Arcane, Voice of Zaun

I was crouching up in a railing, along with a few other Atreides, Jay specifically. The metal was cold beneath my hands, numbing my fingertips as I shifted my weight to get more comfortable. A drop of water fell from the ceiling, landing on my nose. I wiped it away quickly, my eyes never leaving the front door of the warehouse.

We were in the meeting point, a worn down warehouse, a few kilometers away from the slums. The walls were rusted through in places, letting in slivers of the green-tinged light from outside. The air smelled of mold and abandonment, with that underlying scent of chemtech that seemed to permeate everything in the Undercity.

"I'm bored," Jay muttered, his back rested against a railing that made a right angle with the one we were sitting on, connecting itself to the ceiling. He was twirling a small coin between his fingers, the soft metallic clicks barely audible even in the silence of our hideout.

"We've only been here for like 30 minutes," I said, my eyes never leaving the front door. My legs dangled over the edge, swinging slightly in the stale air. From our vantage point, I could see the entire floor of the warehouse—the stacks of crates containing the chemtech materials, the four figures standing guard over them, and the empty space where our buyers would soon appear.

"Still, thirty minutes having my legs dangling over here, it feels like they are about to go to sleep." Jay stretched his legs out in front of him, wiggling his toes inside his worn boots. "I hate stakeouts."

I glanced down at the drop, around four meters to the concrete floor below. I wasn't good enough to actually stick the landing yet, so I'd have to get down with a pillar and quick at that if anything went wrong. Jay, on the other hand, could make the jump with ease.

"You'd think after all this time, I'd be used to the waiting," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it's always the worst part."

I nodded, my attention fixed on Lloyd below. He was pacing slightly, flipping his knife into the air and catching it with practiced ease. The green veins of chemtech in the blade caught the dim light each time it spun. Cole stood motionless beside him, a mountain of a man with his arms crossed over his chest. The other two—Myles and Dax—were positioned strategically near the crates, hands resting casually on their weapons.

"If something goes wrong," I whispered to Jay, "what's the signal again?"

Jay rolled his eyes. "Three quick flashes from Lloyd's knife. But nothing's going to go wrong. It's just a sale."

I wasn't so sure. The memory of the rats in glass cages, their bodies twisting and exploding, was still fresh in my mind. My dream of Lloyd dying was still fresh in my mind and even though he had survived the expedition to the mines, something still fell off.

In total, eighteen Atreides had come to the drop, and fourteen of us were hiding up in the railings. We were the insurance policy, the hidden muscle that would rain down if things went south. I fidgeted with the knife strapped to my thigh, making sure it was loose enough to draw quickly.

The minutes stretched on, the silence broken only by the occasional drip of water or creak of metal as one of us shifted position. My eyes were starting to sting from staring so intently at the door. Just as I was about to look away to give them a rest...

CREAK

The door to the warehouse creaked open, the sound echoing through the cavernous space. My body tensed, every muscle coiled and ready. Jay's hand found my shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze—a silent reminder to stay calm.

Thirty people strode in, their footsteps a silent echo across the warehouse. My heart hammered in my chest as I counted them. Damn, almost double our numbers. I scanned the group, looking for the leader, and there he was—the man leading the front, his scarred face and red eye almost shining in the dark.

Silco.

He was exactly as I remembered him from my glimpse into the Old Cannery. Tall, thin, with a presence that seemed to consume the air around him. His men fanned out behind him in a loose formation, their hands resting on weapons concealed beneath coats and jackets. Unlike Lloyd's men, who made no effort to hide their arsenal, Silco's crew had a more disciplined, almost military bearing to them. These weren't just street thugs; they were soldiers.

I glanced around at the other Atreides hiding in the rafters. Everyone was alert now, eyes fixed on the scene below, hands hovering near weapons. I caught Geoff's eye across the way; he gave me a small nod before returning his attention to the floor.

[Lloyd's POV]

I threw my knife spinning into the air and then caught it by the hilt, over and over, a habit I'd developed years ago to keep myself entertained and keep the other party on edge. The familiar weight of the blade was comforting as I looked at the man who was our buyer.

Scarred face and red eye, wearing a red and black suit with overalls. Just like Paul had said. That little mouse was doing way too much reconnaissance on his own. I'd have to have a talk with him about that—after we concluded this business.

Still, could it really be the same Silco? I honestly couldn't tell. Not like I had ever been truly involved with the rebellion against topside that Vander had started. After all, I knew our numbers, I knew Piltover's; we were outgunned and outmatched, and going against them was a good way to get exterminated like gutter rats. I'd always kept the Atreides out of politics, focusing instead on what mattered—survival and profit.

But this man... there was something in his eye that made my skin crawl. A fanaticism, a hunger that went beyond mere greed. If this was indeed the same Silco from the rebellion days, he'd changed—and not for the better.

"So you have my materials," Silco said, hands clasped behind his back. His voice was smooth, cultured even, with none of the rough edges that most Undercity dwellers carried in their speech.

I pointed behind me with my knife, a lazy gesture meant to convey indifference. "You can see them, can't you?" The boxes were stacked neatly, their contents carefully sealed against the damp air of the warehouse. Each one worth a small fortune to the right buyer.

Silco gestured with his hand, and one of his goons came forward with a backpack, throwing it in our direction. Cole caught it with ease, his massive hands enveloping the bag as if it were nothing more than a child's toy.

"One hundred and twenty thousand gold coins, just as promised," Silco said, his tone matter-of-fact, as if the amount were trivial. Perhaps to him, it was.

I nodded at Cole. He opened the bag, and even from where I stood, I could see the gleam of the coins within. More money than most Undercity residents would see in a lifetime. Enough to keep the Atreides well taken care of for months, maybe I could install air ducts for clean air.

Best haul I've had in a while.

"Materials. Hand them over." Silco's command cut through my thoughts, his voice suddenly harder, more insistent.

I was about to order Myles, my second in command, to start grabbing the closed boxes behind us when I remembered what Paul had said on our way here. He really didn't like whatever Silco was planning to do with these materials. The boy had good instincts, I had to admit. Something about this whole transaction felt off.

I sighed loudly, making a show of my reluctance as I flipped my knife into the air, catching it after a single spin. The chemtech veins in the blade glowed faintly, responding to the heat of my hand.

I swept my gaze across Silco's men, noting their positions, their stances, the subtle bulges under their clothes that betrayed hidden weapons. Then I looked up, just briefly, to the rafters where my own people waited. I couldn't see them—we'd made sure of that—but I knew they were there. Watching. Ready.

I shook my head.

"Nah, you come over and get them. You have the number advantage over us. We're only four, after all."

Not entirely false.

Silco's expression didn't change, he snapped his fingers, a sharp sound that echoed in the cavernous space. Three of his men began to walk toward us.

We let them through, stepping aside to give them access to the crates. One of them caught my eye briefly before looking down quickly. Good. One of the advantages of being albino—red eyes could be quite intimidating to those not used to them.

I spun my knife once more in the air.

One of the men began to crack open a box, and I interrupted, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. That shit's smell makes you nauseous." The chemicals needed stabilization before transport, and the raw materials had a stench that could knock out a grown man.

The goon looked back toward Silco, uncertainty written across his features. Silco simply squinted his one red eye, a silent command that prompted the man to continue opening the box despite my warning.

All of us walked a bit away from the box he had opened, and—

BUAH

Vomit spread across the floor as the man doubled over, gagging and retching at the overwhelming stench that billowed out from the crate. The acrid smell hit me too, but I'd been prepared for it, taking shallow breaths through my mouth.

"I told you that shit is nauseous," I said, not bothering to hide the smugness in my voice. Always satisfying to be proven right.

The man closed the box with shaking hands, and the other two began grabbing the remaining crates, carrying them back toward Silco and his waiting crew. 

"So we're done here," I asked, spinning my knife once more in the air before catching it with a flourish. I was ready to be done with this transaction, to get my people and our payment back to the hideout.

"Not quite yet," Silco said, his voice carrying an undertone that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "You see, I didn't only want the materials. I wanted something else."

I pressed the button at the base of my knife's handle, activating the chemtech embedded within. The green substance spilled up into the metal like veins that seemed to almost glow. I could feel the heat radiating up near my forearm.

"Of course you fucking did."