10 kilos then this basket has a massive chance of capsizing so you will have to speak with our luggage department on the respective floor. I know most of the boys but I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it. Just don’t tell the company I said anything about this, okay?”

Everyone just nodded.

“Well that’s sorted.” Gustav said before climbing up the ladder to the engine room. “IMKA! WE’RE SETTING OFF!”

“AYE SIR!”

With a clack and accelerating clicking of gears, the basket dipped below the jagged blades of the Piltoverian sunlight into the vast abyss below.

While it was 5 minutes before Orange turned to Red, it was a half hour before the basket settled at the Meridium Terminal.

“It’s been a pleasure to see you again, Viktor.” Gustav said through his muffling mask.

“Likewise, Gustav.” The Boss replied, putting his hand forward as if Gustav was an old friend. Gustav’s slight recoil on touching that gloved, automaton hand and slow methodical shake told everything else about their history.

The meeting with the Chemist was a few levels lower, but Baron-thugs (the ones around here were from Hugo the Divider) were everywhere. These veterans of Noxian Pacification though were far more concerned with causing too much of a scene than anything else. The last thing this meeting didn’t need was attention. Good thing a crossbow or Plumbum shot didn’t draw much.

Another half-hour of infiltration lead to Danjo’’s Diner, a Cultivair establishment and as large and upper-class as a Zaunic diner could be, the owner had been grateful enough to host Singed’s little meeting. This generally meant Singed had threatened Danjo at syringe point.

The Boss had his mission and we had ours. With the small amount of time they had to spare, the mercs simply walked in the front entrance. Masks doubled as wealth down here and it wasn’t like the dumb fuck bouncers would think about who those masks denoted. Honestly it’s the best thing about being allied to an engineer.

Viktor, a few moments later, swaggered up to the bouncer with his cane. The bouncer’s amusement stopped when an official looking invitation was presented to him.

“Oh-Uhhhh… Right this way Mist’a Guido!”

Huh, is there some kind of party happening tonight?

We hadn’t been briefed on… wait we haven’t even been briefed on exfil! OH SHIT THIS IS DEFINITELY A DEATH TRAP!

“Nataly,” Anton started. “Chill, I know what’s happening.”

Well that’s… okay Anton knows what’s happening so it’s fine. It’s totally fine.

I guess let’s just hope we can get out of here.

That, however, would be the least of Nataly’s worries. The first would be the horrible entertainment and the second would be the shitty service.

“Viktor! It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Singed declared in his deep and erotically-uncomfortable voice.

“Frankly, you know it isn’t.”

“As frank as a man of Science should be, I must frankly declare my displeasure to know that you do not.”

The Mad Chemist, with all the meanings you can derive from that title.

“You know how much I despise these sorts of meetings.”

“Given the chance you would stay in your little room tinkering with toys till the day you die. You must come out of there at some point. Besides, a cellar like this is rather nice, isn’t it?”

“I don’t remember you coming out of your ‘room’ when you made your ‘fleeting success’.”

“Well, well, the shut-in can call out hypocrisy! How dare he!”

We’re getting nowhere.

“I know… I know…” Singed coughed, composing himself before he poured himself a glass of Hard Emesin to sit down with. “Would you like to sit down then? My back simply isn’t what it used to be.”

“The only constant of the Universe is change, Singed.” Viktor spat out in annoyance.

“Heh, that’s pretty smart of you to quote a textbook. Where are you referencing that from? Might need to declare your sources otherwise some Pilty several thousand miles away might complain.”

…

Viktor sat down. There was no dealing with Singed when he got like this.

“I assume all of this is to do with the Noxian witch that has been prancing about up top?”

“How would a shut-in know about that?”

…

Singed laughed. “Well I, personally, am in a rather direct relationship with her so of course I would know such a thing.”

Despite casting his face in steel years ago, Viktor was still horrible at keeping any sort of emotion a secret for long. Surprise included.

“Oh you know how it goes. First you’re having a spot of tea and then the next you’re decrying the absurdity of the Piltoveriat Progression Machine.”

Not like Viktor hadn’t been doing that at all. Make one comment on the sheer terror men face in dealing with Zaun’s mechanical swamp and be prepared to be ostracized with the good old ‘Mind Control’ talk the Demacians had originally pulled out their asses in response to the effects of battle fatigue against Noxus.

Jayce can go shove that hammer up his ass.

“So did Ms. White organize this little meeting of ours?”

“Indeed she did, although it was meant for you, Viktor.” Singed said while he rose from his seat, slinking his way over to one of the cabinets. Viktor’s auxiliary hand squirmed its way out of his suit, ready to answer whatever the Mad Man pulled out of there with an Arcawave beam.

“Ohto, what book you reading?”

Ohto simply tilted the title cover over to Anton. Amid Vastayan Beauties by Iosef Kehvet.

“Huh, is it any good?”

“Intellectual Porn.” Ohto replied, in such a dull manner that in a public and packed place like Danjo’s it could have very well been dismissed as some Freudian slip of sorts.

“Ohh… So you like the wide net, huh?”

Ohto just smirked before returning to the part where a reptilian was cleaning a Demacian spear.

Meanwhile Nataly was just bored out of her mind waiting on a berger. Nataly was (literally) the new kid. She was about sixteen (parents, both biological and adoptive, weren’t around to comment) and she still had a lot of growing to do, but she had talent and wit, that was for sure. Viktor had apparently requisitioned her out of a baron’s grasp after he’d (supposedly) seen her just like she was now.

“She is like the industrial production of Ammonia,” Viktor attempt to joke, “She will not do anything by herself, but if one has the right catalyst and pressure, she can produce something of incredible importance.”

He didn’t get it, but Nataly was definitely quick witted compared to most of the crew when they’d been first scooped from the depths by a bunch of Pilt ‘slavers’ who knew they could make a quick buck out of some half-Pilt orphans.

The Crew had come a long way from those days, but I don’t think we’re gonna catch any sort of break after this. The Dreadnought rampage that was boiling in the depths was getting ever more ominous with each passing day. Anton had even sniped out one of the cretins in the Dreadnought’s employ on the way here, although those stories about blasting one off a cliff was all the rage these days.

Although the papers were just about to one up him.

“Tada~!” Singed laughed as he took a massive strawman out of a crate. There was a brief glint of metal inside the crate that Singed also pulled out after dumping the strawman on the floor.

“It’s a replica…”

“Of the Steel Man himself! Congratulations Viktor, we found a way to get you out!”

What.

“Get me out? Why would I need to get out?”

“You seen the most recent news? Depth 29 is now under Urgot’s control. We’re in no immediate trouble, you and I, but you can never be sure with the survival freak that spawned out of the dumbest parts of Noxus.”

“W-why do you have a body double?”

“Well… the original plan was for me to be holed up in my own rented Cultivair and you to zap my balls so that it was some sort of intellectual disagreement between the most influential scientists in Zaun. That way there would be some sort of weight to it all and I could heroically sacrifice my testicles in the name of Zaun’s Greater Good.”

“Bloody hell…”

“But then with Urgot terrorizing everywhere I just thought I’d make it a bit more clear to the intellectual community that, yes, that worthless heap of scrap is like a flood. Dumb and ever taking the cheapest of paths, but he will still manage to destroy everything he lays his… whatever appendages he has now.”

…This… is still a bit much… isn’t it?

“Don’t worry though, I might even be able to come join you in Shurima if all things go according to plan.”

“Shurima? Why Shurima!”

“Oh… Let’s see… In Noxus it would seem as if Swain was trying to replace Noxians with Zaunites, Demacia is a joke, Ionia is too dangerous and expensive if you don’t have social capital, which you don’t… and Freljord is a frozen shithole. That leaves Shurima, and I’d assume you would have a lot of interest in what’s actually happening down there despite what bullshit the royalist media are spouting.”

Viktor had done many studies on Brackern crystals a good decade and a half ago, including into their controversial extraction techniques. Thing was Shurimans didn’t exactly care much for science.

“Trust me, Viktor, because the royalists are REALLY scared of something, something that they simply call the Traitor, mainly because the thing’s name created the very root of the word Traitor. It’s a Brackern-like thing that no man has known before, and I’ve read your papers.”

“This… but this is all rather sudden… I must make plans- I must…”

“I’m a madman, Viktor. What did you expect?”

“You not to be a madman.”

Singed’s raucous laughter lasted damn near a minute.

“Whoa, check this.” Chernov piped up, wagging a paper in his hands, the 38th Tier Tribune. The 38 in the name denoting the number of times it had to be renamed and relocated to avoid Barons finding them out.

Oh boy.

“Mistress Elodie recently responded to the liberation, by our saviour, of the Embren Floor. Quote: We must not allow this Tyrant free reign to dominate and obliterate the freedoms of the lowest levels. End quote.”

That wasn’t the quote. It had been about ten times longer, significantly more nuanced and lacked Elodie’s usual bullshit preaching about the nature of humanity.

“Now there’s this. Our Saviour responded to these allegations with a statement coming directly out of his Commissariat. Quote: To think such a parasite on the suffering man would finally rear its ugly head. This arrogance has been officially recognized by the Saviour of Zaun, and his blood boils with such fervor that He will consider the immediate notion of retaliation against whatever next Baron who might dare invite this foreign whore. End Quote.”

Anton looked at the night’s entertainment board.

Ah shit.

“Ohto, fap time’s over. Get everyone ready for evac. I’ll get The Boss.”

“Fucking hell… You going to take Nataly with you? I know the rest of the crew will be… you know…”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP OHTO! I’M NOT A DAMN KID!”

“Kid, you’re still a kid. The Boss always likes to see ya anyway.”

Nataly’s entire being fumed at the notion, but still she persevered. For The Boss, of course.

“Damn, that’s my escort. I believe I might need to cut this meeting short Singed.”

“Well I pretty much counted on it being cut short. Likewise I too must prepare my own escape.” Singed said, uncorking the top of one of his concoctions.

Then, from every direction, came the cry. A battlecry from thousands.

“EXTERMINATE THE VERMIN!”

Countless Bolt Shards pierced the Cultivair dome, letting the putrid Grey quietly flow in like seawater.

The sound was deafening, with every person pinned, writhing or dead on the floor. A couple ladies and intellectuals were trying to scream over the cacophony, but their voices were mute before such a barrage. Viktor’s Escort had holed up behind the counter alongside several bouncers. Nothing else mattered now besides everyone wanting to get out of this.

The shooting stopped as fast as it began, leaving a deathly silence, broken only by the occasional whimper and the unsettling wane of shifting tension in the support cables. Then the first vaporous strands of Grey lapped at Otto’s feet.

“Mika. Masks.” Ohto motioned quietly.

“Gotcha.”

Mika crawled across to the holding lounge, using two rolled towels around her arms to stop the glass from piercing her. It was so quiet now, but that only meant that any noise now would alert any and all shooters to her location. Mika wasn’t sure which was worse.

The Grey crept up the floor, drowning the unconscious into spasming fits as their soft lungs fought against the miasma.

This is why you needed masks.

The Grey creeped up to the counter, swallowing the defenders into a thick fog. A death trap, where the slightest light or sound could be replied with fusillades. Quietened Plumbum Shots and crossbows were the weapons of choice, something the Noxian veterans were fully aware of. But they were twenty, the enemy two thousand.

“Ohto, here!” Mika whispered softly, dragging a coat topped with Viktor masks and other civilian ones.

Footsteps. Just below them.

Ohto motioned to the bartender in sign:

+ + Footsteps… Above… Where they fight from? + +

+ + Descend stairs… Easy shot… + +

All the defenders took point. Then, Ohto’s mask radio crackled to life.

“CHZHYYK-to that you? Ohto co-CHZHYYK-in. You there?”

Anton? Ohto turned the radio on and started sending Morse. In this situation, this was the only thing they could do. Anton was always too laid back about this sort of thing.

Anton replied (in Morse this time):

+ + Where are you. + +

+ + Above stairs. Something below. + +

+ + Everyone safe? + +

+ + Everyone safe. + +

+ + We’re below you then. + +

Ohto motioned to the rest of the defenders. “Stand down. Friendlies.”

Anton, the Boss, Nataly and… the Mad Man.

“Hello there, my friends. How is it going?” The Mad Man asked.

“QUIET!” Ohto demanded as quietly as he could.

“Don’t worry my friend, at this distance they won’t be able to hear us no matter what. We only need to focus on not making a light.”

BANG!

An echoing blast ripped through the structure, the heavy drumming of steel legs following soon after.

“Well it seems the Fat Man is on his way here.” Singed declared.

“Fat man?”

“The Big Guy. The One who apparently Thinks. You know… Urgot.”

Chills ran down all of their spines. Only Singed didn’t recoil from the thought.

“I’ll keep him busy.” The last man they’d expect to say it said.

“Singed! We can fight him together!”

“Viktor, I don’t do together. Besides, I’m the only one who knows how to piss him off enough.”

“That’s not the point Singed.”

“Viktor, most of the imbeciles surrounding you haven’t had a life just quite yet. Get them out of here. You too for that matter. Wouldn’t want to worry Ms. White now, would you?”

Ugh…

“Ohto, you know of an exit?” Viktor asked.

“Barkeep told me of a logistics shaft that’s usually kept clear of miscreants. Should take us near Gorvitz’ Baskets where it’s a straight ride out.”

“Good. Let’s leave the Mad Man to his devices.”

“Madame Elodie.” Wheezed the behemoth. “You have made a grievous mistake opposing me. Now your retribution lies at your door.”

“Forgive me, sir, but it appears you were not on the guest list.” The echoing voice of a man replied.

“What are guest lists but the ordinations of class and rank?”

Urgot advanced through the viscous fog.

“Didn’t you just answer your own question?”

“My question is why must arrogant runts berate me in such a manner?”

“I could go into much detail about that very topic, but it appears that would waste too much of your time.”

“Cowards should not waste time.”

“If I am wasting your time, then surely I must not be a coward?”

“No coward hides themselves in shadow.”

“All predators hide themselves to some degree. Only prey walk in the open.”

“So where is my prey? Where did the foreign whore galavant to next?”

“Frankly I didn’t see her in person, only on the guest list. Civilized inventions are so helpful, aren’t they?”

BANG

One of the legs discharged a wave of hellfire, obliterating the entire bar.

“Not a fan of civilization now, aren’t you?”

BANG

“I’ll take that as a yes then-”

BANG

…

Urgot groaned. This had meant to be quick, a self-serving sidetrack to halt a thorn in his side. But now, this entire charade had vexed him too far. Someone will pay for this, even if it wouldn’t be that damn concubine.

A hiss! A soft hiss. An effervescing chemical hiss. Suddenly something moved through the air.

Instinctively, Urgot obliterated it. Thermite, active thermite. The viciously reacting Iron Oxide and Aluminium blazed white hot, capable of boring through any metal.

The container though was about the size of a soda can. The resulting thermite shower scorched Urgot for sure, but the damage was mostly superficial and his body was replaceable. A pathetic assassination attempt for sure.

But there was something new below Urgot’s feet while he had been blinded by the heat. A flashlight.

This was absurd! Someone must pay. SOMEONE MUST PAY FOR THIS HUMILIATION!

“Commissar! There’s someone on the first floor!”

“Your men may fire at will.”

“But commissar, that might have just been the Saviour’s doing.”

“If the Saviour is fighting the enemy, surely must we not support His efforts? I wouldn’t have have expected such cowardice in the ranks of His Righteous Military.”

Urgot somehow managed to survive the fusillade, proceeding to eviscerate Hischa’s body while Commissar Misk just watched on with self-satisfaction of another elimination of an opponent. Singed was also seen fleeing the scene, ‘surfboarding’ down into the depths. Such were the events of that one day in Zaun.