///Six months later after Orion returned from Factorywood///
Inside the dimly lit Last Drop, Vander and Benzo, Vander's long-time friend, shared a drink in an otherwise empty bar.
"He's taken a liking to the young lad," Benzo shrugged, his pint of ale sloshing as a faint smile tugged at his lips. "The clockwork book from Powder — it came from their Old Hungry adventure."
Benzo chuckled deeply, taking a swig. "I guess stupid sometimes does pay off, aye?"
"Ugh," Vander shook his head, gaze cast down at his drink. "I thought that boy would keep them out of trouble… it hasn't helped in the slightest."
"They're kids," Benzo replied gently. His tone carried compassion, his gaze steady. "You can't stop them from getting into trouble. But you made the right call, placing Orion with them. From what I hear, he's bailed them out of a fair few sticky situations."
Taking a drink of his own, Vander sighed. "Aye, that he has." Pausing, he hesitated, weighing his words. "Something's off… with the boy. He's getting help elsewhere — outside of topside."
Creak-Creak.
The sound of the bar doors opening cut their talk short. Vander and Benzo turned, freezing in disbelief. Vander's mug slipped from his hand, crashing against the counter, ale spilling wide. Benzo slowly rose from his seat, eyes narrowing.
"Sil—" Vander started, but Benzo's deep growl cut him off.
"Silco! What are you doing here?!" Benzo bellowed, his grip on the pint tightening, ready to hurl it.
"Mm…" Silco's presence cast a long shadow across the bar, the crimson glow of his ruined eye shifting between them.
"Can't I visit?" Silco's low voice resonated, hands wide in a mock gesture, though his gaze betrayed the mockery. "We were once comrades in arms, after all."
Glass shattered beside his head as Benzo hurled his pint. Silco didn't flinch. His expression stayed cold, unfazed.
"Still have your temper, I see," Silco remarked with disdain.
"I should gut yo—" Benzo snarled, stepping forward, ready to charge.
"Benzo."
He froze. A firm hand clamped his shoulder — Vander, stepping out from behind the bar.
"Why are you here?" Vander rumbled, eyes locked on Silco. For the briefest moment, something flickered across Vander's face — softness, regret — but it vanished, replaced by hardened resolve.
Silco smirked, reaching into his suit. Benzo tensed. Vander braced. But Silco only pulled out a crumpled letter, pinched between two fingers.
"Your pup told me the truth," Silco said smoothly. "Vander went searching for me. His parents followed. They never came back."
Vander stiffened, his jaw tightening, but he didn't deny it. Benzo's eyes snapped toward him, wide with shock and fury.
Silco's crimson gaze gleamed. "Orion saw it, even if you tried to bury it — your regret, your weakness, your betrayal."
"The past is between us," Vander growled, voice thick with remorse but firm. "Why drag the boy into this?"
Silco's smirk widened. "Orion is interesting. Working topside, playing guardian to your little orphans… and yet lending me his talents for Zaun."
Vander's expression darkened. "He's not yours, Silco."
A mocking laugh rolled out, sharp and loud. "Oh, I don't own him. No one does. Orion learned what you never did — pragmatism over idealism. The boy survives because he plays all sides. And survival, Vander…" Silco leaned in slightly, his crimson eye gleaming. "…is far more admirable than your hollow ideals."
Benzo spat beside him, barely restraining himself. "He's just fighting for his life! You're twisting the boy's choices into your sick vision."
"What's wrong with survival?" Silco snapped. "He sees Zaun for what it could be. Dancing with topsiders, babysitting your pups — he's already living in the cracks you pretend don't exist."
Vander growled. "You're just using him."
"I'm giving him the tools to survive." Silco's voice was cool, deliberate. "Orion knows better than to trust anyone. Not me, not topside…" he paused, letting the weight hang. "…and certainly not you."
Vander flinched but steadied himself. His voice dropped. "I've never forgiven myself for what I did to you. You were like a brother. When Felicia died, I lost my head."
Silco's expression twisted with rage at her name.
"But your path," Vander continued, standing taller, "it's not the way. Was her death not enough? Are you willing to sacrifice half the Undercity for this dream of yours?"
Crunch.
"It was a dream we all shared!" Silco roared, crumpling the letter in his fist. "Your weakness spat in the faces of everyone who died — including Felicia!"
Their faces were inches apart now, both radiating fury.
"You act like I didn't care for her!" Silco spat, voice hoarse with emotion. "And now you sit here, lapdog to her killers. Letting Orion run topside — what would Vi and Powder think if they knew?"
Vander steadied himself, refusing to bite. He looked down at the crumpled letter. His voice was calm, but hard.
"I'm doing what I must to keep Zaun safe. I want a future for Vi, for Powder, for Orion — where they don't need weapons to survive. If that means working with Greyson, then so be it."
He shoved the letter back against Silco's chest. "Felicia wouldn't have wanted this. She wouldn't have wanted you tearing everything apart and calling it progress."
Silco's face darkened. He clenched the letter, trembling with rage, before sighing. His voice came low and cold.
"You were always good at pretending to be the better man. But when your hollow ideals come crashing down, I'll be there to pick up the pieces. Just like always."
At the door, he paused. Without looking back, his final words cut sharp: "And as for Orion? He'll see you for what you are. And when he does, he'll leave you — just like I did."
"We'll see," Vander replied, voice resolute.
Silco slipped out into the shadows, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.
Benzo broke it first, his voice low but urgent. "What are we going to do?"
Vander's fists were clenched, his gaze downcast in thought. Finally, he exhaled, grim determination etched across his face.
"We need to talk with Orion. Set things straight."