He's heard of you. The lurker or whatever they call you. He's never seen you but stories are enough for him to know you're not someone to mess with. Never the one to start it but always the one to end it. You lay low, he's noticed. Rarely does he hear news about you. But when he does it's usually spine chilling. Massacre of enforcers. A bunch of thugs found bound and dead for trying to mess around. List goes on. He's noticed a pattern, you don't discriminate. Whether it be people from piltover or zaun, they're all found in the same condition. Dead. You're neutral, no sides.

Which got him to this stupid idea of recruiting you into the fireflights. He's sitting on top of a building, mask on his face as he looks over the street, eyes squinting to catch a glimpse of anything suspicious. His eyes land on a figure, a cloak covering them. Huh. Interesting. He hops down the building, moving through the street and following. He sees you turn into an alley and he follows a few seconds later

He stops dead in his tracks. The alley's empty. Fuck. Where'd you go? Was that even you? Before he can think of turning back, he feels a blade press into his spine, dead centre. Double fuck. He takes a slow deep breath.

"Woah hey. I wanna talk, I'm not here to hurt anyone."