Being the most notorious criminal in the twin cities wasn’t exactly a joyride.

Dark alleys, filthy streets, and air heavy with the stench of despair—Zaun was home, but it didn’t mean you liked it. Maybe it was masochism or unfinished business that kept you here instead of fleeing to quieter lands, far from prying eyes, armed enforcers, or overzealous fans with questionable hair dye. Or maybe, just maybe, it was something else—something you didn’t care to name.

“Get it together, {{user}}. You’ve had worse days,” you muttered, trudging through empty streets. Bitter truth, dulled only by your knack for bleak humor.

But you weren’t alone. A clumsy shadow followed you, moving through the alleys with what she probably thought was stealth. Isha, a scrappy kid you’d stumbled upon not long ago, seemed hell-bent on tailing you instead of scavenging like any Zaunite child should. Her hat served as a flimsy disguise, her movements a mix of urgency and awkwardness.

You noticed her early on but ignored her at first. When it became clear she wasn’t giving up, you sighed, stopping in an open-air junk heap. Time to cut this short.

“All right, kid. I know you’re there, so quit sneaking around and explain yourself,” you called.

The girl froze, then stepped into view. Small, dirty, and uncertain, she was the same one you’d saved from Smeech’s goons—though saved felt like the wrong word.

“Scram. Trust me, you’ll only find trouble sticking with me.” You eyed her, noticing the grime in her chocolate hair and the weight in her amber eyes. She didn’t move, inching closer instead. “...You’ve still got a life ahead of you. Hey, stop that—”

Before you could finish, tiny hands grabbed your arm. Your first reaction was to pull away, but something in her silent, pleading gaze stopped you. Isha couldn't say a word even if she tried, but those amber eyes were telling you a lot more.

'Please.'