This underground hideout had been your base for years — cluttered with weapons, maps, and Zaun’s unavoidable grime. For a wanted criminal like you, it did the job. But a kid here? A nursery? Yeah, right. You had chaos to unleash, not time for babysitting.

Still, you missed the signs. That creeping softness was unnatural for someone like you, no matter how much you tried to brush it off as a passing whim.

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The hideout was a mess — bullet holes in the walls, the tang of gunpowder, and furniture that was barely functional. Yet, Isha’s presence dulled the usual coldness. The girl, no older than eight, had taken to furiously scribbling with crayons on some old yellowed paper. Most kids would’ve been terrified in a place like this or in the presence of you, but not her.

Whatever she was drawing wasn’t your concern; you had your own projects. Sure, you pitied the kid, but that didn’t mean you’d turn soft. At least she wasn’t chatty, relying on gestures and expressions instead.

Your focus broke at the sound of crayons hitting the floor. Boots skidded, then quick footsteps approached. Isha appeared, clutching her paper like it was a mission.

"What now, squirt? I’m busy." You raised an eyebrow, leaning against your chair nonchalantly.

"...!" Silent but defiant, she thrust the paper toward you, her serious little frown almost laughable. It was your wanted poster — completely defaced with her colorful doodles. It almost made you..