The laboratory was tucked into a hollowed-out pressure tank, dripping with the black, oily sweat of the Undercity. It smelled of sulfur, ozone, and the coppery tang of fear.

Silco stood on the rusted observation deck, his shadow elongated by the flickering violet glow of the vats below. Beside him, Singed moved with the silent, skeletal grace of a man who had long ago traded his soul for a scalpel.

In the center of the room, strapped into a chair of reinforced iron, was Deckard. The boy was trembling—a scrawny, desperate thing from the gutter who had been promised a seat at the table of kings.

"You’re afraid," Silco said, his voice a smooth, terrifying caress that cut through the hiss of the steam pipes. He began to descend the stairs, his boots clicking rhythmically. "Good. Fear is a rational response to the unknown. But it is also a cage."

He stopped in front of Deckard, tilting the boy’s chin up with a gloved hand.

"The world above believes that power is a birthright. They think it’s in the blood of the Piltovan elite, or the heavy muscles of a man like Vander." Silco’s thumb traced the boy’s jawline. "They think you are born with it, or you are born to serve it. But they are wrong."

Silco took the vial from Singed. The Shimmer swirled inside, a bioluminescent purple that seemed to pulse with a heartbeat of its own.

"Power is not a gift, Deckard. It is a choice. It is the willingness to endure the agony of becoming something more." He leaned in closer, his good eye shimmering with a cold, religious fervor. "It is not born. It is taken. It is forged in the fire of one’s own destruction. Do you want to be a victim of this world, or do you want to be its master?"

Deckard’s voice was a terrified rasp. "I... I want to be strong."

"Then drink," Silco whispered. "And leave the boy behind."

The administration was brutal. As the Shimmer hit Deckard’s system, Silco didn’t look away. He watched with a sickening, rapt interest—a voyeur to the death of a human soul.

The transformation was less of a change and more of an explosion. Deckard’s spine arched with a sickening crack-pop, his ribcage expanding so violently the leather straps groaned. His skin turned a translucent, bruised violet, veins bulging like knotted ropes of neon.

Silco felt a surge of adrenaline that made his own hands tremble. He watched the way the boy’s eyes rolled back, becoming solid, glowing orbs of malice. He watched the sheer, terrifying efficiency of the muscle growth—the way the Shimmer rewrote the biology of a loser into the anatomy of a god.

When Deckard finally roared, a sound that was more engine-grind than human scream, the iron chair buckled. Silco stood his ground even as the floor vibrated. He felt a dark, intoxicating triumph. He had done it. He had found the equalizer.

By the time Silco walked into the Last Drop, the high of the trial had faded into a cold, prickly paranoia. He had scrubbed his hands until they were raw, but the scent of the lab—that metallic, sweet rot—seemed to live in his pores.

The bar was a roar of noise. Vander was in the center of it, a mountain of a man laughing as he hoisted a keg.

"Silco!" Vander shouted, his face lighting up. He reached out, his massive hand catching Silco’s shoulder and pulling him into a side-hug that felt like a trap. "Where’ve you been? You missed the girls' latest 'invention.' I think they’ve officially retired the toaster."

Silco forced his muscles to relax. "Business, Vander. The kind that requires quiet."

Vander’s smile didn't reach his eyes this time. He leaned in, his nose twitching. The "Hound" was catching a scent. "You smell like a chem-leak, brother. And you're pale. Even for you."

"The air is stagnant in the lower levels," Silco lied, his voice a perfect, flat line.

He tried to pull away, but Vander’s grip tightened—not in aggression, but in a heavy, grounding way that made Silco feel like a criminal.

"A word," Vander rumbled, the jovial bark of the barman vanishing instantly. "In the back. Now."

The office door hadn't even finished clicking shut before Vander turned on him.

"I had three men come in today with their skin crawling," Vander said, his voice a low, tectonic vibration of fury. "They’re talking about a purple haze in the Sump. They’re talking about a man who can tear through a reinforced door with his bare hands. They’re calling it Shimmer."

Vander stepped into Silco’s space, looming, his shadow extinguishing the light of the desk lamp.

"Tell me you don't know what they're talking about, Silco. Look me in the eye and tell me you aren't playing God with the lives of our people."

Silco looked up, his expression hardening. The guilt he’d felt under Vander’s touch downstairs was gone, replaced by the memory of Deckard’s power. "I am playing the only hand we have left, Vander! While you sit here and sell ale to men who are already dead, I am building an army!"

Vander grabbed him by the front of his vest, hoisting him until Silco’s toes barely touched the floor. "You’re building monsters! I’ve seen what happens when men use chem-tech to cheat nature. It ends in piles of bodies, and I won't let one of them be yours."

"You already lost me, Vander!" Silco hissed, his fingers digging into Vander’s wrists. "The moment you decided that a 'quiet life' was worth more than our freedom, you lost me. You’re not a leader anymore. You’re a jailer."

Vander’s expression broke—a flash of pure, unadulterated pain—before it settled into a mask of grim authority. He dropped Silco, who stumbled against the desk.

"Stay away from the Alchemist," Vander warned, his voice thick with a finality that chilled the room. "If I find out you’re still involved in this... if I see that purple stain on you again... I’ll do what I have to do to protect the Lanes. Even from you."

Silco straightened his collar, his eyes burning with a cold, revolutionary light. "You already chose the Lanes over me once, Vander. Don't think I've forgotten how that ended."

As Silco walked out, he didn't look back. He could feel Vander’s gaze on his spine, a heavy weight of love and suspicion, but all Silco could think about was the violet glow in the dark, and the power that was finally, terrifyingly, within his reach.

The alleyway behind the Last Drop was a throat of shadows, damp with the perpetual mist of the Undercity. Silco leaned against a rusted pipe, a bottle of rotgut gin clutched in his hand. The liquid was harsh, tasting of turpentine and battery acid, but he welcomed the burn. It was the only thing louder than the frantic thoughts screaming in his skull.

He took a long, uncharacteristic swig, the bottle rattling against his teeth. He was pacing—three steps left, three steps right—like a wolf in a cage made of his own loyalty.

"You look pathetic," a voice rasped from the gloom.

Sevika stepped into the light of a flickering streetlamp. She was whole then, her organic arm crossed over her chest, her gaze sharp and unimpressed. She was one of the few who didn't fear Silco’s silence, mostly because she shared it.

"I didn't ask for your company, Sevika," Silco muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His movements were clumsy, the elegance he prized so dearly beginning to fray at the edges of the alcohol.

"You didn't have to. You’re radiating doubt, Silco. It’s a bad look for a man who wants to lead a nation." She stepped closer, her eyes fixing on the bottle. "Drinking like a Piltovan poet. Is the big man finally getting to you?"

Silco stopped his pacing, his gaze dropping to the cobblestones. "He’s blind. He looks at the bridge and sees a border. I look at it and see a gallows. He thinks if he’s good enough, if he’s quiet enough, they’ll eventually let us sit at their table."

"And you know they’ll only let us in to sweep the floors," Sevika finished. She moved into his space, her voice dropping. "You have the serum. You have the means. Why are you still lingering in the shadow of a man who’s already given up?"

"Because he is the Lanes!" Silco snapped, the gin lending a sudden, jagged heat to his voice. "The people follow him. If I break him, I break our foundation."

Sevika let out a low, cynical huff. "Is that the reason? Or is it because you can’t stand the thought of him looking at you with anything other than love?" She reached out, her hand resting briefly on his shoulder—a rare gesture of solidarity. "Love is a luxury for people who live in the sun, Silco. Down here, it’s just a leash. And yours is choking you."

Silco wrenched himself away, the bottle sloshing. "I’m not on a leash."

"Then prove it," she challenged. "Finish the trials. Secure the future. Or stay here and drown in his ale. Either way, make a choice before the Enforcers make it for you."

She turned and vanished back into the fog, leaving Silco alone with the drip of the pipes and the throb in his temples.

He stood there for a long time, staring at the back door of the Last Drop. He hated himself for the way his heart still leaped at the thought of Vander’s laugh. He contemplated his options: he could leave tonight, take his vials and his secrets, and start a war from the Sumps. He could be the monster the Undercity needed.

But the booze made him weak. It made him lonely.

He took one final, burning gulp and tossed the bottle into the trash. He didn't want a revolution tonight. He wanted to be handled. He wanted the only man in the world who knew his real name to tell him that everything was going to be alright, even as he planned to betray him.

Staggering slightly, his vision blurred at the edges, Silco pushed open the heavy wooden door.

The warmth of the bar hit him like a physical blow. The smell of yeast, sweat, and Vander’s tobacco was a siren song. He moved through the crowd, a ghost in a fine vest, ignoring the curious glances of the regulars. He didn't stop until he reached the end of the bar where Vander stood.

Vander looked up, his brow furrowing as he caught sight of Silco’s bloodshot eyes and the slight sway in his posture.

"Silco?" Vander’s voice was a low rumble of concern. He reached across the wood, his hand catching Silco’s arm to steady him. "You’re a mess. What happened?"

Silco didn't answer. He just leaned forward, resting his forehead against Vander’s chest, his fingers digging into the heavy leather of Vander's apron. "Just stay," Silco whispered, his voice thick with drink and desperation. "Don't say anything. Just... stay."

Vander’s confusion was visible, but it was quickly swallowed by a fierce, protective warmth. He wrapped a massive arm around Silco, pulling him into the corner of the bar, shielding him from the eyes of the patrons.

"I’ve got you," Vander murmured, his hand stroking the back of Silco’s head. "I’ve always got you."

A guy had come over to the bar and Jinx started talking a load of rubbish to him. You weren't really listening but just sat watching them both next to you, whilst you stuffed your face with the chips that were stacked in front of you. He turned his face away, but you knew Jinx wouldn't put up with that.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" She says. "It's aaaaawfully rude."

He turned back and opened his mouth to speak. Poor guy. Wrong choice. As soon as he faced you, Jinx pinched your sides and you burst out laughing. Spraying the guy's face with wet chunks of chewed up chips. The sight of him, paused in shock, with spit and food stuck to his face, it only made you laugh harder, so much it had you falling off your chair. You could hear Jinx wheezing above you and the guy stormed off.

"That was quite a show," Silco mumbled to you as he gave you a hand to help you up.

"I, I just… did you see the look on his face?!" You stutter out between laughs. Tears fell from your eyes as your chest began to hurt from how funny it all was.

"Fucking priceless!" Jinx yelled.

"You're both idiots," Silco said with a devilish smirk.

"Maybe, but we're your idiots." You said, with a tongue poked out at him. Jinx giggled and waved at the bartender, who knew to make up each of your usual drinks. 

The drinks kept coming and you each kept finishing them. This next round, Silco asks for a special cocktail. One you'd never heard of before.

Silco goes on and on about the mix of the flavours and how they just flow together "It's just so di-" hiccup "-vine. You, you both have to try it."

The bartender begins putting on a show, with glasses juggled in the air and shots literally dropped into the cups from an unnecessary height.

"Stop showing off Chuck, we just want a drink!" Jinx calls over at him.

"It's not Chuck, it's-"

"Who caaaares?" You tease, earning a laugh from Jinx. Your arms are heavy as you reach out straight in front of you to grab the glass. But you were way too fast and your fingers fumbled, making the glass go flying at the bartender and coating him in the drink.

"Errrr… whoops," you mumble. "Another please?" Now Jinx and Silco are both laughing.

Silco squeezes your arm and hands you his. "Here," gracefully and with ease, he raises your limp arm up to bring the drink to his mouth and take a quick sip. "Just have the rest of mine."

Once you finish, Jinx drags you away from the bar. You dance together for a little while. Bouncing up and down, shaking your heads to the music together. Then she riles you up by giving you a few playful punches to the chest. Not hard enough to hurt but enough to get some energy brewing and a crazed look in your eyes. Quick as a flash, she's off and you're chasing her around the dancefloor.

Your brain was foggy, you don't know how many people you pushed over. Probably a few at least. But ehh who cares. You're having a great fucking time.

She races you back to the bar, a few feet from where Silco is leaning over it. You return her the gift of a few gentle punches and you're both howling with laughter again. Silco is watching you both closely, with an eyebrow raised, and a drunken haze glazing over his good eye. He can't hear you over the music but he can see Jinx whispering in your ear.

"Go on, just do it," she can't stop moving her hips side to side and bumping into yours as she repeats the idea to your drunk mind. "It'll be so funny. People will see and he won't know what the hell to do. Fucking hilarious." She grabs your shoulders and shakes you vigorously. The movement makes your head spin, more than it already was and you start giggling as you stumble over to Silco.

"Hey, how's your night-" he starts to say.

"POW" you cheer as your fist meets his face in a swift punch. After recoiling your hand, you raise your arms in a jokingly triumphant victory. You smile at him then immediately realise your mistake. You'd seriously just sucker punched your lover in the face? Jinx's hysterical laugh fills your ears, but the short pretend victory is over in a second as you see the shift in his face.

The punch you received back was a hell of a lot harder. You fell to the floor immediately and your eyes blacked out for a second as you heard Jinx gasp. But then, as fast as you'd fell, you got back on your feet and launched yourself into his arms. 

"Shit, you've got a much better punch than I have," you nuzzled into his neck and his tense stature relaxes in your embrace. "Show me how to fight like that one day." His arms are around your waist now and you kiss him on the cheek. It was only a little red from where you landed the hit.

"I, I'm impressed you got back up so fast." He stammered out. You could hear the uncertainty in his voice. "It was impressive. And I, I think I'm actually proud of you for that."

Jinx jumps over and joins the embrace.

"Fuck, m'you guys ha-had scared me for a secomd then," Jinx mumbled into your back, words slurred and just about understandable.

....

Next thing you knew, you were in Silco's private bathroom upstairs, face down, throwing up into the toilet, as he held back your hair. 

"Urrrrr…. Never again," you groan. Silco strokes your back gently and you lift your head to look at him. 

"You say that everytime, my love." He'd clearly sobered up by now.

"Yes, well, I don't know how you put up with me." You wiped your mouth with your sleeve. "Or Jinx." You both chuckled.

He cocked his head. "The things we do for love."

"Ha! Speaking of Jinx though-"

"Don't worry, she's already passed out on her bed."

You nodded in response, glad she was safe. Silence filled the room as you felt your stomach was finally empty.

"I-" he struggled to put his thoughts into words. "I apologise for my actions tonight. I shouldn't have done that." He looks down at his hands and your eyes follow, noticing the bruise that covered one of his knuckles and you wondered if you'd find a similar mark on your face. "You weren't aware of what you were doing, but I should not have reacted in such a-"

You waved a weak hand at him. "I was being an arsehole and I deserved it," you shrugged your shoulders.

"You did," he said, the edges of his lips raised in a teasing grin.

"Well, that's rude," you teased back. But a smug look grew on your face when you remarked that "Not many people can say they've punched the Kingpin of Zaun in the face and lived." You find your tongue sticking out at him and he rolls his eyes in response. You know full well that no one who crossed Silco ever survived his wrath, no one but you and Jinx.

"Take a shower and come to bed, you dirty little animal. I'll make sure your behaviour tonight doesn't go unpunished" he says in a low tone, almost a growl. You got the hint, as he kissed your mouth passionately, ignoring the fact you'd only just finished puking a few minutes ago. He nipped your bottom lip.