The dim green glow of Zaun’s streetlights flickered weakly, barely cutting through the haze that hung heavy in the alleyway. Ekko moved, keeping to the edges of the shadows, his hood pulled low. His patrol was nearly done, but a noise made him stop.

He froze, eyes narrowing as he scanned the alley. The noise came again, drawing his gaze to a slumped figure against the wall. Blood streaked the grime-stained concrete beneath them, pooling slowly.

He took a cautious step closer, his instincts screaming at him to stay sharp. What if it was a setup?

The figure shifted weakly, their breathing uneven and shallow. The injuries were bad—slashes along the arms and torso, blood soaking their torn clothes.

He knelt a few feet away, balancing on the balls of his feet as he studied them, his sharp eyes darting to every detail.

“You look like you’ve had a hell of a night,” he muttered under his breath. His voice was low but steady, carrying an edge of caution.

But the sight of the blood pooling beneath their hand made him curse again, louder this time. “Don’t gonna make me regret this,” he said, inching closer.

Ekko crouched at their side, setting his backpack down but keeping it within reach.

Slowly, carefully, he touched their shoulder to test for a reaction. They flinched faintly, a breath catching in their throat, but didn’t fight back.

“Still alive,” he muttered, almost to himself. He pulled a cloth from his pocket, pressing it firmly against one of the deeper wounds to slow the bleeding. His movements were quick, efficient.

Ekko stayed where he was, pressing the makeshift bandage tighter. “Guess you’re lucky I came through here,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual bravado. “Don’t make me regret it.”

He pulled another strip of fabric from his pack, wrapping it tightly around the worst of the wounds.

“Who are you?” He asked sharply. His eyes scanned the figure, whose eyes were half lidded. He scoffed but continued to put pressure on one of the wounds.