Arcane: INSANE (OC X JINX)

In the night, the Last Drop was quieter, the usual chaos of Zaun muffled by the late hour. The gang lounged around the dimly lit room, their bellies full and spirits high. Powder sat cross-legged on the floor, tinkering with a small contraption, her face glowing with quiet joy.

Bael leaned against a corner, absentmindedly sketching something on a scrap of paper.

Vi stretched her arms, yawning. "Alright, I'm calling it. Long day, you brats better get some sleep. We've got another tomorrow."

Mylo groaned, sprawling out on a bench. "Ugh, can't we have one day where we don't think about tomorrow?"

"Not in Zaun," Claggor said with a shrug, leaning back on his chair.

Vander, standing at the bar, gave them a knowing smile. "Rest up, kids. You've earned it tonight. Tomorrow... well, we'll deal with it when it comes."

One by one, the gang began to settle down. Powder, still focused on her gadget, hesitated when she saw Bael packing up his sketches. She got up and shuffled over, her voice quiet.

"Bael, you going back to your place?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "I've got some things to work on."

She tugged lightly at his sleeve, her eyes wide. "Stay here tonight. Please?"

Bael blinked, then smiled faintly. "Alright, just for tonight."

The night embraced them in its quiet, the warmth of their makeshift family holding back the darkness of their world.

Morning.

In the morning, the Last Drop was quiet, the gang still lost in the heaviness of sleep. Powder stirred first, rubbing her eyes and stretching as she looked around the room. She spotted Bael slumped over at the table, his head resting on a pile of crumpled blueprints and sketches.

She got up quietly, shuffling toward the bar where a few leftover cans of food sat. Gathering what she could, she arranged a simple breakfast on the table.

Bael groaned softly, lifting his head. His hair was a mess, and the faint imprint of a gear sketch was pressed into his cheek. He blinked at the sight of Powder setting up breakfast and managed a faint smile.

"Morning," she said cheerfully, placing a dented can in front of him.

"Morning," he replied, his voice raspy from sleep. He glanced at the food and chuckled softly. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," Powder said, sitting across from him. She took a bite of her own food, grinning. "Besides, you looked like you needed it. You were drooling all over your papers."

Bael shook his head, laughing lightly. "Thanks. Though... I wish I could get you something better than this."

Powder waved him off. "It's fine. Really. You're the best, Bael."

"...I'm gonna go out today." He says.

Bael planned on going to Piltover incognito to see if he could find something that'd help him in his research. After all, Zaun was pretty limited in that kind of stuff.

"Where you going?" Powder asked, her mouth half-full as she glanced up at Bael.

"Just running errands," he replied casually, grabbing his jacket. "Need to pick up some spare parts for my gadgets."

Powder raised an eyebrow. "Spare parts? You sure you're not sneaking off to do something cool without me?"

Bael chuckled, ruffling her hair as he walked past. "Not this time. Just boring stuff. You'd hate it."

She pouted, crossing her arms. "Still sounds more fun than sitting around here."

"Trust me, it's not," he said, flashing a reassuring smile. "I'll be back before you even notice I'm gone."

Powder sighed dramatically, plopping back into her seat. "Fine. But bring me something! Anything cool, okay?"

"Alright, alright," Bael said with a wave, stepping out into the smog-filled streets of Zaun.

As the door closed behind him, his smile faded. He had no intention of picking up spare parts. Piltover held the secrets he needed—tools and knowledge that could unlock the full potential of those crystals.

He tightened his jacket, blending into the crowd as he made his way toward the bridges leading to the city above.

After.

On Piltover's streets, Bael moved with purpose, dressed in a sharp formal vest he had painstakingly tailored himself. It was Zaun-made, but the material and stitching mimicked the refined style of Piltover's citizens. He hoped it would eliminate the segregation factor.

This wasn't the first time Bael had ventured to Piltover, but it was one of the rare times he'd done it alone.

He weaved through the bustling streets, careful to avoid eye contact with patrolling Enforcers. Piltover's beauty was always unsettling—its clean cobblestone paths, polished brass railings, and crystalline windows felt like a mockery of Zaun's rust and grime.

Bael wasn't here to admire the scenery. His target was a small workshop he'd scoped out on his last trip, owned by an unassuming inventor who specialized in prototype components. With enough silver, he could walk away with parts that Zaun couldn't even dream of.

Adjusting his vest, Bael pushed open the door to the shop, his heart steady. This was risky, but progress always came at a cost.

However, during his trip, one particular individual noticed his presence. A sharp pair of eyes caught the sight of his vest, his movements, and the faint hint of Zaun's air about him...

"Morning," Bael said as he stepped into the shop, the faint chime of the doorbell announcing his arrival.

"Morning, sir," the shop owner replied, barely glancing up from the counter.

Bael's eyes scanned the shelves, lined with precision tools and high-grade components. This was the kind of place Piltover thrived on—innovation born from privilege. If Bael wanted to harness the power of the blue crystals, he needed refined equipment to avoid catastrophic mistakes.

Reaching into his pocket, he felt the small pouch of coins he'd brought with him. It wasn't much, just what Vander had shared after the sale of the loot.

"Anything specific you're looking for?" the shop owner asked, now giving him a once-over.

Bael nodded, pulling out a small sketch from his pocket. "I need tools for precision crafting and high-temperature containment."

The shop owner raised an eyebrow but said nothing, turning toward the back to retrieve what he had.

Meanwhile, outside, the figure following Bael lingered by the window, carefully observing him. Something about him tugged at her memory, though she couldn't quite place it. For now, she simply watched, waiting for him to make his next move.

When the tools were presented before him, Bael's eyes lit up briefly—these were exactly what he needed. But his enthusiasm quickly faded as his gaze fell on the price tag: 12 golds.

Bael fumbled in his pockets, his fingers brushing against the cold coins he carried. He laid them out on the counter—3 golds and a handful of silvers. "This is all I've got," he said, his voice steady but low.

The shop owner's expression shifted from neutral to irritated. "You think I run a charity here? These tools cost a fortune. You're wasting my time," he said sharply, swiping the tools back into his hands.

"Wait," Bael tried, desperation creeping into his tone. "Can I buy what I can with this? Just a few essentials—"

"Not for sale anymore," the shop owner snapped, crossing his arms. "Come back when you've got real money."

Humiliated, Bael turned toward the door. Outside, the figure observing him shifted slightly, sighing as she prepared to leave. He wasn't worth her time—just another poor Zaunite out of his depth.

But as Bael reached for the door, dark thoughts began to swirl in his mind. He stopped, frozen in place. His fists clenched, and his heart pounded with a simmering rage.

Was this how it was going to be? Groveling for scraps in a world where no one cared? He felt the weight of his failure pressing down on him. No. He wasn't going to walk away like this.

Bael turned back around, his eyes cold and sharp, his gaze boring into the shop owner. The air in the room seemed to shift as Bael took a slow step forward. "You're wrong if you think I'm leaving empty-handed," he said, his voice low and cutting.

Feeling his pride hit, the shopowner leave the counter and walks to Bael and faces him face to face, "And what's do you think you're gonna do about it, young man?" He threatened, his air imposing and intimidating.

Bael's eyes burned, his grip tightening on the pistol. Every failure, every humiliation, every damn time the world spat on him and his people, it all came rushing back.

"I trusted you," Bael muttered, more to himself than to the man before him. "I thought maybe... maybe someone would treat me as an equal for once. But no. You're just like all the others."

"Look, I'll make it right," the shop owner said quickly, panic creeping into his voice. "That gadget of yours-it's brilliant! I'll trade you all the tools you want, maybe even more! Just-just don't do this."

Bael's heart thundered in his chest, his mind screaming at him to stop. But that crack inside him deepened, and a part of him snapped.

"I don't want the tools anymore," Bael said coldly, his voice hollow. He steadied the pistol, locking eyes with the man. "I want you dead."

The shop owner's face twisted in fear, but before he could speak, Bael pulled the trigger.

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