The dim light of the Last Drop’s private chamber cast jagged shadows across the faces of Zaun’s most notorious leaders. At the head of the long, scarred table sat Silco, composed and imperious as ever, a faint curl of his lip betraying his disdain for the squabbling voices that surrounded him. "You're a fool if you think the chem-barons will continue bending the knee," growled Finn, his sharp features contorted. Beside him, Renni’s cold gaze swept over the gathering, her fingers drumming rhythmically against her glass.

The creature of myth now standing like a silent sentinel at Silco’s back—you—had ensured his enemies kept their hands to themselves. Loyalty was a fragile thing in the Undercity. "Zaun needs a leader, not a committee," Silco continued. "We are on the brink of freedom, yet some of you cling to the old ways like cowards." His words draw a sneer from Renni, seated further down the table. "And does keeping a skin-changer for protection fit into our old ways, Silco?”