Arcane: I have Plasmids F*** YEAAAAAAH!!!

Alright.

Time to hunt down that little kid.

...Okay, that sounded way too creepy.

"Holy shit, I'm never saying that again."

---

Lukas shook his head, clearing that cursed sentence from his brain.

But yeah. Point still stands.

He needed to find Ekko.

The boy genius. The future revolutionary. The boy who shattered Time.

A living legend in the making.

And also—

"A COMPLETE PAIN IN MY ASS. WHERE THE FUCK IS THIS KID?!"

---

It had been two hours.

Two. Fucking. Hours.

Lukas had run all over the Lanes.

Checked the markets. Nothing.

Checked the junkyards. Nothing.

Hell, he even went to the Last Drop just in case.

Vi and the gang? Nowhere to be found.

But at least Vander gave him some leftovers.

Small win.

Lukas groaned, dragging a hand through his hair.

"Think Lukas. Think."

Ekko wasn't the type to just sit around.

He was always doing something.

Tinkering. Messing with gadgets. Building whatever mad scientist bullshit he was cooking up.

And then—

The answer hit him like a truck.

"Oh my God. I'm an idiot."

Of course Ekko wasn't just wandering around the Lanes.

They had a hideout in the séries.

The Arcade.

Lukas sighed deeply.

"One more hour of my life wasted."

He turned on his heel and headed straight for the abandoned arcade.

But then—

It happened.

A deep, primal shift within his soul.

A sensation that sent a cold chill down his spine.

The kind of internal warning that only meant one thing.

---

Lukas froze mid-step.

"Oh, no. Oh, fuck. Oh, no."

His stomach churned.

A deep, sickening growl rumbled from his gut.

His entire body tensed.

His breath hitched.

This was bad.

"Oh my Janna... I need to shit."

---

Panic set in.

His mind raced.

Where was the nearest toilet?

Wait.

This was the Undercity.

There were no toilets.

Only pain and suffering.

---

"Oh, fuck no. Not here. Not now."

His legs started moving on their own.

Not towards Ekko.

Not towards his business deal.

But towards his 'Home'.

"Gotta get home, I gotta get home, I gotta get home—"

He picked up the pace.

His breathing quickened.

His stomach betrayed him again.

His soul left his body.

He was not going to make it.

And then—

He turned a corner.

And ran straight into the gooner squad.

---

Lukas stopped dead.

His entire body went rigid.

The goons stared at him.

The leader—a scrawny, ugly blond kid—tilted his head.

"Never seen you around here before."

Lukas, fighting for his life, could only think one thing.

"Oh, for FUCK'S SAKE."

---

Lukas was dying.

Not figuratively.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

His stomach was seconds away from committing war crimes.

The only thing standing between him and total, irreversible humiliation?

Four dumbasses.

Deckard, Singed's future Lab-rat, stood there grinning.

His three goons stood behind him, looking equally brain-dead.

Lukas's entire body was clenched.

Not in fear.

Not in anger.

But in pure, undiluted gastrointestinal agony.

Deckard took a step closer.

"Hey Dumbass, I was talking to you."

Lukas's eye twitched.

His stomach spasmed.

His soul left his body for the third time today.

Oh my God.

He was going to shit himself in 4K Ultra HD.

In front of this dipshit.

In front of witnesses.

In front of God and the entire spirit realm.

This was it.

This was how he died.

But no.

Not today.

Lukas refused to go out like this.

If he was gonna die—

He was gonna die with STYLE. In Glorious Battle.

Or

Death by Snu-Snu...

Death by Snu-Snu preferably...

---

Deckard smirked.

"You deaf, kid? This is our turf."

Lukas exhaled through his nose.

"Not deaf. Just passing through."

Deckard crossed his arms.

"Not without paying you're not."

Lukas resisted the urge to slam his head against a wall.

"Bro, I don't have time for this."

Deckard ignored him, eyes trailing down to the telegraph in Lukas's hands.

"That looks valuable. How about you leave it here, and we call it even?"

Lukas's eye twitched.

Not because of Deckard.

But because his stomach was actively trying to assassinate him.

Goon #1, a generic-ass NPC, squinted at Lukas.

Then his face lit up in recognition.

"Oh shit, wait! Boss, I think I know this guy!"

Deckard raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah? Who is he?"

Goon #1 grinned.

"This is that pervert people were talking about!"

Lukas's soul left his body.

Goon #1 continued.

"You know, the one those brats from the Last Drop were laughing about. What was it again? Mr. Pubes?"

---

Silence.

Then—

Deckard and his crew burst into laughter.

Lukas just stood there.

Expression neutral.

Absolutely dead inside.

His stomach gurgled.

Oh my God.

He was about to shit himself while getting roasted.

This was the worst moment of his life.

Deckard wiped a tear from his eye.

"That's fuckin' hilarious."

Lukas took a deep breath.

"Right. Cool. I love this conversation."

Then he took a step forward.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I—"

Deckard stepped in his way.

"Hold up, Mr. Pubes."

Lukas twitched.

"Don't call me that."

Deckard ignored him, looking at the telegraph in Lukas's hands.

"The telegraph."

Lukas gripped it tighter.

Deckard smirked.

"Leave it here and keep going, or we are going to have to take it from you."

Goon #2 laughed.

"Look at him! He's already shaking! Kid's scared shitless!"

Lukas was, in fact, shaking.

But not because he was scared.

Because he was about to explode.

---

He did a quick mental calculation.

Four of them.

No weapons.

No witnesses.

He could take them.

…Actually, no.

He was literally on the verge of disaster.

Fighting wasn't an option.

He needed a distraction.

Something so stupid, so absurd, that it would buy him just enough time to run.

And then—

A genius idea hit him.

Lukas looked Deckard dead in the eye.

"You know what? I do have something valuable for you."

Deckard smirked.

"Yeah? What's that?"

Lukas slowly reached into his pocket.

The gang watched.

Curious.

Expecting something valuable.

And then—

Lukas snapped his hand away from his pocket and grabbed his balls.

"DEEZ NUTS!"

---

Silence.

The goons froze.

Lukas took one second to admire the sheer, genuine confusion on their faces.

Then—

"BYE, BITCHES!"

He bolted.

---

Deckard's brain finally caught up.

His expression twisted in rage.

"GET THAT MOTHERFUCKER!"

His crew scrambled after Lukas.

Lukas ran for his life.

His stomach was seconds away from defying God.

But fuck it.

He would NOT die here.

---

He saw an alley.

Perfect.

He sprinted around the corner—

And slammed his hand forward.

A holographic copy of himself appeared and kept running.

Lukas, meanwhile, dove behind a dumpster.

---

The goons rushed past him, chasing the decoy.

"THERE HE IS, GET HIM!"

Lukas grinned.

Idiots.

Then—

His stomach growled again.

Lukas clenched his fists.

"Oh, fuck. I CAN'T HOLD IT ANYMORE."

He had no time.

He had no dignity left.

He just needed a place to unleash hell.

He turned his head.

Saw a dark corner behind some crates.

And made the hardest decision of his life.

---

10 MINUTES LATER

Lukas sat against the wall.

Sweating.

Shaking.

A broken man.

The damage had been done.

Zaun would never be the same.

He stared at the ground.

Silent.

Traumatized.

Alone.

Then—

"Oh, fuck. I forgot to wipe."

Damn

That's nasty.