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Sevika wasn't fond of her sister, Kathy.

She was weak, both mentally and physically. She would cave under the slightest pressure, was incapable of forethought and couldn't fight her way out of a cardboard box. Frankly, she wasn't sure how they came out of the same woman.

So, Sevika wasn't surprised when the first words her sister spoke to her in five years was, 'I need money.'

She said more after that, but it was all worthless cushioning and justification for that first request, garbage about her daughter and husband. She prattled on like Sevika was blind to the sores running up and down her arms, the darting eyes and the inability to keep those shaking hands still. It disgusted Sevika.

That her sister would trip into the same pitfalls as their parents, did she not watch their father slowly die to the same substances? Dragging their family deeper into debt to fuel his self-destruction. Uncaring of the two little girls who depended on him, who needed him.

Sevika… did not like her sister.

But family was important in Zaun, even a shitty family that nobody liked. So Sevika decided to throw the wretch a few coins, maybe see this 'genius' spawn she boasted so much about; it would beat drinking the snake piss Vander's been serving lately.

Sevika noticed a suspicious lack of activity as she sauntered onto her sister's street. Her dark eyes quickly scanned the empty alleys.

No neighbourhood kids were chatting on doorsteps, metal shutters closed off every window in sight, and nobody walked the street except Sevika. She cracked her neck, taking a long look at every shadow and spot of darkness.

You don't reach her age in the undercity without recognising gang activity and steering clear of it. However, it might be a bit late for Sevika to steer clear of something that put food on her table.

She slowly walked down the street, stopping at the only house without a closed door. Although, calling it a house would be generous, to say the least. Like most homes in Zuan, it was simply one of many hovels stacked atop one another.

Sevika approached the broken door, which was hanging onto the frame by a single bent hinge. She noticed the name, 'Kathy', scratched roughly into a metal plate on the gently swinging door.

Taking a moment to steel herself, Sevika entered the home.

The familiar, thick, cloying scent of blood hit her like a physical blow. Sevika resisted the urge to spit the disgusting metallic taste out of her mouth, instead stalking down the hallway with a practised gait. She lightly rolled the heel of her boots on the uneven wood to soften the sound, her fingers white around a pair of old knuckle dusters as she strained to hear anything in the silent house.

A sound, the rustle of clothing and a quiet, shrill cursing, too muffled to make out. It came from the door to her left.

Sevika took a breath and swung around the doorway. Her eyes were sharp, her hands ready, and a bloodthirsty snarl was on the tip of her tongue, where it quickly died.

Four corpses. Two were bruised and misshapen, one of which Sevika recognised.

That golden blond hair she was always so proud of surrounded her like a halo slowly dyed dark red. Her thin, bony arms bent into cruel angles, a last-ditch effort to protect a swollen, near-unrecognisable face.

The other two corpses were bloodied, gang tattoos split apart by deep lacerations. Some distant part of Sevika noted they were likely Chross's men, going by their cheap suits and ink. Both men sported cuts across their inner thighs, ankles and throats, with a collection of more minor cuts across their savaged forms.

The majority of Sevika's attention, however, was taken by the blood-coated child, rooting through one of the gangers' pockets with one hand and clutching a red kitchen knife with the other. It looked comically large in her tiny, stained hands.

Wide blue eyes snapped to Sevika, and she was captivated by the depth of those frozen sapphire orbs and the sharp intelligence buried under exhaustion.

"I don't suppose you would be amenable to a brief ceasefire and discussion?" The tiny child squeaked, slowly placing a pilfered pocket watch in her dress.

Tanya

I wasn't surprised that Being X lied, he never did strike me as a thing of integrity, rather more as an insecure hypocrite. An unimaginative one at that, given my body this time was nearly identical to the previous, if slightly less malnourished. At least I got to enjoy a few years of peace interspaced with humiliating infantile bodily functions; thankfully, with some prior experience under my belt, I was able to master my soft, weak body relatively quickly and begin gauging my surroundings.

While it was better than the eternal damnation I half expected, drug-addicted parents and a city-spanning slum weren't exactly ideal. Nor was the fact that this mid-18th-century steampunk dystopia was even further removed from my first life. I'd still take it over the Rhine, though. They had flushing toilets here, at least.

I had considered hiding my advanced development from my parents, fearing that they could attribute it to a curse or other such superstition, as was appropriate for the period. But, after watching both my mother and father imbue significant quantities of narcotics and pass out for days at a time, it became clear that I could either become self-sufficient or die. So, the moment I could chew solid food, I started caring for myself. I could only hope that their habit hadn't harmed my fetal development.

At first, my new parents were amazed by my advancement, but the novelty wore off quickly, and their focus soon returned to their next fix. I was left to helplessly watch as they tossed every spare bit of change at dealers. Given that neither had jobs, it couldn't have possibly been enough money to fuel their addiction, so I had some disturbing ideas about where they were getting the rest of the money.

I had no intention of taking on generational debt, so I racked my mind to find a way out of this mess, or just to distance myself from it. But, I was too late.

I'd been sleeping at the time. Unfortunately, my young body required great amounts of sleep, and my constant magic practice hadn't helped. My finely tuned senses from the frontlines had also decayed over the years, so the first bout of yelling didn't wake me, nor did the banging, though the following screams did.

While my parents were in no way prepared or responsible enough for a child, they were still better than an orphanage or life on the street, so the moment I became aware of what was happening downstairs, I grabbed the knife I kept near myself at all times and sprinted into the living room.

I was too late to save them, but not too late to save our few belongings, which would have been vital for funding my survival on the street, at least for a time.

Thankfully, it didn't come to that.

I glanced at my 'aunt' Sevika from the corner of my eye; she did share some features with my late mother, such as similar eyebrows, jaw, and cheekbones, but that was where the resemblance ended.

Where my mother was a frail, mousy woman, Sevika stood with a straight back and squared shoulders; she walked with purpose and confidence. Even now, staring at the burning kiln holding her sibling, she didn't shed a tear, just glaring at it. I could commend her composure, at least. I decided to attempt to endear myself to my final lifeline.

"She was a good mother," I announced, breaking the quiet between us. Sevika snorted, then spat on the ground.

"No, she wasn't."

"Regardless, she didn't deserve her fate, and I'm sorry you had to witness it." I continued, suppressing a wince at Sevika's cold retort. She slowly turned to me, arching an eyebrow.

"You're sorry?"

"Of course, it's a sad day when a family shrinks."

"How… how old are you?"

Does she not know my age? She and my mother must have been more estranged than I thought; this could be difficult.

"Five."

Sevika stared at me for a long minute, and I wondered if I'd done an adequate job of cleaning myself off in the crematorium bathroom; without the correct bleaching agents, blood can be near impossible to remove once dried, I would know. I decided to swing the conversation in a different direction.

"Should we alert someone about the two other corpses? And what of the house?"

"If Kathy hadn't listed that house as collateral, I'll eat my boots. It belongs to whatever debtor she was latched on to. The same bastard can take care of the bodies; nobody will care," Sevika muttered. I noted the frustration in her voice.

I frowned, I'd already written off the house, having reached a similar conclusion. But that did not sound like a glowing commendation of Zaun's law enforcement, if it had any. Self-defense or not, the fact that four corpses wouldn't receive even the slightest investigation was worrying. The neighbours hadn't even alerted the police.

My parents rarely allowed me to leave the house growing up, which I didn't mind as it allowed me to focus on exercising the magic of my previous life, which had followed me into this one. I spent years attempting to relearn basic body reinforcement spells without an orb to handle the complex formulae. However, the lack of knowledge of my surroundings was not a worthwhile trade-off. I'd been foolish to leave myself so open; it was… unlike me.

Now that I think about it, I've been remarkably unmotivated the past five years, stuck in some sort of haze or trance. This is probably a side effect of two lifetimes being crammed into the fragile shell of infancy, which likely compromised my hormones and emotional control. It would explain my reluctance to acknowledge some of my… subordinates from the 203rd and the bizarre mood swings.

I hope Weiss is keeping those maniacs in line.

It was time to shape up. The illusion of safety had been ripped away, and I needed to acknowledge it. My greatest source of information was standing next to me. I needed to ingratiate myself with Sevika and discover what she was passionate about.

While I thought about this, the kiln slowly died down. A spindly attendant quickly appeared to hand us the ashes with casual boredom, as if he were giving us groceries instead of all that remained of a human. Sevika silently tossed him a few coins.

"let's go, I could use a damn drink."

Tanya

As we approached Sevika's chosen bar, I looked up at Piltover, Zauns City-state neighbour and proverbial 'owner'. A shining marble of civilization, barely visible through the ever-present smog of Zaun. The over-city to Zauns under-city. Of course, Being X wouldn't let me be born in anything other than extreme poverty, so my chances of starting there were always nill. While I ruminated, Sevika led me into the crowded bar; I idly reminisced about the last time I'd enjoyed such an establishment. The only bars I'd visited as a combat mage for the Empire had been in shelled-out towns, emptied of their usual patrons and filled with rambunctious soldiers. The current crowd reminded me more of my first life, foggy as those memories had become.

Fake laughing at the terrible jokes my bosses would make, prostrating myself at the mere chance of a raise or promotion. That was how the job market worked in modern Japan, and I'd adapted. I needed to figure out how the job market in Zaun worked so I could adapt once more, and my best chance at that was currently bee-lining for a corner booth.

Sevika reached the empty booth and fell into it, the strain of the day catching up to her. I could understand that, it's been a stressful day for the woman. She watched me settle into the worn booth with a sharp gaze.

"So, those two toughs. You kill 'em?"

The question caught me off guard, and I considered what my best move here could be. My mother would have likely fainted at the mere idea of her oft-forgotten daughter killing someone. Still, Sevika seemed a more practical sort, and going by the collection of scars across her knuckles, I don't think she would judge my violent actions too harshly. She may even approve.

Going by their lack of contact and Sevika's muted response to my mother's death, I doubted there was any love lost between the two sisters, which did not bode well for me. This could be a good chance to distance myself from my mother in Sevika's eyes.

"Yes, thankfully, I got the jump on them," I said, voice level. It would be best to keep it vague. Magic was my greatest trump card, and I'd be a fool not to keep it a secret for as long as possible. When the truth of my abilities became clear, I'd also need to find out if there was a local equivalent I could pass it off as. One look at Zauns streets made it clear my future would be filled with physical confrontation.

"Surprised the first bastard maybe, but the second? Those cuts were pretty accurate, too; where'd a toddler learn her arterial placements?"

"I'm five, and toddlers are typically between one and three years old."

Sevika arched an eyebrow, and I felt some embarrassment at my lack of acting ability. I'd never bothered to act my age in the Empire, and it was a bit late for that now. Thankfully, she otherwise didn't press any further. I took the small break in conversation as a chance to scan the room and realized there was some sort of celebration happening. Singing, dancing, and the awkward flirting of young adults decorated the space. I noticed several alarmingly distinctive characters.

Is that a… bat man? And some sort of goblin?

This world was even further divergent than I realized. Sevika seemed to mistake my confusion over how an animal-human hybrid had convergently evolved for interest in the party.

"Vanders got them all pumped up for the protest next week." She said, pointing out a large, muscular bartender talking to a hawkish man and a pretty violet-haired woman. I narrowed my gaze, feeling a creeping dread.

"Protest?"

"Yeah, we're finally showing Piltover that we're not trained animals, fit only for their scraps. Either they give in, or they learn how many of us there are down here, and we drag 'em into the filth they force us to live in." Sevika snarled, quickly earning cheers from nearby patrons who'd heard her over the crowd's din. That was alarming, to say the least.

"So Vanders their leader?"

"No. Well, he and Silco are the closest thing we have to one, but this is more of a combined Zaun effort.

So, an unorganized mob of lower-class citizens with no leadership or direction were going to march up to a technologically and economically superior oppressor, who likely had been conditioning its own populace to view Zaunites as barely human, and 'protest' their way into a seat of governance, with their only advantage being a modest numerical lead. Being X wasn't even trying to hide its involvement anymore, this would be an unmitigated disaster.

"What are they demanding?" I said, my voice weak even to my ears.

"We're demanding change." Was the uninspired response, delivered with a passion and fury that hadn't been present even when I'd watched Sevika carry her sister's cooling corpse across the underground city, I hadn't missed that 'we' either. Sevika was a dangerous kind of fanatic, the most unpredictable and perilous, a patriot. It was the 203rd all over again.

But, this could be the opportunity I've been waiting for; Sevika was obviously an ardent supporter of Zaun, and if I showed the same level of fervour, my chances of staying off the street skyrocketed while at the same time endearing myself to all my fellow Zaunites. Not to mention, I'd risk becoming a social pariah if I didn't attend or show my support; once you get several angry people in a group, any rational consensus seems to fly out the window in favour of targeting anything even remotely against their stance. I could show at the start and quietly slink away before the first spark is lit, it would be dangerous, but I'd had worse odds.

"Good, it's about time the upper echelon of Piltover was held accountable for the Sister City they've neglected," I said, injecting some faux anger into my tone and gently trying to pivot the focus away from Piltover citizens. The only thing worse than a violent mob was an unfocused, violent mob.

"Well said, little lady." A new voice interrupted. I looked up at the large man Sevika had pointed out earlier, Vander. He had an amused, genial smile on his face. Despite his martial form, it fit him.

He almost reminds me of Weiss.

"She's no lady." Was the amused response of Savika, who stood to shake Vander's hand with a machismo that would've made me jealous in my first life.

"Hmph, and does this little 'not lady' have a name? Don't tell me Sevika hatched a clone. The last thing we need is two of her."

"Tanya," I said, my mind elsewhere as I considered the ramifications of choosing a side in the coming class struggle. I almost missed Sevika narrowing her gaze.

"I thought your name was Emma?"

I froze. Damn, my parents had used my name maybe a handful of times in this life, usually choosing to call me 'girl' or 'child'. I barely identified with the name 'Emma' myself. Whenever I looked in the mirror, I just saw Tanya. As much as I lamented the drastic difference between my first and second lives, it made separating the identities a lot simpler.

"Whatever, little 'Tanya', here is my niece, a parting gift from my… beloved… sister," Sevika explained, apparently choosing to roll with my abrupt name change. I mentally reprimanded myself. When had I gotten this slack?

What would Visha say if she saw her Lt. Colonel now?

"Sounds like there's a story there. Let's hear it at the bar, I think Tom's finally produced something meant for human consumption this time."

"Sure… but I'm not paying palatable beer prices."

Sevika

Sevika followed Vander to the counter, idly pushing a drunk teen out of her path and sending him sprawling. Vander must've done another of his little speeches. It was a shame she missed it.

"So, you wanna tell me why there's a little girl in a bloody dress sitting in my bar?" Vander asked in a low tone, Sevika didn't miss the warning in his voice. She guessed the only thing stopping Vander from breaking both her arms and demanding an answer was their prior encounters. Though that was something Sevika admired about the man, he brokered no bullshit in his territory, especially involving kids. She knew Vander had personally sent a lot of sick bastards to the crematories.

Sevika sighed into the beer he handed her. The brat must've missed a few spots in the bathroom. Downing a few mouthfuls of the swill, Tom still had no business making beer. She tried to respond, but she was caught in a moment of puzzled silence. She shook herself out of it.

I refuse to mourn that... weakling.

"My sister's debts finally caught up with her, I found her dead in their house. The brat was there too."

"Shit."

It was the curse of a man who'd heard the same story countless times and could barely muster the appropriate response anymore. Sevika had heard it a few times herself. It was a depressingly familiar death in Zaun.

"And the blood?"

Sevika couldn't help but smirk. "Vicious little thing jumped the goons with a knife, gutted two of them." She couldn't help but barely believe it herself. How such a ferocious girl came out of her pathetic sister, Sevika would never know. Vander openly gaped, the glass he was polishing forgotten.

"Fucking hell, how old is she?"

"Five." Sevika took some pleasure in Vander's disbelief. It took a lot to catch the man off guard. Silco snorted from the seat next to her.

"… Well, she's certainly your niece." The pale man remarked.

"I was busy learning to read when I was her age, that brat is something else."

"She's also pretty composed. I wouldn't have guessed she was recovering from all that by talking to her. How long have you been looking after the squirt?" Vander asked, shaking off his surprise. I thought you'd at least put her in something clean by now."

"Haven't had the chance, only met her this morning, and then we had to cremate Kathy and her deadbeat husband."

Sevika took another swig of barely edible beer and became aware of a sudden silence around her. Vander and Silco just stared at her, bewildered. Sevika didn't consider herself a woman prone to bouts of self-consciousness, but Silco did have quite the unnerving stare.

"What?"

"You're telling me, the little girl in that booth, witnessed both her parents get beaten to death, killed two men with a knife, and then watched her parents get cremated, all in one day. Today." Sevika didn't particularly like the judgment in Vander's tone but found herself lacking a retort. Come to think of it, that would probably be pretty traumatizing for a little girl.

Was I so shaken by... Kathy's death, that I allowed myself to believe in the stoicism displayed by a toddler? What the hell is wrong with me? Fucking Kathy. Even now, you're a pain in my ass.

"What do I do then? I don't know how to care for a child, let alone some traumatized one!" Sevika hated the helplessness in her voice, the almost pleading tone. Vander put the glass down and sighed. Silco turned back to his drink, apparently just as experienced as her in this.

"I don't know. It's a shame you just missed Felicia. But this isn't the environment that girl needs to be in right now. Take her home. Actually, wait just a moment." Vander disappeared behind the counter. Rummaging around for something before cursing and walking into the storeroom. After a moment, Silco turned to her.

"Good turnout for the protest. Just about the entire under-city is attending."

"Me included, topsiders are in for a rude awakening." Sevika grinned, glad for the subject change.

Vander and Silco's little project was a long time coming. Piltover had grown fat and rich by forcing their 'undercity' to shoulder the burdens of industry. There existed no job filthy and low-paying enough for an under-dweller, or so their saying went. Hell, they weren't even allowed across the bridge into their vaunted city without 'special' passes, and their enforcers treated the undercity as some zoo, a place to come and throw rocks at the animals and shake them down for money—just another gang with a nicer uniform and better guns.

It didn't help that pollution was at an all-time high, and they've recorded more stillbirths than any year before, more outbreaks of disease and yet working conditions only got worse, hours got longer, and pay continued shrinking.

It's like the council in Piltover is experimenting to see how deep they can push Zaun into the mud before we drown. How many of us need to die to pay for their velvet crowns? We aren't even allowed to bury our dead, just burn them so we can choke on even each other. Do they not realise how badly we outnumber them?

"You think it'll get violent?" She asked, hoping for the chance to show the soft topsiders the strength one needs to survive the turgid smog of Zaun.

"If it does, we'll be ready," Silco promised. Sevika grinned. Vander was the idealist, but Silco was the pragmatist, the one Sevika could trust to see the ugly truth and do something about it. Vander interrupted her next question by handing Sevika a rare item in Zaun: chocolate.

"Here, kids like sweet things, and she could use something good right now."

"I'll take your word for it, how much?"

"Don't worry about it, just keep an eye on the poor blighter, and put her in something that doesn't smell like a crime scene."

Sevika rolled her eyes but nodded her thanks to the two, slapping some change on the counter, with a little extra for the chocolate. She wasn't one for handouts, and walked back over to Tanya, downing the rest of her horrific beer as she went.

"C'mon brat, let's go home."

Tanya seemed like a pretty relaxed kid. How hard could raising her be?

Sevika

Sevika rolled her shoulders and resisted the urge to yawn. It was important to look focused and menacing around the client, especially a client as notoriously temperamental as Renni.

"I've been good to you, Benji. You've enjoyed a bigger cut than any other supplier, you eat better than some top-siders."

The intimidating woman leaned forward, towering over the quivering, slight man. His twitching face cast in an ominous green glow from whatever vile concoction ran through the tubes leading to her prosthetic nose. Sevika had no idea what it could be; she suspected it didn't actually do anything. Damn, if it wasn't a good intimidation tool, though.

Of all the so-called 'crime-lords' Sevika had worked for, Renni was among the least annoying, though that was like saying you found the cleanest gutter rat. The dark-haired woman cut a towering figure with a penchant for garishly furred collars and black mascara. There were several theories in the undercity on exactly how Renni had lost her nose. Sevika's favorite was that she forgot to duck beneath a doorway.

"So, why have you been watering down my product."

Her product. Benji painstakingly synthesized it, but it was her product. Sevika thought the woman was an eccentric at best, but she did know her craft.

One of Sevika's fellow bodyguards started spinning a wickedly sharp knife through his fingers, the polished blade catching the light in a not-so-subtle threat. Sevika crossed her arms and tried not to think about when she attempted that trick in her teens and almost took out her client's eye.

"I-… Due to an unforeseen drop in production, I had to make up the difference." Benji stammered, his eyes darting everywhere to avoid Ranni's eagle gaze. Sevika wasn't particularly well-versed in body language, but even she could see the man lying. Apparently, Renni could too. She nodded to the man spinning his knife, and suddenly, Benji had a very sharp blade pressed up against his throat.

"Tell me who you've sold my chem to, or you'll find out how replaceable you are."

Illicit and addictive drugs, or 'Chems,' were the only things Zaun produced that they got to keep, other than smog. Sevika supposed that there was some irony in her working for the very people who killed her father and sister. Still, everyone has to sacrifice something in the undercity, and down here, a clean conscience was less than cheap.

"Smeech! It was Smeech! He wanted to open a line into Piltover, t-target people with more money, he made me supply them on the side!" Benji cried out, desperately trying to still his body as he vomited out anything and everything that could save his life. Sevika rolled her eyes. The worm caved under the slightest hint of pressure. Renni looked thunderous.

"That little RAT! He thinks he can ape MY PRODUCT? Too scared to put his own operation under the eye of the enforcers, so he uses MINE?"

"He threatened my life! I didn't have a choice, I swear!"

"Jorick, kill this bastard and bring me my council! Tonight, Smeech dies."

Sevika resisted the urge to wince at the volume of the harpy with practiced ease and gently stepped out of the coming blood spray; you only underestimate artery pressure once. She didn't know how all these 'crime-lords' could appear so surprised every time they backstabbed one another, given how common it was. However, she was astonished that Smeech was trying to get Piltover clientele. It's long been established that undercity crime stays in the undercity, and Piltover crime also stays in the undercity. To bring Zaun's crime into the shining metropolis was nearly suicidal. The foolish, mangy little rat was going to get himself killed, and that overjoyed Sevika. The filthy Yordle was a stain on the undercity, and she hoped they drowned him in the river.

Sevika kept her menacing pose for a few more hours as Renni argued with her 'officers' about how they'd tear down Smeech's little empire.

No wonder Piltover doesn't see us as a threat. We spend all our energy killing each other.

With the combined wealth and manpower of the undercity crime lords, they could bring Piltover to its knees within weeks, but getting them to cooperate was an impossible task where none had ever succeeded.

Vander and Silco had done well uniting the lanes, but the true movers and shakers of Zaun were a deeper festering rot. They didn't care about the undercity or the people in it, just fattening their wallets off the suffering of their people. There was no goal, no justification, just a group of cruel children squabbling amongst themselves in the muck, ignorant of the tightening noose around their necks.

Sevika knew that even if the bridge protest was a success, with these snakes in charge, Zaun would never be free.

Sevika kicked open the door to her apartment, tossing her blood-soaked jacket on the floor with a sigh.

Talkative bastard must've had high blood pressure or something.

She hoped that was all he had, some got in her mouth…

She saw Em-… 'Tanya' poke her head out from around the corner and, after a pause, step into view, tucking a small knife into her trousers. Sevika snorted. Smart kid.

Tanya had been living with her for a week now, and it was going considerably smoother than Sevika had dared hope. The tiny terror was delighted when Sevika presented some pants and a shirt that was her size. She got changed immediately, and Sevika never saw the dress again. She suspected Tanya had burnt it. The girl would probably be significantly less pleased if she learned where Sevika had bought the outfit. The crematorium sold more than kiln space.

"Welcome back, how was work?"

Sevika grunted, and that answered enough for Tanya, who walked back into the living room to continue devouring another of Sevika's meager literature collection. Tanya asked the same thing every day, and Sevika guessed the girl was finding novelty in having someone to ask that question.

"What've you been up to?" Sevika asked, kicking off her boots and heading to the kitchen. She was sure the fish from last week would probably still be edible, if a little risky.

"I went for a run near the last drop this morning and picked up some groceries, but otherwise, I've been reading," Tanya reported with her usual matter-of-fact tone, like she was listing out a stock-take. The girl was not one for small talk, and Sevika was thankful. She was also not rebellious, sticking to Sevika's rule of not leaving the lanes.

Vander and Silco had done a lot to unite the people of the undercity, but ask anyone what the two did best, and they'll tell you The Lanes.

The Lanes were a district surrounding Vander's bar, the last drop. It was considered by many, including Sevika, the safest part of the undercity, for Zaunites anyway. Vander and Silco ruled it with an iron fist, literally in Vander's case. It was a popular spot for traveling merchants of ill repute and other undesirables. One day, it would be the jewel of their city; for now, it was a slightly less toxic neighborhood.

While Tanya had proven capable of defending herself, Sevika wouldn't let her wander into the fissures to be taken apart by organ harvesters or worse. Luckily, Tanya didn't seem interested in the more dangerous parts of Zaun. Vander said he'd keep an eye on her in any case.

With that said, the streets were getting rowdy with the bridge protest getting closer. Sevika was seeing more and more people carrying around clubs and improvised weapons. Word from Renni's people was also that enforcers were prowling Piltover in unheard-of quantities.

Somebody squawked to the topsiders.

However, with the entire undercity gearing up, they'd have to be blind and deaf not to see something happening. Sevika knew they'd underestimate them, though; they always did. Especially since this would be the first mass protest ever done in Zaun, the first time the entire undercity united under one banner. It gave her chills.

With a long sigh, Sevika fell onto her moth-eaten couch, raising a brow when she saw what Tanya had been reading. 'A city sinks, a City Splits. History of the Undercity. IV', not what Sevika would consider a light read. At least she didn't have to teach Tanya how to read or do her sums. Feeding and housing the girl was about the extent of Sevika's commitment to her, luckily it was all the girl needed. Sevika was pretty sure she and her sister weren't this well-read at five; maybe her sister had been onto something when she bragged about her 'little genius'…

Despite Vander's concerns, she showed no signs of being shaken over her mother's death or killing two men. Sevika knew that was probably a sign of an entirely different issue, but you needed to be pretty cold-blooded to survive the undercity. It was a quality that would serve her well.

"I hope you didn't throw that jacket on the floor. Blood is easy to clean until it dries, and repetition is the first step to forming a good habit." The slip of a girl squeaked.

"Hmph, that ship sailed long ago," Sevika grunted, briefly marveling at the clean floor and organized room. She'd never been messy, but sometimes daily chores escaped her. Tanya, however, did not condone the mess, 'Clutter is nothing more than a postponed decision,' she said. Sevika had no idea where she got these sayings, probably from all the books.

Tanya sighed, closing the book and walking to the front door. Sevika watched her take the bloody jacket and disappear into the kitchen, soon accompanied by the sound of running water. Sevika didn't have the heart to tell her the water of Zaun would probably do worse to the jacket than the blood.

Ah, well, it was a good initiative.

Parenting was easy. Sevika didn't know why so many people complained about it.

Tanya

To call 'A city sinks, a City Splits. History of the Undercity. IV' An unbiased, objective review of history, would be a lie. Every third sentence was about either the Piltover elite's evil machinations or the proud struggles of brave Zaun. It made my quest for knowledge somewhat tricky, and Sevika's lack of the first three books in the series certainly didn't help.

But, between the 'historical' book, talking to residents in the lanes, and my observations, I'd started putting together a rough picture of Zaun, highlighting a glaringly obvious problem that no one in Zaun wanted to acknowledge.

Zaun didn't exist.

What everyone down here called 'Zaun' was, in fact, a slum district of Piltover. There was only one city, and the concept of a 'sister city' was a fanciful dream. I'd previously assumed Zaun was a city-state trapped under the yoke of unfavorable trade deals and tariffs by a victorious conqueror. I'm sure that's how many residents of 'Zaun' would describe it, but that wasn't the empirical truth.

'Zaun' was a slum that outgrew its city.

The story of how the slum came to be was somewhat interesting. Apparently, the region suffered a geological catastrophe that sunk half the city of Piltover, destroying countless lives and savaging the city's industrial output. In response, Piltover sectioned off the damaged part of the city (predominantly the lower levels) and promptly forgot about them, leaving their residents trapped within. I would never understand how this decision came to be, but I had some suspicions.

Nothing is so permanent as a temporary government program.

What an irresponsible and inconceivable waste of human capital and real estate. Piltover was a mercantile city-state on the border of two different countries; expanding the city was no doubt a lengthy, if not impossible, bureaucratic process that was opposed by two distinct nations, so why toss away half of it? One glance at the sheer verticality of Piltover made it clear lateral expansion was a pipe dream. Granted, upper Piltover seems to have prospered from the decision to concentrate government spending, but the benefit couldn't possibly outweigh the cost.

The geological event also dredged up valuable and extremely rare compounds from deep within the planet. Piltover sourced a significant part of their export portfolio from these deposits, mined within the fissures of the undercity by horrifically underpaid Zaunites working in inhospitable conditions.

They were oppressing the populace responsible for propping up their economy. Out of what, habit?

If I still worked in HR, this would be the time I requested a SWOT analysis of the company's cognitive bias. Experience has told me nothing makes corporate leadership bury their heads in the sand like an email with 'analysis' and 'bias' within it. Still, they'd move heaven and earth when I added 'unionizing.'

And that's what Piltover was pushing their government-owned mining industry toward, forming a union.

State ownership. The vile tactic of the communist. No self-respecting, rational individual would ever support such an economy. I didn't fight the Russy federation to turn around and join them.

Piltover ruled their market with an iron grip. The mines worked by the undercity were a government-funded operation that allowed no independent resource exploration or civilian contracting. The undercity population also wasn't allowed into Piltover proper, so we couldn't participate in the market or start trading companies; this was a gut punch because Piltover was founded on one of the most important shipping lanes on the planet, and they didn't let two-thirds of their population use it.

Zaunites couldn't even own companies in general since noble families called the 'mercantile clans' controlled every facet of Piltover's industries. These clans then funded and 'supported' the governing body, using that influence to introduce laws that disallow anyone without backing from said clans to get a piece of the pie. Therefore, the government controlled the market.

Since those noble families would never back a Zaunite, for the undercity, the free market was dead. Even if I were to spend my life working in those mines, I would never reach a position higher than a laborer.

With a huff, I tossed the depressing book onto the stained coffee table. My lofty career ambitions were dead in the water; I'd never even see an HR office, let alone get a desk in one. I idly remembered a quote that was popular with the Chicago School of Economics:

Concentrated power is not rendered harmless by the good intentions of those who create it.

As an avid believer of rational expectations and public choice theory, I honestly wanted nothing more than to be a cog in the machine, performing no more than what was expected of me by the society around me.

But I couldn't be a cog if the machine was broken.

And it was broken. Everyone in both 'cities' could see it. Piltover didn't consider the undercity part of them, and the undercity certainly didn't consider themselves part of a whole. This entire city was a ticking time bomb; civil war was on the horizon, and I wasn't sure when it would pop.

In such an environment, was it not expected of me to help realign the status quo? I had the luxury of an advanced economic outlook over my peers, so wouldn't it be considered morally reprehensible for me to avert my gaze from a coming crisis? No, if anything, society expected me to assist in fixing the disaster. Zaun wasn't the empire; I had no 'rear lines' to hide behind, the entire city was a front.

Plus, no proud soldier of the empire would ever let their motherland turn into a communist 'utopia'. Even an artificial patriot like myself.

There's no such thing as an innocent bystander.

Most importantly, by externally being perceived as an outspoken 'Zaunite' separatist, I would be making a good impression on my colleagues and future managers, a vital step for any efficient upward momentum in the workplace. Once Zaun is independent, the free market will return, and I'd better be ready to take advantage. Social standing was every bit as important as technical ability, if not more.

Vander and Silco were obviously our community leaders and, if our independence is successful, our front-runners for governance. By ingratiating myself with them, I'd be propping my future career up on stilts. Forget the HR office; I could be a managing director!

Yes, this was the most efficient move I could make. Even if I didn't currently have any opportunities, I must set myself up to be in the best possible position, both socially and financially, when those prospects come.

It was just like pouring your supervisor's sake and laughing at his dumb jokes, just with more protesting.

I stood up from the rickety chair, nodding to myself, "I'm heading out. I'll be back in an hour or so." I told Sevika, who was reclining on the couch, trying to spin a knife across her fingers.

"Stay away from the fissures."

"Of course, my roaming shouldn't take me from the Lanes."

That was no lie. I was keenly aware of the fragility of my form, magic or not. In fact, my current expedition would hopefully alleviate some of that weakness. While talking to Vander's patrons, I'd learned of a local pawnshop that dealt in machinery, showcasing a surprising level of technological advancement for the period. I'd even seen some remarkably sophisticated prosthetics, surpassing my first life by a wide margin. The technology of this world was frankly all over the place.

Sevika's home was close to the lanes, so I didn't have to walk far to reach my destination. Benzo's Sprawl, a pawnshop that sold all sorts of stolen items, even offering a reasonably priced repair service. It was here that I hoped to find parts for a computational orb.

In my previous life, the difference between a street magician capable of lighting candles with his finger and a mobile, flying artillery platform in human form was a computational orb. During the great war, the Empire's mage forces, including myself, enjoyed an undeniable advantage over their foes with the type 97, a cutting-edge dual-core computation orb that allowed for unparalleled simultaneous casting capacity.

The computational orb was comprised of a powerfully attuned magical core and a multitude of mechanical 'switches.' Each set of switches contained a pre-programmed set of arithmetic and logarithmic formulas, capable of generating spells when channeled with mana. Though, that makes them sound considerably less expensive and complicated than they were. For a direct comparison, in the Empire, a modern computational orb could be more expensive than a flagship tank or aircraft.

Unfortunately, I was under no illusion of my ability to reinvent the type 97 or even a computation orb in general. They were highly complex analog computers that required research programs using the financial backing of a country for tiny, incremental advancement. While I'd performed countless hours of field maintenance on my beloved Type 97, I still only had a very elementary understanding of the technology. I was trained as a soldier, not an engineer.

However, I hope that through my basic understanding and future cooperation with local machinists, I can reverse engineer a rudimentary orb. It would be better than nothing, and with my pint-sized body, magic was my only advantage.

Orb-less casting could only get me so far; though the past few years of near-constant practice have certainly paid dividends, I was still limited to internal formulas. Externally affecting the world around me required a level of power and sophistication that I would likely never reach beyond optical formulas a laser pointer could out-perform. Forget about artillery spells, flight, and especially shields. Without an orb, my brain, reflexes, and instincts had to handle the entirety of those incredibly complex simultaneous formulas.

Body reinforcement, analgesic formulas, and weak observation formulas were all I had, and I suspected that if I were still in the Empire, my orbless casting of them would render me a prodigy unlike any other. Of course, reinforcing my body with its underdeveloped magic circuits would only render me strong for a five-year-old. Strong enough to slam a knife through leather or lift a gun, but I wouldn't be throwing grown men like toys.

Nonetheless, given my lack of capital, I wouldn't be getting an orb today or even begin the process of acquiring one. This outing was more a quick expedition to see where Runeterra's mechanical technology had reached.

Ding

I used a touch of reinforcement formula to help push the heavy wooden door open and was greeted by a large, genial-looking man with impressive sideburns behind the counter. While Vander was large in an intimidating, powerful sense. Benzo was more… heavyset. Which was exceptional in its own right for a Zaunite; his shop must do well.

"Ello, little lady, what can Benzo do for you? "The man, who I guessed was Benzo, asked. I spent an embarrassing few seconds trying to place the man's accent; it sounded bizarrely familiar.

Scottish… how peculiar.

"Good afternoon, I'm Tanya. Do you have any mechanical computers? Or clockwork devices that function as arithmetic aides." I asked, scanning the shop with a sweeping gaze. It appeared Benzo had quite the collection: swords, mysterious potions, suspiciously 'Piltover' themed artwork, and most promisingly, a variety of clocks. Jackpot.

"Haha, another nerd huh? You'd get along great with Ekko." The man laughed, turning around to rummage through a small pile behind the counter. "Dunno what a 'computer' is, but I remember one plucky kid sold me one of them 'calculators' the top-siders use. This one was pretty archaic, even by our standards. Must've been a couple of months ago now…"

A calculator! This was proving to be a productive day. Usually, I'd be immediately suspicious that Devil would try to throw it off course. Though, it's yet to show itself in this life.

"Ekko! Get down here!" Benzo suddenly shouted, drawing me from my musings. I heard several crashes echo through the building as a tiny child scrambled down the stairs, a half-built clock in one of his grubby hands. The boy had short, white hair and a dark complexion. I guessed him to be a similar age to myself.

"Ekko, this is Tanya. She's looking for that calculator we got a few months back, you got it squirreled away somewhere?"

'Ekko' shook his head, paused, and sprinted back upstairs. I heard a high-pitched 'ow' as he slipped and hit his knee.

"He's quite energetic," I remarked to Benzo, who watched the child's antics with a smile. It struck me as quite a simple, pure smile. Something small and genuine.

"Well, that's one word to use, I guess. He'll be back with it in a bit. How much do you want for it?"

I raised an eyebrow; he wanted to start haggling for a device I hadn't even seen yet? I was beginning to see how Benzo had done so well down here; truly, he was a ruthless businessman; my petite appearance didn't give him a moment's pause before taking advantage of my perceived youth. I hadn't come here intending to purchase anything, but I figured I might as well foster good relations with the man. Plus, nobody likes a window shopper.

"I'm willing to pay a fair sum, depending on the deterioration and quality."

"Quality is no problem, lass. Benzo's Sprawl is the finest establishment this side of Runeterra, fit for a king." Benzo boasted. I turned my gaze to the puddle beside me, which was slowly getting bigger as the ceiling continued to leak. "Relatively," He added.

"I assume there isn't much of a market for calculators in Zaun; I would almost be doing you a favor by taking it off your hands."

"Just because I don't pay taxes doesn't mean I don't need to track expenses."

"Effective financial management on this scale doesn't require external arithmetic assistance."

"And I could clean my bathroom with a toothbrush, but I'd rather use a mop."

"Then, I suppose that child has the calculator because he's managing your fiscal responsibilities?"

"He's a smart kid. There's a few of them around lately, some of 'em are a little too smart."

"It's easy to stand out when the mean is far below the median."

"You sure you need a calculator?"

"Are you?"

"Umm… I have the thingy." A small, quiet voice interrupted Benzo and I's exchange. I suddenly realized I was on my tiptoes, leaning against the counter and glaring into Benzo's amused eyes. I coughed and stepped back, smoothing my shirt and waiting for the mysterious heat in my cheeks to disappear. After a moment, I turned to Ekko, who was looking at us with curiosity.

"Ahem, yes. Thank you kindly, Ekko."

I gently took the calculator from Ekko's hands. It was a small wooden box that, when opened, revealed a little window with a zero and a series of spoked metal dials, each numbered around their circumference from 1 to 9. I softly turned the leftmost dial to three, then the next dial to six. The final dial had no numbers, and when I gave it a quarter turn, I heard a click, and the window displayed 18.

I hummed appreciatively, a simple additive calculator. Nonetheless, it was proof that mechanical analog computers were quite common, and since Benzo had called this 'archaic,' there were likely much more advanced models available. Doubtlessly out of reach for a Zaunite.

"Is that what you were looking for, lass?"

"Yes, it's quite acceptable." I nodded and fished around my pockets for the cash I'd taken from the two thugs last week. They'd been surprisingly liquid. Benzo chuckled when I offered him the money, which I thought was quite a generous amount. I should've expected nothing less from a Zaunite businessman.

"It's alright, nobody in the undercity was going to buy that anyway. It's yours, girl." Huh, perhaps I had judged this man too quickly. But I wasn't one for accepting handouts. Or rather, I couldn't afford to be known as someone who does.

"Thank you, but I insist you take payment. This is a place of trade, not charity."

"Hah, saving your freebie for another time, eh? Fair enough."

Benzo took the money with a smile, and I left the shop one calculator richer.

The next step was to find out what I could substitute for a magic core. It was a considerably harder step, as the core of a computational orb was a veritable black box of technology. However, after frequent one-sided conversations with an insane Germanian inventor, I had developed a layman's knowledge of them. Generally, they were made from arcane foci material, laser engraved with horrifically complex algorithms, geometric patterns, and channels, altogether allowing a mage to exert their influence on the physical world through mankinds greatest fusion of the scientific method and magic.

I had no idea where even to begin looking.