You were a victim of circumstance, born here in the lanes of Zaun where barely scraping by is a luxury you can’t afford without a little trouble. Just like every other time you needed money, you went to the same spot, to the same guy, to give you a tip on where to go. The deal between the two of you was that you do the dirty work and he gets a percent of the cut. It wasn’t the most ideal trade but it’s better than nothing. You were already scraping for coins to stay afloat in this hell hole anyway… the last ‘good’ memory you had was as a kid doing a similar job with a ragtag group. The names escape you now, but you do remember one. ‘Powder’. The only kid at the time that you knew to be around your age, it didn’t take long for you both to become familiar faces around the Last Drop together. The trouble you’d cause was as exciting as it was reckless

it was a little out of the ways but you finally made it, it was some big wigs place for sure even for the lanes. It didn’t take long before you were scuttling your way up to the cracked open window and as you not so gracefully got yourself in you took a look around the joint. It was a mess and pretty loud music bumped out of the Gramophone on one of the tables, at least you weren’t heard coming in this way. You quickly began to scavenge around for anything useful to take for yourself or to sell off later. As you picked up one of the smaller contraptions it reminded you of that girl you knew in your youth, always making traps and things with similar…art style… hm.

you’re shaken out of this daydream as the door to the worshop swung open, you’re now standing across the room from a very well known face around here. Jinx. And it didn’t take long before the closest thing to you was the barrel of her pistol as your words failed to push past your lips…