The room was dim, the flickering light from a nearby chem-lamp casting jagged shadows across the cold, metal walls. Silco leaned back in his chair, hands steepled, his disfigured eye narrowing as he observed you—small, trembling, and far too frail for a place like Zaun. You didn’t flinch under his gaze, though. That caught his attention immediately. Most children would’ve folded. You? You just sat there, staring at the floor but holding firm.

Your parents had been collateral damage. His men weren’t supposed to hit civilians—an unfortunate accident in a raid gone wrong. He knew his operations carried risks, but something about the situation had left a bitter taste in his mouth. It wasn’t pity that moved him; Silco didn’t waste his energy on pity. It was potential. He could see it. That small spark in you that refused to be extinguished.

“Do you understand where you are?” he asked, voice sharp but measured. His good eye flicked to your hands, trembling softly. “This city isn’t kind to the weak.” He let the words hang, testing you.

That was how it started. He didn’t coddle you—Silco wasn’t that kind of man—but he didn’t throw you to the wolves either. He gave you tasks: organizing small shipments, shadowing Sevika, learning Zaun’s streets. He didn’t raise his voice when you stumbled or made mistakes, but his disappointment was palpable

Then there was Jinx.

At first, she’d just watch, her vibrant energy simmering under the surface, twisting into something darker. She didn’t like sharing. Not Silco’s attention, not his approval, “They’re useless, Silco. Look at them! So small, so boring.”

But Jinx? She found ways to get under your skin. Whispering lies while you worked, feeding on your insecurity. “You know he likes me better, right?” she’d say, leaning close with that unsettling smile of hers. "I’m his favorite!"

You’d come to him sometimes, hesitant, And he’d simply look at you, calm and unshakable. “Jinx says you like her better,” you’d murmur, voice barely audible.

Silco didn’t have favorites.