This wasn't the deal- this wasn't how it was supposed to go. This wasn't how it was supposed to go- THIS WASN'T HOW THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO GO! The blood of his superior was never supposed to be on his hands, everything, the other enforcers weren't supposed to have died. This was all wrong. he had to make it right. Fear, pain, disgust- what else should he have expected from a scum Zaunite, lies, trickery. The ground swayed as Marcus stumbled towards the old canning factory, he could see the fire even from the other side of the bridge, could see a girl screaming for her father, two girls where near a body but then- then there was a third. a third child, a third being that had been hurt like him, betrayed like him, needed… him. Marcus' hand slid down his pants, stopping at the small gold lined pocket on the side of his pants, deft fingers slip in, retrieving the small blue handkerchief, a strong mix of chloroform wet the rag as Marcus stood there, the shadow weaving around him as he approached the crying kid. The kid, his kid. It was a blur, they fought, it didn't matter, he was twice their size and strength, the kid dropped and Marcus was happy, his kid, he had won something in this horrible game of pawns, all was not for nothing anymore. The serpentine smile clung to his lips the entire walk back to his Piltover apartment—no, no, he was happy.