Zaun - Raul Menendez's Hideout

Few days later,

Inside the darkened hideout in Zaun echoed with the faint hum of machinery and the occasional hiss of steam pipes. Raul Menendez stood by a rickety table, carefully sorting through his belongings. His hands moved with precision, packing weapons, maps, and other essentials into a battered duffle bag. The tension in the air was thick, like the fumes from the Shimmer-fueled factories outside.

Leaning casually against a wall, Mercer watched him, his sharp gaze flicking between Menendez and the surrounding room. His pale complexion was marred by the faint sheen of sweat, and his breathing was labored, but he still managed his usual smirk.

"Well," Mercer began, breaking the silence, "seems like Jinx decided to play hero and brought her little merry band from Zaun to save Piltover from that madness Ambessa, Atriox and Viktor stirred up. Typical, really. So much for that big war everyone was bracing for between Zaun and Piltover."

He chuckled, though it quickly devolved into a violent coughing fit. His body shook as he hacked into his hand, finally spitting blood onto his palm. He stared at it for a moment before wiping it on his black jacket with a grimace.

Menendez didn't pause his work, though his sharp eyes flicked briefly toward Mercer. "And it seems your time's almost up," he remarked coldly, his voice low and calculating. "That's what happens when you rely on Shimmer. It eats you alive from the inside."

Mercer's lips curled into a snarl as he steadied himself. "Yeah, well, you might be right," he admitted grudgingly, his tone tinged with annoyance. "But there's a corporation—Obsidian—rumor has it they're working on cures for... particular sicknesses. You know, for people like me."

He coughed again, this time softer, before pushing off the wall and taking a step toward Menendez. "And since this whole charade is coming to an end—what with Sevika switching sides and Jinx playing savior—I think it's time the both of us moved on."

Menendez paused, standing upright and rolling his shoulders back. He turned his head slowly toward Mercer, his eyes hard and unyielding. "I'm not moving on," he said, his voice steely and resolute. "Not until Piltover falls. Not until they pay for what they've done to my sister." His voice darkened as he added, "For what Woods has done to her."

Mercer raised an eyebrow, then shook his head with a soft laugh. "Still on that revenge plot, huh?" he said, his tone dripping with mockery. "You just can't let it go."

He chuckled again, though the sound was weaker this time, and walked toward the door. As he reached it, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "As for me? I think I'll focus on not dying for a while. Maybe take a long, hard look at my life choices." He flashed a crooked smirk. "It's been fun while it lasted, Menendez."

And with that, he stepped out into the shadowy streets of Zaun, the door creaking shut behind him.

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Menendez stood in the silence that followed, staring at the closed door for a moment before turning back to his work. His hands moved with the same deliberate precision, though his mind burned with thoughts of vengeance.

Raul Menendez continued packing his things, the rhythm of his movements unbroken until a sudden crackle of electricity filled the room. The sound reverberated off the walls, sending a brief shiver down his spine. He froze, his fingers brushing against the edge of a folded map, before he turned slowly, his face unreadable.

Behind him, a figure emerged, cloaked in crackling blue and yellow electricity. Sparks danced across the room, briefly illuminating the cold determination etched on Menendez's face. The figure stepped forward, its voice distorted but clear as it spoke slowly, deliberately:

"Raul Menendez."

Menendez's gaze remained steady, his expression unflinching as the figure continued. "It seems things didn't go too well. With Ambessa dead, and Atriox... retreated like the coward he is."

Menendez gave a faint snort of derision, straightening his posture. "Weakness," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "I expected no less. He folds at the first sign of resistance, just like all of them."

The figure tilted its head, electricity crackling louder around it as it responded. "Even so, the offer still stands." Its voice carried an edge, a promise of opportunity. "We can still work together, Menendez. You want your revenge, and I... I want influence. We can both get what we desire. Together, we're unstoppable."

Menendez studied the figure in silence, his dark eyes narrowing. For a moment, the hum of electricity and the distant clatter of Zaun's undercity filled the void between them. Finally, Menendez stepped closer, his movements deliberate. "You think I need you?" he asked, his voice low and menacing. "I've built this war. This chaos. Piltover will fall by my hand."

The figure did not flinch, its tone calm and calculating. "And yet, here you are. Packing your things. Preparing to run." It paused, letting the words hang in the air like a challenge. "Perhaps you don't need me. But imagine what you could accomplish if you had my power by your side. Your vengeance would be swift. Absolute."

Menendez's jaw clenched as he stared into the glowing haze of electricity surrounding the figure. His mind raced, calculating the risks and rewards. His pride battled with practicality, the bitterness of old wounds threatening to cloud his judgment. But the promise of vengeance—true, complete vengeance—burned too brightly to ignore.

Very well," Menendez said finally, his voice a sharp blade cutting through the air. "If you're worth my time, we'll see if your offer holds any weight. But in the meantime, I have matters to attend to."

The figure chuckled, a sound that crackled like the electricity surrounding it. "If that's what you want, Menendez. The offer still stands."

The figure gave a faint, knowing chuckle, the electricity surrounding it intensifying briefly before dimming. Sparks leaped across the room, their energy snapping audibly as they died out. Without another word, the figure dissolved into the static, disappearing in a flash of light that left Menendez squinting against the sudden brightness.

When the room returned to its dim, grimy ambiance, Menendez was alone once more. He exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening on the edge of the table as his mind churned. His eyes drifted toward the door Mercer had left through moments earlier, then back to the now-empty space where the electrified figure had stood.

"Always another player," Menendez muttered under his breath, his tone a mix of annoyance and calculation. He turned back to his duffle bag, his hands resuming their methodical packing, though his thoughts lingered on the offer.

Another pawn? Or perhaps a new ally? The distinction hardly mattered—what mattered was the goal.

Piltover would fall, one way or another. And now, Menendez had more tools to ensure it.