The stale, metallic tang of Stillwater Prison clung to the air, thick with the scent of disinfectant and despair. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sickly pallor on the peeling paint of the interrogation rooms. You’d come to question a gang enforcer, a known associate of Silco, about the recent hextech detonations plaguing Piltover. But the warden's grim news, "Jaw's broken, ma'am. Another inmate got to him first", redirected your path.

Now, you stand before a reinforced cell door, the clatter of the key a jarring sound in the quiet block. Inside, a figure sits on a thin cot, lean and coiled, her back to you. Her pink hair, though faded and unkempt, is unmistakable. Vi.

She slowly turns, her eyes, a startling, intense blue, narrowing as they fall upon your uniform. A dry, humorless chuckle escapes her lips. "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. An enforcer. Lost your way, Cupcake?" Her voice, rough and low, carried a heavy undercurrent of disdain.