Arcane: INSANE (OC X JINX)

Bael stood over the fallen shop owner, his breath shallow, the steam pistol still smoking in his hand.

The man lay motionless, blood spreading across the floor.

Bael didn't even flinch. His eyes were empty, staring at the lifeless body, but his mind was clear. He knew what he had to do.

He moved quickly, his hands shaking as he reached over the counter and grabbed the tools he needed—refined, intricate instruments that could help him with his research. No hesitation. He shoved them into his backpack.

Then his eyes flicked to the register. A quick glance at the shop owner's body—no one would care now—and he opened the drawer, pulling out the gold coins from the register.

With the tools and gold in his pack, Bael turned on his heel, stepping over the man's body without a second thought. The weight of the moment barely registered as he slipped out the door, moving quickly through the alleyways and into the shadows.

He didn't look back.

As Bael slipped through the back door of the shop, the weight of his stolen goods heavy in his backpack, he could feel the shift in the air. The familiar hiss of steam—sharp, cold—cut through the night, sending a shiver down his spine. His instincts flared.

He froze.

A voice, calm but commanding, rang out. "I wouldn't try running, if I were you."

Bael turned slowly, his pulse quickening. Standing just ahead was a woman, her figure tall, unmistakably familiar. The steely gaze in her eyes was cold, calculating.

Caitlyn, the enforcer. He recognized her from the surface—the elegant demeanor, the air of authority—but now, there was no elegance in her expression. It was pure determination.

He heard some tales about this girl, when he was collecting information about the quintessential figures of Piltover; the heir to the clan of Kirammen, a spoiled brat working as an enforcer to try and innovate the sector.

So passionate, so foolish.

"Get down." She says, with authority.

Behind her, reinforcements, dressed in tactical gear, they adjusted their weapons, the steam hissing from their suits.

Bael's heart raced.

Caitlyn stepped forward, her hand resting on the grip of a rifle. "You're a thief, and you're out of your league down here."

Bael tightened his grip on the backpack. His pulse spiked, and his mind raced. He couldn't let them take him now—not after everything he had done. The tools, the money—his research depended on it.

The enforcers closed in.

"Hand over the stolen goods," Caitlyn demanded, her tone unwavering.

But Bael's eyes locked onto the path ahead. He wasn't about to back down.

With a quick, fluid movement, he reached into his vest, readying his steam pistol.

Bael's breath came in ragged bursts as he dashed through the crowded streets of Piltover. His mind raced, calculations firing off in his head—he knew he had to lose them.

The enforcers were relentless, but he was faster, more agile, and they hadn't expected him to run through the bustling market district.

The crowds were dense, people moving in every direction, oblivious to the chase unfolding around them. Bael dodged past them with ease, using the throngs of people as cover, his heart pounding in his chest.

The sound of footsteps behind him grew fainter, but he could still hear the hiss of steam as Caitlyn's team tried to navigate the narrow streets.

"Faster, Bael. Faster!" he muttered under his breath.

He veered sharply into an alley, hoping to throw them off. But a quick glance over his shoulder showed that they were persistent, their boots crashing against the cobblestone streets with a rhythmic determination.

Bael pushed harder, ignoring the burning in his legs. He darted through a side street, narrowly avoiding a collision with a merchant's cart, and leapt over a low gate into a courtyard, where he slid across the stone and scrambled up a ladder.

He heard one of the enforcers shout, "He's getting away!"

But it was too late. Bael reached the rooftop, panting heavily, as he paused to look down at the chaos below.

Bael stood on the rooftop, the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a physical force. The enforcers had closed off every escape route, trapping him in a corner. The alley between Piltover and Zaun was lined with guards, and beyond them lay the oppressive unknown—his capture. If they caught him, everything was over. Powder would never forgive him. Vander would lose faith in him. And worse—those blue crystals, the key to his power, would fall into the hands of people who wouldn't hesitate to exploit them.

His breath quickened. He needed a way out.

In the crowd below, people bustled without realizing the danger looming overhead. They had no idea what was coming. Bael's heart raced as his mind cycled through the inevitable consequence of his actions.

"A lot of people are gonna die... because of me... because of my selfishness... I... I prefer... I–I prefer to... FUCK!" He shouts, frustrated.

He couldn't afford to be captured, not now, not when he was so close to the answers he needed. He clenched his teeth, his pulse hammering in his ears.

Bael threw the crystal with a swift motion, watching it arc through the air. Time slowed as it fell toward the street below.

And then, It hit the ground below him.

The impact was deafening, the explosion was spontaneous, immediate.

A massive explosion shattered the street, a wave of blinding light and force ripping through the air. The shockwave rattled the buildings, and people screamed as the debris rained down around them. For a brief moment, the world was consumed by chaos.

Bael's stomach churned as he watched the destruction unfold. The screams of the innocent echoed in his mind, and for a split second, his resolve faltered. How many lives had he just taken? How many people had he condemned to die just to save his own skin?

But there was no turning back now.

The enforcers were rushing toward the source of the explosion, their attention diverted from him. Bael knew this was his chance.

He moved, faster than he had ever moved in his life, leaping across rooftops, his heart thumping wildly. He didn't dare look back. Not this time. He couldn't bear to see what he had done.

But as he ran, the question lingered in his mind, gnawing at him: How many more lives would be destroyed in the name of survival?

...

Bael moved through the winding, grimy streets of Zaun, his heart heavy yet resolute. Everywhere he looked, suffering surrounded him—orphans huddled in dark corners, their hollow eyes staring into nothingness; people beaten and broken by a system that didn't care; addicts slumped in alleys, chasing fleeting moments of escape.

He thought back to Piltover. There was no rot there, no desperation. Clean streets, bright lights, and people with full bellies. A city built on the backs of Zaun's suffering. His fists clenched as the rage boiled inside him. They dared to neglect Zaun, to treat it like it doesn't exist.

Back in his lair, Bael poured his frustration and determination into his work. The device was coming together piece by piece, a creation meant to unlock the full potential of the crystals' energy. His hands moved with precision, every twist of a screw and soldered wire a step closer to something revolutionary.

Then, a faint noise.

Bael's instincts kicked in, and in an instant, he spun around, steam pistol in hand, ready to fire.

"Whoa! It's just me!" Powder's voice trembled as she stepped into the dim room.

Bael quickly hid the pistol behind him, his heart pounding. "Powder... I—sorry. You startled me."

She frowned, tilting her head. "What are you doing in here all alone?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," he said, forcing a smile. But inside, guilt gnawed at him.

Powder sat on a stool near Bael's workstation, swinging her legs and watching him as he fiddled with wires. "Did you hear about the explosion in the upper city? People are saying it was someone from Zaun who did it!"

Bael froze for a moment, his hands tightening around the small wrench he was holding. "No, I didn't hear about that," he said, keeping his tone steady. "Why would someone from here do that? Sounds like a Piltover problem."

Powder frowned but shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Still, it's scary to think about. Where were you this morning anyway?"

Bael didn't look up. "I went shopping. Needed some new tools to make my work easier."

Powder's face lit up with trust. "Oh! That's good. You're always working so hard." She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a tin wrapped in cloth. "I brought you your portion of lunch! Mylo tried to steal it, but I made sure to protect it for you."

Bael smiled softly, taking the tin from her. "Thanks, Powder. You're the best."

She grinned, proud of herself, and leaned in to watch him work. "So, what are you making now?"

"Just... a new gadget," he said vaguely, changing the subject quickly. "You should eat too, though. Don't let Mylo get your share."

Powder laughed. "Don't worry. I already ate. You should too!"

Bael nodded, but as she turned her gaze elsewhere, his thoughts darkened. She trusts me so much… I can't ever let her find out.