Arcane: Broken Mechanism

The next few days were tense. Finn, as if he could push Sirion harder, gave him task after task, giving him barely a moment to rest. Never before had he pushed him so hard. And worst of all, the tasks were getting harder.

No longer were they simple errands like "bring this" or "deliver that." Now he had to sort out details, meet suspicious characters, and deliver things that were too well packed to tell what was inside. Each time, he felt the gazes on him, whether from guards at the drop-off points or strangers lurking in the shadows.

One of the tasks took Sirion to the upper levels of Zaun, almost to the edge of Piltover, where the toxic air gave way to a gentle breeze. He was to hand over a small metal box to one of Finn's go-betweens. The meeting went surprisingly smoothly, but the tension in the air was almost palpable. Another task was even more difficult: he had to go deeper into the lower levels, where Zaun became something completely different - dark, damp, full of mysterious sounds and shadows. Here he had to hand over a small package to a group of people who looked as if any mistake could cost him his life.

Sirion increasingly realized that Finn was testing him, and maybe even drawing him into something much more serious than an ordinary courier job. He felt the weight of responsibility begin to press on him more and more. However, he could not refuse: Finn was, in fact, his employer, and it was better not to joke with employers like him. Every evening, returning home, Sirion literally fell off his feet from fatigue. But even at such moments, he did not stop thinking about how his future life would turn out. In a few days, he had managed to immerse himself in the harsh reality of Zaun even deeper than before, and now he knew for sure: it would not be possible to stay away from this world.

Sirion had been using every opportunity in recent days to collect materials for creating cartridges for his future pistol. His inventory was gradually filling up with various finds - scraps of metal, springs, empty cartridges, small tools and other parts that could be useful. He had already found almost everything he needed, with the exception of one thing - gunpowder or at least its substitute.

He stopped every now and then during tasks, noticing discarded parts or little things that could be useful. For example, on one of the lower levels, he found an old broken box, inside of which were perfectly suitable copper plates. Another time, passing by a small workshop, he saw a handful of abandoned unnecessary screws and quickly took them, trying not to attract attention.

When he returned home after one of the missions, the inventory window popped up before his eyes, reminding him of his growing collection:

"Inventory: 42/50"

He sighed heavily, looking over his collection:

"Inventory:

Metal scraps: 12 units.

Springs: 5 units.

Casket blanks (Crafted): 20 units.

Toolkit (Crafted): 1 unit.

Chemicals (various, small amount): 4units.

Desert Eagle (95% crafted): 1 unit"

Almost everything is there. Gunpowder... Where can I get it? Maybe I should ask Finn? No, he'll start asking questions right away. What if I look for a replacement? Nitrates or something like that..." he thought, sorting through the parts in his hands. The problem was that gunpowder wasn't easy to come by in Zaun. Most of it was controlled by crime lords or used in mines for resources. To acquire it meant either taking a risk by getting involved in deals with dangerous people or trying to steal it.

Sirion glanced at the inventory window again, wondering where else he could find the missing component.

"Okay, I'll figure it out later. Just a little bit more and I'll finally be able to assemble something worthwhile. The main thing is not to rush and not attract unnecessary attention," he reassured himself, putting thoughts of gunpowder aside for later.

It was morning. Sirion stood in front of a dim mirror in a small bathroom, quickly washing himself with cool water. He looked up to see his reflection. His white locks, slightly tousled from sleep, had grown a little, now reaching below his eyes. A few strands fell softly over his face, and his hair was gradually beginning to cover one of his ears. He looked himself over carefully. He always liked his medium-length hair. Even in the previous world, where he tried not to attract too much attention to himself, this length seemed comfortable to him. It hid the overly sharp features of his face, which against the background of his thinness could seem too sharp. He ran his fingers through his bangs, trying to tidy them up a little, and lifted one of the strands.

"Maybe I should get a haircut? Although... let it grow for now," he thought with a wry smile. Considering how often he had to deal with dust, oil and sometimes even blood, long hair could cause problems, but right now it was the least of his worries.

Sirion straightened up, wiping his face. Today was another day of work. The sun was barely visible behind the smog in Zaun, but the morning offered a small break from the constant bustle. He glanced at himself again, as if checking if he was ready for the new day, and headed for the exit.

His body, too thin when he came to this world, was gradually beginning to gain definition. He noticed that his shoulders had become broader, and the muscles of his arms and legs had acquired density. It was not massive musculature, but strong enough to feel strong and enduring.

Sirion understood that the original owner of this body, despite good physical training and parkour skills, could hardly afford proper nutrition. Poverty and the harsh conditions of Zaun affected him the same way as most of the locals.

Now, however, things were different. Finn paid him quite generously for his work by local standards, which allowed Sirion to at least slightly improve his diet. Protein, the hardest thing to find here, came in the form of rotten but edible canned food that the locals were willing to fight over.

At least I don't feel like a walking skeleton anymore, he thought, running his hand over his slightly toned abs. Life here had toughened him up both physically and mentally. But he knew the real test was yet to come.

He threw on his clothes and left the building. He had to show up on time and get a new assignment. The path was laid out as usual, along a narrow street lit only by dim lamps and neon signs. The factory towered like a massive structure, like a giant guardian, swallowed by smoke and soot. Work was in full swing all around. Dirty and exhausted children carried heavy boxes, pushed carts with scrap metal, or assembled small mechanisms at wooden workbenches. Their faces were covered in soot, and their clothes were threadbare and torn.

Sound was everywhere: the clanking of metal, the hiss of steam pipes, the hum of machinery. The place was heavy and despairing, and for many it had become an ordinary day in life.

Sirion noticed how a boy of about ten, stumbling under the weight of a box, was shouted at by an elderly foreman. The latter merely waved his hand as if to move faster, and the boy swayed and hurried on.

He found himself thinking that such scenes had ceased to shock him. The memories of how he had almost boiled with anger or pain at the sight of such things in his first days here seemed distant. His fear of losing his ability to feel compassion suddenly struck his heart.

"I don't want to get used to this," flashed through his mind. "These children… They didn't choose this life. They were born in the shadow of toxic pipes and dirty streets, forced to carry more than their own weight. I have to remember that. I have to be empathetic, or else how am I any better than all those who just turn away?

Jerry interrupted his thoughts. He was leaning his shoulder against the wall at the entrance to the factory, a familiar smirk on his face. He was wearing a leather jacket, and a long wrench stuck in his belt - probably his only weapon.

"Sirion, my, you showed up!" he said, stretching out his arms. "Finn said you should stop by. Just in time, he has something interesting for you."

Sirion nodded slightly, glancing briefly at the children scurrying between the factory gates. He took a deep breath, as if collecting his thoughts, and stepped inside the gloomy building.

"So what does the boss want this time that's so important?" Sirion asked.

"Hell, if I knew all the details of his plans" Jerry grinned and Sirion narrowed his eyes. He was clearly lying, and knew much more about what was going on in the area, since he was the closest to Finn. But he was clearly not going to share information.

Sirion only chuckled to himself, realizing that fishing information out of Jerry was a useless undertaking. This guy always kept his cards close to his chest, giving exactly as much as he thought was necessary, and not a drop more.

"Well, I hope this time we won't have to jump over roofs or run into another squad of mercenaries, " he said on the go, passing by Jerry.

" Who knows, maybe everything will turn out to be simpler than you think", - he chuckled, watching Sirion disappear behind the door leading to Finn's office." And yes, boy, still be careful" he said at the end, already in a softer voice.

"And when have I not been careful? I value my life," Sirion waved his hands, turning to him.

Jerry sighed and pulled out a medallion in the shape of a small iron sword from under his shirt. He rubbed it with his finger a few times and stared at the spot where Sirion had passed just moments ago. His eyes were a little clouded in memory. He had grown too attached to the boy and it would be sad to lose him to some Piltover raid or death. He looked at his prosthetic leg and clenched his teeth. Even if he wanted to, he certainly couldn't help.

The atmosphere inside was familiar: the noise of working machinery, the muffled voices of workers and the heavy smell of metal and oil. The children, thin and exhausted, worked at the limit of their abilities, many of them did not even notice Sirion passing by. He involuntarily thought again about those who were forced to live like this. Once, during his first encounters with this place, a lump would rise in his throat and a strong desire to do something, to help somehow would arise. Now he realized that this impulse was gradually fading, overshadowed by indifference.

"God forbid that I get used to this completely," he thought with heaviness, quickening his steps. He knew that he had to maintain at least the remnants of humanity, despite the circumstances.

Approaching the door leading to Finn's office, Sirion took a deep breath. Before important meetings, he always wanted to make sure that he was ready for anything.

Sirion opened the door, and the smell of tobacco mixed with metal and leather immediately hit him in the face. Finn's office always had the feel of a strange mixture of comfort and menace, with overstuffed armchairs flanked by weapon racks, and maps of Zaun covered in markings and arrows on the walls.

Finn, as always, looked relaxed, but there was an undercurrent of danger in his posture. The knife in his hand glinted in the dim light as he twirled it idly in his fingers.

"Sirion," he drawled lazily, his feet still on the desk. "I hope you're not too tired from your little errands?"

"A little, to be honest," Sirion admitted as he walked inside. He paused at the edge of the desk, crossing his arms. "So what is it this time? A package, cargo, a message?"

Finn grinned, tossing the knife onto the desk. It hit the wood with a dull thud.

"You're a man of action!" he pointed the tip of the knife at Sirion. "A message, but not just any message. It's an important letter, and it needs to be delivered to the one I trust the least, but the one I need the most."

Sirion frowned, leaning against the wall.

"And who is this lucky guy?"

Finn raised an eyebrow, a small, almost mocking smile crossing his face.

"Tell me, boy," Finn stabbed the knife into the tabletop and pulled out a cigar, which he lit. "What do you know about how I became a chem-baron?"