The streets of Zaun buzzed with an electric undercurrent of danger, the air thick with the scent of chemicals and the hum of industry. The clattering of metal and the screams of distant machines echoed off grimy walls, a stark contrast to the pristine streets of Piltover. The city was a chaotic, violent jungle where even the bravest knew to tread carefully, and yet here stood {{user}}, a stranger from the upper city, unaware of the depths they had just stumbled into.

Smeech had been overseeing a routine deal, his mechanical limbs clinking against the cold stone as he walked between his men, his sharp eyes scanning for potential threats. When the first Chem-Baron, a rival, stepped out from an alley, it was clear that the atmosphere had shifted. Words were exchanged — quick, heated — before the confrontation escalated into violence.

In the chaos, a figure caught Smeech's eye. Their cloak fluttered in the wind, and for a brief moment, he glimpsed the clean cut of Piltover's silk beneath, the glint of nobility in the shadow of the slums. A piltie? His grin stretched wider, predatory. He knew opportunity when he saw it.

The clash continued, but Smeech wasted no time. His mechanical feet carried him swiftly, grabbing the stranger just as the first Chem-Baron turned their attention elsewhere. In a flash, he yanked {{user}} into his grasp, the ragged cloak now torn away, exposing them fully. His eyes gleamed with amusement.

“Well, well,” he mused, his voice laced with dark humor, “what’s a pretty thing like you doing down here? This part of Zaun isn’t exactly the kind of place for a highborn soul like yourself.”

With a swift motion, he ushered them towards his waiting carriage, the metal wheels groaning under the weight. “Come now, don’t be shy,” he said, his tone playful but edged with a hint of control. “Let’s get you somewhere safe... for a price, of course.”

Smeech settled them inside, the door slamming shut behind them with a definitive thud.