“Where did you go yesterday?” Caitlyn almost choked on her coffee when she saw the woman sitting at the breakfast table that morning. The rare appearance of her mother at the breakfast table was disconcerting enough. She must really care about the suspension. It was, after all, her second one.
“It was just dinner with friends,” Caitlyn replied, forcing a casual smile. “Jace invited me over. Mel and Viktor were there, too.” She hoped the practiced ease in her voice masked the exhaustion from the previous evening.
“Good. You should spend more time with friends. There’s more to life than just that work you do.” Her mother smiled, apparently satisfied.
Caitlyn’s fingers tightened around her cup. The jab was subtle, but it still stung. She wanted to argue—tell her that her work did matter, that it made her more than just a councilor’s daughter—but the years had taught her that resistance was futile.
Instead, Caitlyn placed her cup down carefully. “In fact, I thought I might stay over at Maddie’s tonight. You know, spend some time together, talk.” She tried to read her mother’s expression without seeming too obvious about it.
Her mother glanced up, a brief flicker of surprise crossing her face before she nodded. “A wonderful idea. That girl is such a delight.”
Caitlyn forced another smile, her chest tightening with a familiar frustration. Even at 23, her mother’s opinion loomed over her like a shadow. Love from her father had always been warm, unconditional. But her mother’s affection came with terms—an endless train of expectations Caitlyn could never quite fulfill. Becoming an enforcer was the first time she went against her mother’ wishes and that was the beginning of the crack that appeared between them and only grew with each argument and each division of the minds.
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Later that day, Caitlyn stood outside Jace’s laboratory. The cool Piltover air prickled her skin, but she hesitated only briefly before unlocking the door with the spare key her family still held. Caitlyn, being a Kiramann, still held a key to it, despite Jace no longer being their protege. He still used their facilities to test his inventions and it was never given much thought that Caitlyn or someone else might have unauthorized access to the laboratory. Well, it had never been an issue before.
The lab smelled of metal and chemicals, a faint hum of energy vibrating in the walls.
Empty. Good.
She moved quickly, searching for something small, unobtrusive, and effective. Her eyes landed on a Hextech pistol prototype—compact, sleek, with a faint glow radiating from its core. Perfect. Sliding it into her holster, she left as silently as she’d entered.
She spent the rest of the day studying city maps and preparing for everything that could go wrong. She took some money from the safe at her home, her parents wouldn’t even notice. She wasn’t planning on actually buying shimmer, but she needed a cover in case someone got suspicious. She carefully prepared her story for the dealers.
A thought crossed her mind that perhaps it would be good to notify someone about her plan, but there really wasn’t anyone she could trust who wouldn’t stop her. And she wouldn’t be stopped. She would get to the bottom of this whole operation.
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She left her house at sunset and found a place to change her clothes out of sight. She fixed her wig, this time with more pins, and applied blue lines to her eyes. It didn’t hurt to blend in better and make herself less recognizable.
The docks at dawn were right at the border of the two cities: the polished skyline of Piltover glowing faintly in the distance, the shadows of Zaun swallowing everything else.
Her steps echoed faintly as she approached the warehouse. The building loomed, its corrugated metal walls covered in vulgar graffiti and rust. As she neared the door and almost jumped when a figure came out of the dark.
A man stepped forward, his hand pressing flat against her to stop her. “What’s your business?”
“I’m here for Jax,” Caitlyn said, her voice steady. “He said he’d have what I need.” she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to talk about it out loud.
The man eyed her, his smile curling with menace. “Ah, welcome, then.”
Caitlyn stepped inside, the door groaning as it closed behind her. The air was thicker inside the warehouse, the acrid tang of chemicals mingling with the stink of piss and rot. Dim, flickering lights illuminated the space, casting shadows that danced like specters on the walls.
A group of figures huddled around a makeshift table in the center, their voices low but tense. As Caitlyn approached, one of them—a wiry man with a scar tracing his jawline—looked up. His sharp eyes flicked over her, and his smirk widened showing his missing front teeth.
“New girl?” one of them sneered, his scarred face twisting with mockery. “Too clean to be one of us. You stink of Piltover.”
Caitlyn swallowed hard, but kept her voice steady. “I came for shimmer. Jax said he’d handle it.”
“Yeah?” the man sneered, rising to his feet. The others fell silent, their gazes fixed on her. “You talk too clean for a Zaunite. You smell like Piltover. Enforcers stink like that too.”
Her stomach twisted. “I’m not an enforcer.” This was a bad sign. How could they know it so fast?
“Prove it,” he said, pulling a small vial of shimmer from his pocket. The liquid inside glowed faintly, a sinister allure. “Let’s see if you’re for real. Go ahead—take a hit.”
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“I’m here to buy, not to play games.”
The scarred man laughed, a cold, hollow sound. “Wrong answer.”
Two of his men lunged, their hands gripping her arms like iron. Caitlyn reacted instantly. She drove her knee into one man’s stomach, wrenching her arm free to deliver a sharp elbow to the second’s jaw. As they staggered back, she drew her Hextech pistol in one fluid motion, the barrel snapping up to point directly at the scarred man’s chest, who laid on the floor after she cut him down in one movement. The vial laid broken on the floor.
“Don’t move!” she commanded, her voice sharp and authoritative.
The group froze, their eyes darting between her and the weapon. The scarred man’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. “Well, look at that. An enforcer after all.”
“Who’s your supplier?” Caitlyn demanded, her stance steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. “Who’s giving you orders?”
“You think we’re scared of you?” a broad woman growled, stepping forward. “You’re outnumbered, sweet cheeks. Put the gun down before you do something stupid.”
Caitlyn ignored her, her aim unwavering. She’d already done something stupid. “I’ll ask again. Who are you working for?”
The room tensed, the air crackling with potential violence. Then, with a roar, the broad woman lunged. Caitlyn fired, the shot going wide as she dodged the woman’s swinging fist. The room erupted into chaos.
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Caitlyn moved like lightning, her training kicking in as she ducked and weaved through the crowd. Her Hextech pistol barked sharply, forcing her attackers to scatter. She dropped low, sweeping one man’s legs out from under him before pivoting to block a knife strike with her forearm. The blade grazed her sleeve, missing her skin by inches.
The scarred man charged, and Caitlyn met him head-on, slamming her shoulder into his chest. He stumbled, and she took advantage of that, delivering a swift kick that sent him sprawling.
But the numbers were against her. A heavyset thug tackled her from behind, driving her to the ground. She rolled with the impact, twisting free and slamming the butt of her pistol into his temple. He crumpled.
For a moment, it seemed like she might win. Her breath came in sharp bursts, her heart pounding as she kept the remaining dealers at bay with precise shots and quick movements.
Then, she felt it.
A sharp, blinding pain exploded at the back of her head. The world lurched, her vision swimming as she staggered forward. Someone had struck her with a pipe. Her pistol clattered to the ground, skittering out of reach.
“Gotcha,” the scarred man snarled, stepping into her faltering line of sight. Blood trickled down the side of her face, warm and sticky, as the floor rushed up to meet her.
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When Caitlyn came to, her wrists were bound, and her head throbbed with a pain that made her stomach churn. The air was cold against her skin, and her wig had been ripped away. It must have been only a few minutes since she lost consciousness.
“She’s awake,” someone muttered, their tone laced with amusement.
The scarred man crouched in front of her, holding a new vial of shimmer between his fingers. The liquid inside swirled hypnotically, its glow casting eerie shadows on his face. “You gave us quite the fight,” he said, his grin sharp and predatory. “But the fun’s just getting started.”
He uncapped the vial, the bitter tang of shimmer filling the air. Caitlyn’s struggles intensified, her voice hoarse as she shouted, “Don’t—!”
But it was no use. A hand grabbed her jaw, forcing her mouth open as the scarred man poured the liquid in. The taste was foul, metallic and acrid, burning as it slid down her throat. She choked, coughing violently, but the drug worked fast.
The room began to spin, colors bleeding together as the shimmer took hold. The voices around her grew distant, distorted.
“Dump her in the streets,” the scarred man ordered. “Let Zaun take care of our little enforcer.”
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They dragged her through the warehouse doors and onto the grimy streets, her feet scraping uselessly against the ground. The cool night air hit her like a slap, but it did little to clear the haze enveloping her mind.
“She’s all yours, Zaun,” one of them jeered before they disappeared into the shadows.
Caitlyn stumbled, her knees giving out as the shimmer worked its way through her system. The world tilted, faces looming above her—leering, mocking. Hands tried to grab at her, but she lashed out instinctively, her punches weak but frantic.
“Look at this one,” someone sneered. “A gift from Silco?”
“What is a thing like you doing in here?” a different voice, full of malice, said.
She threw punches blindly, desperate to get away from these people, and tried to walk. The towers of Piltover stood far in the distance, illuminated by their night lights. If only she could get there. She stumbled, faces gathering above her like dark clouds.
“Hey! Fuckers!” someone shouted.
Caitlyn felt her blood pressure spike as the shimmer took full effect. She lost contact with reality.
“Leave her alone!”
Someone was arguing—or were they fighting? She couldn’t tell. Gunshots echoed, followed by grunts from the people around her. She tried to raise her hands to shield her head, but she had no control over them anymore. They felt distant, like clouds—soft and unresponsive. Without wind, clouds don’t move, and there was no wind here.
“She’s mad, let’s go!” a voice broke through the haze. Who’s mad?
A figure appeared in her vision—a woman. There was something familiar about her. She stood still, watching Caitlyn, who tried to reach for her but couldn’t rise from her knees.
“Help me, I can’t—I can’t…” Caitlyn rasped, struggling to grasp the other woman’s hands. Her movements were jerky, uncoordinated. She couldn’t feel her limbs; everything swirled, and she couldn’t keep steady.
“Fuck, they pumped you full,” the woman muttered, kneeling in front of her. She steadied Caitlyn before she crumpled completely to the ground.
Panic clawed at Caitlyn’s mind, but the drugs dulled its edge. Tears rolled down her face, though she couldn’t articulate exactly what was wrong. The ground beneath her felt jagged, every piece of gravel digging into her skin. Her senses were overloaded, and fear gripped her.
“Shh, it’s fine. I’ve got you,” the woman whispered close to her ear, her voice a steady warmth.
Caitlyn clung to the sound, the strength of the arms holding her around the ribs. She wasn’t fully conscious of what was happening, but her heart was racing—too fast. Panic surged.
A hand pressed against her forehead, damp with her sweat. She was lifted, nausea crashing over her. The world blurred into shapes, sounds, and smells—a chaotic mix of stimuli that overwhelmed her senses.
She was carried somewhere. She didn’t register who was carrying her or where they were going. Instead, she focused on the sweet fragrance of the person holding her, the warmth, the strength. It felt strangely safe.
But she knew she wasn’t supposed to feel safe. There was something else she should have been doing—running, fighting. Yet she couldn’t maintain a single thought; her focus scattered, her vision blurring into pink. It was her favorite color. So pretty.
Once, she saw a woman with pink hair. She was magnificent. How could someone be so stunning? Was she thinking or speaking?
Her world shifted as she was placed down. The sudden change in orientation made her stomach lurch. She emptied its contents, retching uncontrollably.
Someone sighed.
Her vision darkened, and the last words she heard before passing out were:
“It’s fine. You’re safe here for the night.”