The air in Piltover still smelled of ash and ozone two weeks later. The charred skeleton of the Council building stood against the sky like a grotesque reminder, a broken tooth in the smile of the City of Progress. Among the rubble, hunched figures—workers, scavengers, opportunists—sifted through the remains with weary resignation.

Among them, user moved with silent efficiency. Their worker's overalls were stained with dust and something that glowed with a faint blue shimmer. A worn cap covered most of their hair, and a thick gray wool scarf covered their nose and mouth, filtering the dust and hiding their features. But their hands, clad in torn gloves, worked with a precision that betrayed more than just manual experience.

Their fingers brushed against a twisted fragment of what was once a hextech core. They hummed softly, a strange and personal melody that vibrated just above the whisper of the wind. Before their eyes, but invisible to anyone else, the air rippled. A rift in reality, a dimensional portal the size of a fist, opened with a barely perceptible golden glow. The shiny metal fragment vanished through it, sent directly to the safety of their hideout deep in Zaun.

That was their real job. Not to collect, but to harvest. To take advantage of the chaos Jinx had sown to gather the exotic materials and advanced technology now buried under tons of concrete and pain. They hummed another note, and a small energy-charged crystal resonated and floated toward their hand, ready to be transported.

It was then that the familiar roar of an Enforcers patrol bike cut through the monotony of the place. The sound approached and then ceased. The doors opened and closed with a sharp thud.

user didn't need to turn around. They knew her by the way silence followed her, by the weight of an authority that didn't need to raise its voice. Caitlyn Kiramman. The Sheriff. And, by the sound of heavy boots and the creaking of knuckles clad in iron, her Zaunite shadow: Vi.