Arcane: I have Plasmids F*** YEAAAAAAH!!!

Zaun was waking up.

The air was thick with the scent of oil and damp stone, of steel and rust. The Lanes were stirring—workers dragging themselves toward another endless shift, shopkeepers unlocking their stalls, machinery roaring to life in the distance.

But Lukas?

Lukas was moving in the opposite direction.

Away from the people.

Away from the noise.

Away from the safety of Vander's territory.

He wasn't just walking.

He was marching.

Because today wasn't just any day.

Today, he was taking the first step toward his empire.

---

His boots hit the pavement with steady force, carrying him further from the Lanes and deeper into the outskirts of Zaun—the part no one wanted to talk about.

Buildings here weren't just broken.

They were forgotten.

Factories, warehouses, storage depots—all left to rot.

Steel skeletons, abandoned and hollow.

The air felt different here.

Not just quiet.

Empty.

And then—

He saw it.

The factory loomed ahead.

A rusted giant, its walls blackened by years of soot and neglect.

Its windows—shattered.

Its doors—barely hanging onto their hinges.

And yet—

It was still standing.

---

Lukas stopped at the entrance.

Exhaled.

His fingers twitched, his heartbeat a steady drum against his ribs.

The last time he had been here…

Three men had died.

The bodies were gone now.

The blood, washed away.

The only evidence left was the weight in his chest.

And yet—

It didn't feel like a graveyard.

Not anymore.

No ghosts. No whispers.

Just potential.

A space waiting to be filled.

---

Lukas stepped inside.

His boots crunched against broken glass, the smell of old chemicals and rust clinging to the air.

He moved slowly, taking it all in.

The scattered machinery.

The towering metal beams.

The abandoned workstations, coated in dust.

The sheer size of it all.

It wasn't just some rundown shack.

It wasn't just a hiding place.

This?

This was the beginning.

His beginning.

This factory would no longer abandoned.

It would be his.

And he would build something out of it.

Something no one in Zaun had ever dared to dream of.

Lukas grinned, running a hand along one of the cold steel pillars.

"Time for some Makeover bitch."

---

Lukas flexed his fingers, calling on the new plasmid sitting in his veins.

Telekinesis.

In theory?

It was simple.

Move objects with his mind.

No touching. No effort. Just willpower.

In practice?

Fucking awful.

Lukas focused on a rusted metal beam across the room.

He pictured it in his head.

Lift.

Nothing.

His fingers twitched.

Still nothing.

He scowled.

Come on. Move.

A sharp pain stabbed through his skull.

Lukas staggered, gasping.

"What the shit?!"

It felt like someone had just shoved a nail into his brain.

What the hell?!

He pressed his fingers against his temple, blinking through the sudden dizziness.

His EVE bar had dropped by a chunk.

And the metal beam?

Still sitting there, mocking him.

Lukas exhaled.

"Alright. Fine. Guess we're doing this the hard way."

He tried again.

He gritted his teeth, forcing his will into the plasmid.

He focused.

He imagined his fingers grabbing the beam.

Closing around it.

Lifting.

And—

The beam twitched.

Not much. Just a few centimeters.

But it moved.

Lukas grinned.

"Alright. Progress."

He pushed harder—pouring more EVE into the plasmid.

A sharp BANG rang through the factory as the metal beam jerked violently into the air—

Before slamming into the wall with a deafening crash.

Dust exploded everywhere.

Lukas coughed violently, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Okay," he wheezed. "Not bad."

The effort had drained his EVE like a bitch.

He checked his bar.

Already half empty.

Lukas groaned.

This was gonna be a pain in the ass.

---

The factory stank.

Not just of rust and chemicals—but of something worse.

Mold. Piss. Old blood.

Lukas wrinkled his nose.

"Yeah, fuck this."

He flexed his fingers.

Incinerate!

A thin spark ignited in his palm.

Then—

FWOOSH!

A jet of roaring fire shot out, rolling across the floor in a wave of orange heat.

The grime burned away instantly.

Muck and filth curled into ash.

Rats screeched, fleeing deeper into the factory.

Lukas grinned.

Fire made everything so much easier.

Within minutes, half the floor was cleared.

But his EVE bar?

Drained.

Lukas stumbled against the nearest wall, gripping his forehead.

His body felt heavy.

The aftershocks of using too much EVE were setting in—draining his strength, clouding his mind.

Plasmids were powerful.

But they took their toll.

Lukas wiped the sweat from his brow, panting.

This was gonna take a lot more work than he thought.

"Gonna need a lot of EVE Hypos for this."

---

Lukas leaned back against a rusted machine, catching his breath.

Not great. Not terrible.

But the factory looked better.

He had cleared a good chunk of space, moved what he could, burned what he couldn't.

But one thing was obvious.

This wasn't a one-man job.

If he wanted this place to be his headquarters—

If he wanted to make Rapture real—

Then he was gonna need help.

And lucky for him?

Zaun had plenty of people desperate enough to take a job.

Lukas stumbled out of the factory, his body screaming at him.

His arms ached. His fingers were numb. His head pounded like a drum.

Telekinesis? Way harder than it looked.

---

The streets outside were alive.

Vendors yelling. Smoke rising. Footsteps slamming against metal walkways.

And on the corner?

A group of six kids.

Begging.

No older than nine or ten.

Skin too thin. Faces too hollow.

Dressed in patchwork clothes barely holding together.

Zaun chewed people up.

But kids?

It swallowed them whole.

Lukas exhaled.

He hated this place.

---

The moment he stepped toward them, they tensed.

Eyes darting—calculating—ready to run.

They knew better than to trust strangers.

Lukas raised his hands.

"Relax. I'm not here to rob you, not Like you have anything worth taking anyway."

One of them, a boy with sunken eyes and a busted lip, squinted at him.

"Yeah? Then what d'you want?"

Lukas reached into his pocket.

Pulled out a single silver gear.

It clinked in his palm.

The kids' eyes locked onto it.

Hunger.

Not just for food.

But for opportunity.

"Work," Lukas said. "You help me, you get paid."

The kids glanced at each other.

The boy with the busted lip frowned.

"…What kinda work?"

"Cleaning."

"Cleaning what?"

"A factory. Big one. Used to belong to topside I think."

That got their attention.

One of the smaller kids—a girl missing two teeth— shifted uncomfortably.

"If it belonged to them, then why ain't they still there?"

Lukas smiled.

"Do you really care why?."

---

Silence.

The kids stared.

The older ones didn't believe him.

The younger ones were too scared to ask.

Lukas let the moment sit.

Then—

He tossed the silver gear into the air.

It flipped, spun, glinted in the dim light.

And when it landed back in his palm, he closed his fingers around it.

"You work," he said. "You get one of these. Each."

A pause.

A long one.

Then—

The busted-lip boy stepped forward.

"You serious?"

Lukas met his gaze.

"Dead serious."

---

A few more moments of hesitation.

Then, one by one—

The kids nodded.

And just like that?

Lukas had his first workforce.

---Four hours later---

The factory was changing.

Piece by piece.

The grime, the filth, the stench of decay—all of it was being erased.

The kids worked like demons.

Scrubbing. Hauling. Shoveling out years of abandoned waste.

They didn't complain.

They didn't slow down.

Because one silver gear for a day's work?

That was more than many people in Zaun ever got.

And Lukas?

Lukas was watching everything.

---

He wiped sweat from his forehead, stepping back to survey the progress.

The place was finally shaping up.

Rust-covered machinery shone faintly under the dim light.

Broken furniture had been piled up and burned.

The air?

Still thick with dust, but no longer choking.

The walls?

Still cracked, still scarred with old oil stains, but not suffocating anymore.

It wasn't perfect.

But it was the start of something.

And then—

Something caught Lukas's eye.

A section of the wall.

At first glance?

Nothing special. Just more rusted metal and grime.

But when he ran his fingers along the surface—

It felt wrong.

Too smooth.

Too intact compared to the rest of the factory.

And then—

Click.

A panel shifted.

Lukas froze.

His breath hitched.

The kids were too busy working to notice.

He pressed against the metal—and it moved.

A door.

Lukas stared.

A hidden fucking door.

One that had been sealed away for who knows how long.

He glanced over his shoulder.

The kids were still busy.

Good.

Slowly, cautiously, he stepped inside.

And what he found?

Made his blood run cold.

---

A basement.

Dark. Silent.

The air was thicker here.

The smell?

Not oil.

Not rust.

Something else.

Something old.

Something rotten.

Lukas's boots echoed against the metal floor as he stepped deeper inside.

Nothing but empty shelves, dusty crates, and—

Wait.

His eyes narrowed.

Chains.

Hanging from the walls.

Some broken.

Some stained.

A single iron table in the center of the room.

Scratched.

Dented.

Used.

A pit formed in Lukas's stomach.

He didn't know what this place used to be.

But he could guess.

Human trafficking, maybe.

People.

Treated like tools.

Like things.

He exhaled sharply.

"…The fuck was this place?"

---

But there were no answers.

Just silence.

Just ghosts.

Whatever had happened here?

It was long gone.

And Lukas wasn't gonna let it haunt him.

He clenched his fists.

This was his factory now.

His headquarters.

And this hidden basement?

Would be his sanctuary.

Whatever secrets had been buried here?

Didn't matter anymore.

Because soon—

Zaun would have new secrets.

Secrets that belonged to him.