He could see a bridge down below him; through curved glass he would look at it, sometimes for hours, as little dots the size of bugs scurried to and fro across it.
There was always a bridge, but sometimes he would be looking up at it, at how it would block out the sun even in the middle of the day, making the water look grey and murky.
His mother would keep him from swimming in it, even if it meant picking him up and carrying him back up the bank, often straight into a wooden water tub if she suspected he'd gotten himself dirty.
He lacked the opportunity to dirty himself looking out of the tower with the fancy glass however, where everything inside would sparkle with cleanliness and glittering golden accents. He would think to himself how it all looked so fragile.
In that place, his mother would smell of some exotic scent; he'd occasionally seen it puffed onto her skin from out of a colored glass bottle. The man who would hand it to her was a stranger who hardly ever looked at him; only ever at his mother. At night the man would sometimes see them off, with the briefest of goodbyes that would leave his mother sad, over following days.
He also recalled a similarly high-class place with other children about, children who would tell him of the types of creatures that lurked on the other side of the bridge he so admired; they told him stories of a city of frightening monsters that could shape-shift into people whenever they wished, and that anybody could really be one of them.
He knew the stories to be nonsense, but the crueler children would sometimes make pretend that he was in fact one of these monsters, and they'd play at hunting him down when he refused to act the part in their game. His words never mattered to them.
He'd sleep alone, there. When he dreamed, he'd dream of the same things…
Am I dreaming now…?
As he peered around, he found a pair of gold eyes staring back at him from the corner of the room. They were his eyes, but he knew mirrors didn't work in the dark like this.
Next was a growl, and suddenly he was afraid of it. He didn't want to be. He only wanted to be back in his real home, with his mother — she'd be back in a few days to fetch him. He'd tell her he never wanted to be left here again.
But, the last time he'd ever get to see his mother was when she, well…
He then remembered hiding aboard a creaking, dingy, wooden ship, desperately shivering himself to sleep. He had only hoped it would take him somewhere far away…
The pair of gold eyes still waited for him in the darkness of the hold.
Is it the same dream…?
It leaped for him, this time. Its howl was loud enough to stop his heart.
…
….
…..
Huh…?
Only one of Garou's eyes would open at first, but it was clouded over, and everything looked red.
He leveraged himself such that he could pull his arm out from underneath his body, and gave both eyes a wipe with knuckles that felt tender to the touch.
He winced. Everything stuck, like glue.
Even after blinking a few times, the redness of vision remained through his right eye, making for an odd effect as he surveyed the sight around him.
A groan escaped him while he gingerly lifted himself onto his elbows, every bone in his body sounding in a chorus of creaks and pops.
Why did I fall asleep…?
It took a moment before he could recollect exactly where he was. Everything around him looked to be dead.
Did I do all of this…?
He glanced down at the pool of dried blood he lay in, before noticing the red-drenched state of his clothing.
Then he remembered the wolf he'd just been dreaming about.
I lost, to that beast...
The battle itself was a blur in his memory, but it was obvious it had turned out ugly for him. It was the first time he'd lost consciousness from a fight since Ionia.
But he was still alive; he wondered how his body had managed that…
He strained to his feet.
Everybody around the place had clearly succumbed to their wounds, being in a similar state to himself. Garou wondered how much blood he even had left in his body.
He went to trace over one of the slashes across his torso, but found that the clothing was completely stuck to it, perhaps having done so as the wound had healed over — he couldn't even separate them without risking tearing flesh again.
Weird…I must be healing faster, now…
His eyes found the entry gate to the place. The brat was somewhere around here, he recalled. Assuming she'd stayed hidden through all of it...
He'd come here to rescue Blue, after all.
A deep exhale left him, pushed out from his diaphragm, as he gazed up at the faint twinkle of the stars above.
He couldn't help but wonder whether he'd even fare any better if there were a next time, were the wolf to return; whether he'd be able to stop it from tearing into Blue, or the kid, too…
Some of it was coming back to him, now; how it had rushed at him on all fours as he'd expect of any animal, but it being something he'd never truly trained for... the way it moved, lunged, dodged, even feinted, in its own animalistic way; Garou's fighting technique wasn't adapted to such a style. At least, not yet.
I'm not afraid of some dog…
He wrapped half of his fingers around his chin, and braced with his other hand on the top of his head, giving his neck a resolved crack.
He shook the feeling off.
Should get movin'…
~~~~~
~~~~~
~~~~~
Caitlyn wiggled her arms as the bindings came loose; she was free. She almost couldn't believe it.
"We haven't time to waste," her mysterious woman rescuer urged, setting the pouches that lined her uniform, "you must stay close behind me, Miss Kiramman— do you understand?"
The woman wore a similar blue and gold scheme as Caitlyn's own enforcer uniform buried under her civilian garb, but with heavy accents of black that set the woman apart in appearance from a simple peacekeeper.
Caitlyn heedfully nodded her head, doing as she was told and holding her countless questions in her mind until they could reach safety.
The woman was deft and precise, leading Caitlyn along a complex route out of the building as though it had been practiced it a hundred times, holding her still in a few instances in which it seemed as though a guard might otherwise have come upon them. She began to hear the commotion brought on by the discovery of the fallen bodies below, but by that point, they had completed their escape onto the rooftop.
The night's sky above her, Caitlyn's eyes desperately traced across the horizon toward the river; toward Piltover, where she discovered the airships hanging low over the buildings of the undercity.
It was hardly something she thought she'd ever see in her lifetime.
That girl… Jinx; it was her bombing of Piltover square that surely caused all of this, Caitlyn convinced herself in an attempt to comprehend the sight.
Her rescuer turned to her as they approached the outer ledge. Strands of silver hair dangled across her face from under her hood.
"We must cross the gap now, Miss Kiramman," she instructed, unholstering a strange-looking firearm. "Remove your outer shirt, and fold it over itself until your can hold between two hands."
It was a strange order, but Caitlyn did as she was told.
She then watched in startlement as the woman ran up and leapt off the edge without hesitation. She hurried over to the ledge herself, to witness the woman's firearm shoot out a cable in the direction of the next building, which she leveraged to yank herself across the chasm in one swift motion, and land with a skillful roll onto her feet again.
The push of a button on the cable-gun caused its projectile to cut itself from the concrete in which it had embedded itself, before retracting back into the barrel with the whir of a small motor.
The woman turned back to Caitlyn, and wordlessly fired the cable again, such that it formed a tether between the two buildings. She then braced herself against the parapet to pull it taut.
It only took Caitlyn a moment to realize how she was expected to proceed. It sent a chill down to her stomach.
'Just don't look down…' she told herself.
She folded the shirt one more time for good measure, and then another, until it was too thick to tear, or so she hoped.
The clamber off of the edge was somehow far more frightening than the cable-zip itself, she thought as the thick, smoggy air whipped across her face.
The woman caught her on the other side and wrenched her up, and Caitlyn had to catch her breath and calm her gut while the woman retrieved the cable.
"We aren't safe yet, Miss Kiramman," she urged, once she was done.
Caitlyn couldn't hold her questions any longer. "Did… did my mother send you?" she asked.
The woman leant down to look her in the eyes. "It was bold of you attempt to take action against the undercity gangs, Miss Kiramman — it exposes your house to great risk," she said. "However, I believe I understand your motive in doing so; boldness is so rare a trait among the ruling class of Piltover that it is an admirable one, even when misguided. You are clearly a child no longer, Miss Kiramman, so I will speak to you plainly— my name is Camille, and I operate as the Principal Intelligencer of Clan Ferros. Returning you to your family will curry favor from your house in our future dealings; that is the reason I came for you, but I can promise that you will be delivered to them unharmed."
Caitlyn had to cast her mind back to her early political learnings, attempting to line up the name Ferros with any lineage she'd ever been taught about.
The term Intelligencer distracted her, however; she'd never heard of the Piltovan Council issuing such positions…
Camille's black gloved hand took Caitlyn's chin and tilted it upward with little grace. "Are you sound, Miss Kiramman? We must move," she implored.
Caitlyn gave a flat nod, through the woman's grip.
"You should put that shirt back on— we must descent to the streets," she said, and led Caitlyn to a ladder once she'd done so.
She pulled its hood over her face, as tightly as it would go.
~~~~~
~~~~~
~~~~~
Powder…?
This time, Jinx was certain she was dead; her sister had come to visit her in the afterlife.
Her warm, strong arms were wrapped around her so tightly that they almost felt real.
"Powder— talk to me," she sobbed, "are you okay?"
What'd you do to end up here in hell with me, sis'…?
Vi's hands took her by the face this time, pleading into her eyes.
"Powder?"
Well, I don't think you'll find her here…
"Vi…" she found herself repeating back.
Was it real?
The were curled up on the floor of the steel surface, entwined together the way they often found themselves in their childhood, on a cold night at home, or during some uncertain time, when she needed comforting.
When Powder needed comforting; this wasn't Powder's home…
Vi pulled her in again. "I thought I might never see you again…" she whispered across her ear.
She gave it another wayward thought, but before long she was swayed that what she was experiencing might in fact have been reality; in that moment, her tears began to flow too.
"How are you here…?" Jinx managed to whisper back.
"I… I got out, I met your friend, and he… he helped me escape," her sister said, tenderly using a finger to catch her tears, "I never wanted to leave you Pow-Pow, I promise— I'm sorry you were left here all alone, I just… somebody took me… they threw me in that godawful prison — that's where I've been all this time…"
If some deeper, dastardly part of Jinx's brain was only trying to fool her, then this was at least an explanation she hadn't heard before…
"You… met Garou…?" she suddenly wondered aloud.
Before Vi could answer, Isha rushed over and wriggled her way in between them, hopping into Jinx's lap to chastise her for getting herself taken.
Jinx's rueful reaction grew into a grin, when she realized how much she'd missed the little scamp.
"Well I'm sorry, missy, but look what they did to me!" she laughed through some more tears, presenting her new prosthetic finger to her.
She spotted Vi's expression of concern as Isha wondered over the thing.
"Hey, Isha— I know we don't look so alike, but this is my sister," she explained to her, causing her to double-take.
Vi managed to smirk, a little. "I was wondering about her name — she hasn't said a word to me, this whole time…"
"Yeah, that's just her, I guess," she replied. "But it's okay, I think I'm starting to figure out what going on in her little head…"
She give Isha's helmet a little ruffle, as she liked to do.
Vi's somewhat graver expression returned. "Powder… who did that to you?"
Jinx watched with amusement as Isha tested the mechanism on the new finger, seeming more than a little fascinated by it.
"Ah, just some bums…" she muttered, not wishing to linger on the matter.
"Did they do anything else to you…?" Vi demanded.
"No, they— I'm fine, seriously…" she responded, shrugging off the line of inquiry.
She quickly glanced over to search Vi's expression, after noticing she'd gone silent for a moment.
"You've really been taking care of yourself, huh...?" she finally spoke, giving a wistful look. "I'm… I'm really glad you've… at least, been managing down here…"
If she thought hard about it, Jinx knew she'd discover more pent-up things she wanted say to her. So, she tried not to think about it.
"Don't mention it…" she muttered.
Vi turned her face into the fabric of her own shirt for a moment, before giving a quiet sigh.
"This place is kind of exactly how I would have imagined it, you know…" she said after she'd gathered herself.
She was referring to the cave around them, that time; the home that Jinx had made for herself.
"Well…" she replied sadly, "I wanted something to show for myself, if you ever came back…"
Isha suddenly hopped up and scurried back over to the workbench area, seeming to have gained some sort of idea unrelated to the conversation taking place.
The two were silent for a moment, as Vi seemed to have that guilt-ridden look on her face again.
"I…" Jinx began, "I'm not really the same person anymore, you know… I mean, you keep calling me 'Powder' but… that's not really my name anymore…"
Vi leant forward, delicately reaching out a hand. "We… we can talk about all of that, in time— whatever Silco forced you do over all these years, if he made you change your name, or—"
She winced. "He di— no, that's not what happened…"
Isha returned to them with one of Jinx's pink paint markers in hand, shaking it around to loosen the paint inside.
Jinx wiped her face off, attempting to forget that particular topic of conversation.
"Wow— what'd I do to deserve such an honor, huh?" she smiled instead, as Isha removed the lid of the marker and directed her talents toward the shiny, new finger that fascinated her so.
She noticed Vi stand up, and begin to slowly pace toward the centre of the turbine.
Two pink little X's had appeared at the tip of the brass prosthetic, where a fingernail might otherwise have been, but Jinx noticed Isha give a small sniff before anything further could be added.
"You alright, kiddo…?" she asked her, to little response.
Jinx furrowed her brow. "Hey… where's Garou, anyway? Did he come get you, or… did Silco just let you out?"
Isha had fallen into despair, all of a sudden. It made her feel wary.
She felt Vi sit back down next to her.
"Pow-Pow, I'm sorry…" she spoke quietly, "I was with him most of the way— he… he was trying to find you…"
She recoiled from her sister's touch.
"It's where I found Isha…" Vi pressed on. "I found him there too, but, I was just a little too late… I'm sorry…"
Jinx's breathing began to quicken. She allowed her sister to embrace her, and Isha too.
She just… didn't believe them; he wouldn't die like that. He couldn't.
He couldn't…