#sincut

he'd never sell a fellow zaunite down the river. even if their names were jinx and or silco ( surprising, i know! ). for years, the undercity's resilience has been codified in their united fronts against oppression, with adherence to uncodified social rules that uphold an important moral principle: never sell out your own.

the causes of zaun's structural issues are seen as their own problems to interrogate, challenge, and handle internally. ekko witnessed firsthand how underhanded dealings with enforcers—who ferociously uphold the system's stratification—only served to intensify the conditions of ecological violence, as evidenced by the explosion of the shimmer trade.

now, is it cultural for zaunites to stay on code and continuously weld walls of resistance, disrupting piltover's pernicious and insidious interests while dissuading them from their persistent patterns of eroding empowerment initiatives within the underclass? kind of, but the answer requires nuance.

poverty is intentionally imposed. the quality of the air they breathe is controlled. psychological warfare is perpetrated, and sordid narratives are sown to severely limit zaun's social mobility and educational attainment. their readiness for self-determination is systematically undermined. all this, not to mention the factor of proximity, embeds the pretext of noxian-like pseudo-scientific social Darwinism, allowing cutthroat opportunities to flourish. ergo: dog eat dog.

however, i would argue that an internal colony does not possess a cultural pathology. to claim otherwise ignores the systemic forces that created these conditions in the first place. "no snitching" and or defiance against proposals seemingly designed to "maintain the peace" in piltover's interest are not dysfunction—they are rational adaptations by the disenfranchised.

for ekko, this perspective is rooted in history and, above all, his experience. he understands that zaunites who exercise class loyalty aren't agents of discord or self-sabotage—they’re fighting to preserve their integrity and autonomy in an oppressive machine.

this is what makes piltover's counterinsurgency tactics so maximally powerful and fuels ekko's staunch nationalistic feelings. the installation of "sump listening posts"—essentially a multipurpose network of enforcer informants—in each level of zaun, isolates him and any grassroots from receiving vital support, personally and organizationally. this minefield of snitches aids in repression and quelling of urban unrest.

at first glance, silco's reactionary separatist agenda might seem like a seductive theoretical concept for ekko to align with. but his vision of a liberated zaun radically differ. while it's still all love for the dead, ekko wouldn't follow in vander—nor enforcer!vi's—footsteps by being complacent, agreeable, or willing to establish a one-sided commitment to peace just to appeal to piltover's oligarchy. proving he's "one of the good ones" to stave off their bloodlust has never been his mission—nor has it ever been a serious consideration

maybe that makes him politically naive, even unfit as a leader in zaun in the long run. but he'd rather die as the champion of maverick punks, protecting zaun's soul, than ponder life as an undignified parasite, spiritually bankrupting his people. asking ekko to compromise is like asking him to shave his head—it isn't what his dreams are about. they're about transforming zaun into the embodiment of change, a vision that greatly dwarfs the so-called "city of progress".

       These notions did not find themselves applicable when it came to trade ships sailing out from Noxian ports . . . much like the unfortunate vessel that was currently under siege by the dastardly crew of The Syren , led of course by their feared captain . . . Sarah Fortune .

       ❝ Swipe whatever loot your hearts desire , lads ! ❞ a woman's voice could be heard from behind the thick veils of smoke that filled the invaded deck . . . its source drawn towards the bow of the seacraft . . . and more specifically the captain's chambers .

       While the spectacle of looting occured all around her , The Pirate Queen would plant heeled boot firmly against the war torn wood of the chamber door . . . causing the structure to fly open without so much as an ounce of resistance ; armed with her trusted Shock and Awe . . . Sarah would sweep left and right . . . no whims of the ship captain in sight , peculiar . . . but not all too surprising .

       Emerald irises would catch whisk of the maps sprawled out across the desk of the captain . . . each depicting the newly established trade routes Noxus had established on the sea . . . and all with exceptional levels of detail . . . a mighty fine treasure indeed ; what followed would be Miss Fortune setting down her weapons to begin rolling up the navigation charts in question . . . her aim to take them back to Bilgewater with her all too easily apparent .

       But perhaps this moment of reward would prove deadly ? Or something else entirely ?

“I feel that stroke coming on.”

̗̀ะ໒⋮━ FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T SAY MUCH

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A crinkle of her nose, followed by a scoff. The noise came in an instant, almost reflexive, but it carried that bitter edge Riven had long been carrying and, really, who could blame her for being so bitter about this?

Katarina’s demands for an explanation were like a thorn digging into her side. Sharp. A nuisance. Riven huffed out another half-hearted laugh. As if she owed anyone anything, most especially a Noxian cold-blooded assassin. They were no sisters of war. No allies forged in the heat of battle. Not even friends. Riven owed Katarina nothing—not a word, not an explanation, not even the courtesy of a glance.

Thus, she remained silent, back against the cold stone wall of the Reckoning Arena’s cells, her gaze stubbornly fixed on the floor—anywhere, but the assassin whose presence alone seemed to demand undivided attention.

“I don’t owe you anything,” she finally says, her voice cutting through the suffocating silence between them, harsh and final. She could still feel the weight of Katarina’s glare no matter how hard she refused to meet it, and a deep, almost involuntary part of her recoils from it.

She quietly curses at herself. Perhaps, deep down, she’s still just another Noxian dog, bound by unspoken rules, unable to resist their relentless demands. The thought stings, bitter and foul, like poison on her tongue.

this one will be bittersweet, so.. let's focus on the original nicknames vi gave him: "little man", and or as i hc it, "man man", or "hoota" ( some people may have noticed i used the latter in my threads with @girlcyclone and @cheaos ). I imagine it stemmed from several reasons:

ekko had a habit of running behind vi, studying and admiring her leadership qualities from afar, and openly expressing a desire to be tough enough to match her. his ambition led him into partaking in wily ventures, either serving as their lookout on convert missions or providing useful information to feed mouths—all to prove that he could hang with the older kids and be depended on for anything. it was almost as if he was trying to be seen as a "big brother". unfortunately, bad circumstances forced him to become just that. more on that later.

building on this, the nickname "little man" was also a playful taunt at his small stature. he often pretended he was bigger than he was, drawn to dangerous street exploits. from participating as an underaged contender in illegal aeroglider races, to pickpocketing older hustlers, haggling, harassing enforcers, advocating for strangers' human rights, defending the defenseless, and even making strides he made in technological development (e.g., z-drive.). ekko was always prideful of his creations. he believed they could aid in the betterment of zaun's future.

ekko's independence was born out of necessity, as he was a latchkey kid. his parents were hard-working but overburdened folks, their health deteriorating by the day as they struggled to stay financially stable. they pushed him to aim for the top echelons of piltoverian academia and encouraged him to pursue his passions, which eventually led him to the care of a family friend, benzo. as his guardian and boss, benzo was strict strictness—something of iron and fire. he didn't coddle ekko or treat him like an incapable child. instead, he handed him full-on adult responsibilities.

but with his parents' health decline, and the deaths of many friends that were like family at a young age, ekko grew up feeling desolate, shattered, and lost. this was kid who had watched benzo, his uncle-figure, get mauled to death by one of silco's drugged-out monsters. he carried the emotional weight of guilt for the murders of vander, mylo, and clagger, while working under the false assumption that vi had also died. adding to his burden was the belief that powder had been kidnapped by silco. in the wake up benzo's death,ekko unlawfully took over his shop, working tirelessly to raise funds to contribute to the funerals of vander and his friends. at the same time, he strove to prevent his parents from succumbing to over-exhaustion from their hazardous jobs, resorting to buying—or stealing—better medicines from topside due to the extreme lack of medical resources in zaun.

the only tools he had to survive were his wits and the lessons he learned from observing the examples set by his inspirations. steeling himself as he had seen vi do, ekko became a teenage pit fighter to earn respect for himself, mimicking moves he'd seen her use while refining his own technique. a leader had to appear strong and be strong. from the pits to the streets, "man-man" became a little roughneck. he had to.

ekko also inherited vander's will and made it his life work to look after the lost children of zaun. carrying his parents' nurture in his heart while harboring a toughened exterior like vi, and inspired by vander's commitment to community, ekko did something original: he built a community from the ground up. as a teenager, he was already doing grown-man duties, saving youths from being lured by criminal elements that would have turned them into hopeless degenerates. he worked diligently to help the rehabilitation process for former addicts, gang members, and drug dealers, helping them regain a sense of purpose and aiding him in his fight against a system that is dedicated to denying them basic human rights. he encouraged the innovative spirit in orphans, constantly reinforcing the idea that they were loved, full of purpose, and unique. through this, he created a positive feedback loop.

over time, he evolved—from tutmose the innovator, to little man the ingenious knucklehead, to man-man the protector, to hoota the wise, and ultimately to ekko the revolutionary.

we acknowledge his growth but understand that he had to grow fast, hence the significance of being little man.

Garen had always prided himself on his ability to control his emotions, he learned from a very young age that a soldier's mind was just as important as their strength. It was a wonder how the damned assassin could get under his skin with each sly comment without much effort. Her grin, the glimmer in her green eyes, even her tone got under his skin, and the worst part was that she was correct. He did have his reasons for chasing her that went beyond the duty of his kingdom, not that he'd ever admit such things. He could feel his ears burning red.

Steadying himself, one eyebrow raised, he sizes her up, his frown barely moving an inch on his face. " Yes, because I enjoy our games of cat and mouse so much that I spend my days chasing after you and getting into nonstop messes for the fun and thrill of it all. I especially enjoyed the time when you pissed off those raiders and we were collapsed upon and somehow they were more challenging than the beast we faced tied together. " He retorts dryly.

Garen doesn't bring up how many times they saved one another, both during that first night against the creature and the few times after. Cats and mouses weren't supposed to . . . help one another and yet it was a constant give and take, a push and pull. It had been that way since their first conversation above Demacia's skyline, words spoken during chaos, a mystery woman then. She'd been getting under his skin every chance she got since.

@sincut

❝ A story? ❞ Diana's eyes glistened dangerously at the implications that carried those words. Her hold on her crescent moonblade tightened but she didn't make a move to attack this daring stranger, yet she was attentively watching her.

❝ What do you know about my sacrifice to even refer to it? I've seen the truth, my people's sacrifice can't be in vain. I won't rest until those who stained their hands with Lunari's blood fall. I don't have anything more to lose. ❞