The air of Zaun felt different after leaving Singed's laboratory. Inside the cave, the atmosphere was sterile, reeking of pure chemicals and the cold asepsis of science. Outside, the air was a thick cocktail of smoke, oily steam from the pipes, and the unmistakable scent of crowds and fried food.
Kaen Vexis walked through Zaun's arteries with the confidence of an owner. He was heading back to Jinx's workshop. The strange diagnostic session with Singed had left him with more questions than answers, but also with a tangible grasp of the incredible biological specimen he now inhabited. The thought was fascinating, and, more importantly, it provided him with endless possibilities for future dramatic performances.
He hummed a discordant tune as he walked. People stepped aside, their stares a mixture of curiosity and distrust, recognizing him as the guy who had put on an outrageous concert with his dreadful bass in Zaun. He paid them no mind. He was absorbed, considering the implications of his new physiology. Could he, for example, develop gills if he submerged himself in the Sumps' waters? The idea was absurd enough to amuse him for several minutes.
It was this distraction that caused the incident. While his mind debated the advantages of aquatic breathing, he stretched out a leg to avoid a puddle of greenish liquid—directly into the path of a man hurrying past. His extended foot collided with the man's cane, moving with silent determination.
There was an ankle hook, a choked cry of surprise, and the sharp, dry sound of wood and metal hitting the ground. The thin man, already unsteady from his own frailty, stumbled, losing what little support he had, and collapsed with a dull thud. A wooden cane rolled across the walkway with a clatter, and a bundle of papers he'd carried under his arm scattered over the floor.
Kaen stopped and turned, blinking. He looked at the man on the ground, then at his own foot. "Oh dear," he said, his monotone voice devoid of any panic. "The floor here is terribly uneven. A lawsuit waiting to happen."
The man on the ground growled—not so much in pain as in pure, absolute frustration. He moved to get up, his movements slow and labored. Kaen approached to help.
"Allow me, citizen," Kaen said, crouching.
That was when he got a good look. The man was pale, almost sickly, with an angular face and sunken cheeks that spoke of sleepless nights and failing health. His eyes, set deep in their sockets, were a dark amber, almost golden, glowing with a feverish determination that contradicted the fragility of his body. His dark brown hair was combed back, though loose strands fell over his forehead.
He wore a sleeveless grayish jacket with golden accents over a striped brown dress shirt and a red tie, the sleeves rolled nearly to the elbows. The clothes, though functional, carried a Piltovian elegance, completely out of place amid Zaun's grime.
"Zaun's floor has a particular magnetism," Kaen said, his monotone breaking the silence. "It attracts thinkers."
Kaen offered him a hand. The man ignored it, leaning against a nearby wall to try to stand on his own. His right leg clearly could not support his weight.
"I'm fine," the man said, his voice a hoarse whisper but sharp. He leaned heavily against the wall, his attention immediately shifting to the scattered papers.
Kaen watched him for a moment. He picked up the cane near his foot—a polished wooden piece with a brass handle. He noticed how the man used it, not as an accessory, but as a necessity. Then, with a speed the eye could barely follow, Kaen swept the ground, gathering the scattered papers in an instant. He stacked them neatly. They were covered in complex equations and diagrams of what seemed like runes and organic circuits.
"Your device for ambulation support," Kaen said, handing him the cane and papers, "and the sheet music for a very complicated song."
The man took them, his hand trembling slightly. His amber gaze settled on Kaen for the first time, assessing him. He saw the strange clothes, the expressionless face, the violet eyes.
"Thank you," he said, gratitude forced by courtesy, his tone curt, eager to be on his way.
"Don't mention it," Kaen replied. "As an artist, I feel obliged to help the less fortunate. It's good for karma. And karma is good for inspiration."
Viktor ignored him. Using the cane to rise, he ensured the papers were secure under his arm and prepared to continue, limping visibly, each step an act of sheer will.
"Wait," Kaen said.
Viktor stopped and glanced at him sideways.
"You," Kaen said in his monotone. "You're on your way to see Singed, aren't you?"
Viktor's body stiffened. He turned slowly, his face now a mask of caution. "How do you know?"
"Few Piltovians venture this deep into Zaun, and fewer still with that air of scientific desperation," Kaen explained. "There's only one man down here who attracts dying geniuses." He shrugged. "Just an observation. Have a good day with your… sheet music."
Without another word, Kaen turned and continued on his way. Viktor watched him leave, a strange, contradictory figure. His stride was light, almost effortless, in stark contrast to Viktor's own labored pace. For a moment, a question crossed Viktor's mind, but he dismissed it. He had no time for mysteries. His purpose was far more urgent. He turned and resumed his slow, painful journey toward Singed's cave.
Kaen, for his part, had already forgotten the encounter.
He continued on his path, humming a discordant melody again as his mind fixed on returning to Jinx. The image of her, radiant in triumph after stabilizing the gem, was a pleasant counterpoint to the sterile and dangerous atmosphere of Singed's lab. The turbine workshop, with its chaos of scrap and graffiti, felt more like home than anywhere else in this new world.
------
Kaen Vexis walked through the throbbing heart of Zaun, having left behind the encounter with the dying scientist and his own strange story. He passed through an improvised square where merchants sold shiny scrap and roasted rats on sticks—but something caught his attention.
High above Zaun's tangled structures, a thick column of bright blue smoke rose toward the sky. A vibrant blue. A Jinx blue.
Kaen froze, tilting his head. His violet eyes narrowed.
"Mmm," he murmured, his monotone voice at odds with the scene. "Must be a sign." His mind raced, ignoring the obvious possibility of a distress signal. "A concert. Of course! My number one fan is hosting a surprise event. And she didn't tell me. How inconsiderate."
A pang of regret struck him. "I left 'The Beast of Noise' in the workshop. A tactically disastrous decision. How can I take the stage without my main instrument?" He considered for a second. The blue smoke was already beginning to dissipate into the stale air. "No time. A true artist can perform a cappella if necessary. Improvisation is key."
The decision was made. With the target in sight, Kaen's body changed. The casual laziness vanished. Shimmer buzzed beneath his skin.
He launched forward.
He moved through Zaun like a projectile. He ran along a wall, his feet finding purchase on pipes and ledges that seemed impossible. He leapt a gap between two buildings with gravity-defying grace. Landed on a rusted rooftop, rolled, and kept running.
The few Zaunites who saw him only glimpsed a streak of white and violet.
He was close. The building was one of the old industrial structures, a tower of metal and brick rising above the rest. Only one last obstacle remained: a long, precarious spiral staircase coiling like a serpent up the building's side.
He began climbing two steps at a time, his movements light and silent. Halfway up, he heard someone gasping for breath.
On the stair above, a figure leaned against the railing, struggling to recover. No longer in uniform, she wore tight Zaunite clothing: a dark brown jacket with a hood hiding long, dark-blue hair tied back in a messy ponytail.
It was Caitlyn. She was exhausted. Keeping pace with Vi through Zaun had drained her, and Vi's sudden sprint toward the smoke signal had left her far behind.
Kaen climbed the last steps and stopped a few meters from her. His presence hit like an electric jolt. Caitlyn straightened immediately, fatigue replaced by adrenaline. She turned, hands empty but instinctively taking a combat stance.
They stood there for a moment, a tense standoff on a rusty staircase hundreds of meters above Zaun's ground. Caitlyn's sharp blue eyes met Kaen's detached violet ones.
Recognition struck Caitlyn like a slap. The silver-white hair. The expressionless face. The Piltovian clothes. The memory of the paint-smeared guards, the horrible noise, the plush Poro. Everything clicked into place with furious clarity.
"YOU!" she shouted, her voice a mix of rage and triumph. She pointed an accusing finger—her only weapon at the moment. "The musician!"
Kaen, instead of raising his hands or showing fear, mirrored her gesture. He pointed back at Caitlyn with his index finger, imitating her stance, his face as impassive as stone.
"YOU," he echoed, his monotone stripping the word of all emotion and turning it into absurd mockery.
Then he lowered his hand and tilted his head, genuine confusion flickering across his features.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice returning to its normal flat tone.
Caitlyn's jaw dropped. The fury in her eyes burned hotter, a blue inferno. He didn't remember her? After all the chaos he had caused? The sheer audacity. The insolence. For a moment, it looked like she was about to leap at him and bite him.
"Who am I!?" she hissed, stepping forward. "I am Cadet Kiramman! The woman whose squad you left injured and unconscious! The one who's been hunting you ever since you decided to turn Progress Day into your own pathetic circus!"
"Ah, the cop girl," Kaen said, as if recalling a trivial detail. "Yes, now I remember. You have a very intense look. Have you considered modeling? You've got good bone structure."
"Stop playing games!" Caitlyn growled. "You're under arrest. For conspiracy, assaulting Enforcers, disturbing the peace! Where's your accomplice?"
"Technically, I didn't assault anyone," he interrupted. "The injuries were caused by my artistic collaborator's grenades. I merely provided the soundtrack. At best, I'm the accomplice. A muse, if we're being poetic."
"You're coming with me!"
"I'm afraid I can't. I have an invitation to a concert," Kaen said, nodding toward the tower's top. "And I'm late. If you like, I can put you on the guest list for the next one, but this one's rather exclusive."
They were about to continue their absurd verbal duel when gunfire cracked above them. Not the sharp sound of a pistol, but the heavier roar of a minigun.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
Both looked up instinctively. In the dark sky above the tower, they saw a series of bright green lights moving at incredible speed. Figures on hoverboards, swarming around the rooftop like furious hornets.
Caitlyn's combat stance faltered, urgency outweighing her fury at Kaen. "The Firelights?"
Kaen looked at the green lights, then at the fading blue smoke.
"Seems," he said, monotone and already moving toward the tower's top, "my number one fan is in trouble."