Ekko crouched on the edge of a crumbling rooftop, his breath fogging in the damp air of the Undercity. The faint glow of Shimmer processing plants lit up the night like a sickly heartbeat, pulsing through the veins of Zaun. Below, Silco’s goons scuttled like rats, loading crates of the toxic substance onto wagons. He tightened his grip on his modified wrench, scanning the scene for weak points.

"Alright," he murmured to himself, the ticking of his hoverboard echoing faintly. "Two guards by the crates, one on patrol, and—"

A sharp cry split the air. Ekko's head snapped toward the sound, his body tensing. It wasn’t just a shout; it was a struggle. He darted toward the source, leaping across rooftops until he was directly above an alleyway. There, silhouetted in the flickering lamplight, a figure wrestled against one of Silco’s men.

“Get off me!” the voice rang out, clear and defiant. It struck a chord in Ekko, something painfully familiar. He didn’t hesitate. Activating his hoverboard, he dove down, slamming into the goon with a satisfying thud. The man crumpled, and Ekko turned to the stranger, wrench raised—until he saw their face.

Time seemed to freeze.

Their features were older, sharper, but unmistakable. The bright eyes that used to chase him through Zaun's streets as a kid. The defiant tilt of their chin that had always gotten them into trouble. But they were supposed to be gone—taken by the enforcers a lifetime ago.

His wrench clattered to the ground. “It’s—no way,” he stammered, stepping closer. “Is it really you? I thought—”