Arcane, Voice of Zaun

People kept going in and out of the bar; however, I had earned absolutely nothing. I mean, what did I expect? Even in Entresol, this was still the Undercity. No way people were going to part ways with their hard earned (but mostly dubiously earned) money.

The day dragged on. My legs had gone numb from sitting in the same position for hours, my throat felt dry, my stomach was killing me and even my arms hurt. I hadn't had anything to drink or eat since... since before mom died. The thought of her made my chest tighten, but I pushed it down. Lloyd's words echoed in my head.

"You belong to me now. The sooner you realize this, the better."

I adjusted my position slightly, careful not to move too far from my spot. The sign in my hands felt heavy, the poorly written "plise monei" staring back at me mockingly. I wondered if anyone even bothered to read it, I wondered how many could actually read it, and how many of those that could knew what actually was supposed to be written.

Just as I was about to give up hope, the door to The Last Drop swung open. A woman with a muscular build stepped out. She was brown-skinned, middle-aged with short black hair and striking grey eyes that reminded me of the metal scraps that sometimes washed up in the lower levels. She wore common Undercity clothing dominated by earth tones with copper elements and accessories that clinked softly as she moved.

As she opened the door, it hit me slightly, making her look down. She stared at me with those metallic eyes for a few moments. I expected her to just walk past like everyone else had done all day, but instead, she put her hand into her vest and took out two bronze coins.

She crouched down, meeting my eyes, and placed them in my bowl with a soft clink that sounded impossibly loud in my ears.

"Here you go, kid. Don't waste it all in one place," she said, her voice rough but not unkind.

"T-thank you," I stammered, shocked that someone had actually acknowledged my existence.

"No worries. Just move a little, otherwise, the flinging door is gonna hit you hard sooner or later," she advised as she pulled out a cigar and lit it, the smell of burning tobacco mingling with the ever-present stench of the Undercity. With a final nod, she moved back into the bar, leaving me staring at the two bronze coins gleaming in my otherwise empty bowl.

Those two coins changed something. Maybe it was just luck, or maybe the sight of someone actually giving me money made others more willing to part with theirs, but over the next few hours, I collected five more bronze coins. Seven in total.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to feed myself so it would probably be enough for Lloyd, at least I hoped it would be. 

As the hours crawled by, my mind wandered. I thought of ways to get more money, ways to ensure I wouldn't end up in the ventilation systems. Then I remembered something from the night my mother died - my voice. During the fight in the gray, during my vision, I had been able to control someone. Not for long, but I had done it. Maybe, just maybe, if I could figure out how to use it, I'd be able to tell people to give me their money.

The thought made me uncomfortable, not because of some moral superiority, but simply because that voice reminded me of the one in my dreams, that absolute nightmare.

As I was lost in thought, a loud, almost grating voice reached my ears, followed by a very bright color swarming my vision.

"Come on, Powder! We have to get going!" The voice belonged to a girl with pink hair who looked to be a year older than me. She was exiting the bar with two guys following behind her, one that was skinny as heck (that was normal) but the other kid was fucking huge, not Cole level huge but still huge.

"I know, Vi, I know. Just wait!" Another voice replied, softer but still clear.

Another girl emerged soon after - shorter than the pink-haired one, she looked two or three years younger than me, with blue hair and blue eyes that matched those of the other girl. She was clutching what looked like a stuffed monkey in her hands. As they passed by, they noticed me sitting on the floor.

For a moment, our eyes met - the blue-haired girl's wide, curious eyes locking with mine. I saw something flicker across her face. Something that looked like... sympathy? But then the pink-haired girl - Vi, I assumed - tugged her along, and they both fell silent, moving away from me without another word.

Apathy. The most common sentiment in the Undercity. I hated being at the end of it, but what was I going to do? Cry about it? Lloyd would probably slap me again if I did.

I could make out that the sun was beginning to set by the changing patterns of light filtering down through the rare gaps in the ceiling high above. I started looking around for Cole. He had told me not to make eye contact, but I needed to know when it was time to leave.

Finally, I spotted him hiding in the shadows of a nearby alley. He nodded at me before raising his hand and gesturing for me to come closer.

I gathered my meager belongings - the bowl with my seven bronze coins and the grimy sign - and made my way toward him, careful not to appear too eager. The last thing I needed was to attract attention.

Once I made it to the alley, Cole grabbed the bowl and sign from my hands, inspecting the contents.

"Seven bronze coins in total," he counted, adding two more that must have been placed there while I wasn't paying attention. "Not bad for your first haul. Come on, we have to make it back to the hideout."

I nodded, relieved that I had managed to earn enough to avoid Lloyd's wrath, at least for today. But as I turned to follow Cole deeper into the alley, I noticed four figures blocking our path back to the main street.

"Be careful not to get followed," Cole said, his voice stone cold as always. "Especially when you're making money."

He handed me back the bowl and sign, cracking his neck and rolling his massive shoulders as he moved closer to the four men. They appeared to be in their early twenties, each sporting various improvised weapons - a metal pipe, brass knuckles, a chain, and the one at the end had nothing at all, at least i couldn't see anything.

As Cole's full form emerged from the shadows, I saw their faces pale. Cole was gigantic, standing at least a head taller than the tallest of them, his frame broad and solid like the steel beams that supported the upper levels of the city.

"H-hand over the money," one of them said, trying to sound tough despite the slight tremor in his voice. He was the one with the metal pipe, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Quick, and maybe we'll let you walk away."

Cole didn't respond. I couldn't see his face but I guessed it was still the same as before. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Are you deaf?" Another one - a Chirean with distinctive cat-like features - hissed, brandishing his brass knuckles. "Give us the money, or we'll take it from your corpse."

Cole remained silent, his stance relaxed yet ready. I stepped back, pressing myself against the alley wall, clutching the bowl to my chest. My heart was hammering so hard I was sure everyone could hear it.

"Fuck it," the first one growled, charging forward with his pipe raised high.

Cole moved with a speed that belied his size. He sidestepped the swing effortlessly, the pipe whistling through empty air. Before the man could recover, Cole's right fist connected with his jaw with a sickening crack. The impact lifted the man off his feet, sending him crashing to the ground where he lay motionless, the pipe clattering beside him.

The second man - the one with the chain - hesitated for just a moment before whipping the chain toward Cole's face. Cole caught it mid-air, the metal links wrapping around his forearm. With a sharp tug, he pulled the man toward him while stepping forward to meet him halfway. His elbow connected with the man's nose, blood spraying in a spatter as the man stumbled backward, losing his grip on the chain.

Cole unwrapped the chain from his arm calmly, letting it pool at his feet as the second man clutched his ruined nose, blood seeping between his fingers.

The Chirean attacked next, moving with the natural agility of his kind. He feinted to the left before striking from the right, his brass-knuckled fist aimed at Cole's kidney. Cole pivoted, the blow grazing his side, and countered with a straight jab that caught the Chirean square in the chest. The impact knocked the breath from the Chirean's lungs, but he recovered quickly, ducking under Cole's next punch and landing a solid hit to Cole's ribs.

It was the first successful strike against Cole, but he barely flinched. Instead, he grabbed the Chirean's extended arm, twisting it with unbothered regard. The sickening crack of breaking bone echoed in the narrow alley, followed by the Chirean's agonized scream that cut off abruptly as Cole's knee connected with his temple. The Chirean dropped like a stone, unconscious before he hit the ground.

The fourth man had been hanging back, and now I saw why. He pulled something from his vest - a knife, its serrated edge glinting dully in the dim light.

"You're dead, you oversized freak," the man snarled, circling Cole warily.

Cole seemed unbothered, keeping his stance relaxed. The man with the bloody nose had recovered somewhat and now moved to flank Cole from the other side, picking up the discarded pipe as he did so.

They attacked simultaneously - the knife-wielder slashing at Cole's abdomen while the other swung the pipe at his head. Cole sidestepped the knife, the blade passing close enough to cut through his shirt but missing flesh. He caught the pipe with one hand, stopping it mid-swing, and used his other hand to deliver a palm strike to the wielder's chest that sent him staggering back.

The knife-wielder pressed his advantage, slashing wildly. Cole avoided most cuts, but one caught him across the forearm, leaving a thin line of blood. Cole's expression didn't change, if he hadn't bled, i really was starting to think he was made of rock.

He caught the knife-wielder's wrist on the next thrust, squeezing until I heard the bones grind together. The man cried out, dropping the knife, which Cole kicked away. Then, with a brutal move, Cole headbutted the man, the sound of impact making me wince. The man's eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the ground.

The last one standing - the one with the bloody nose - looked from Cole to his fallen companions and made the wise decision to run. He turned, dropping the pipe, and sprinted toward the alley entrance.

Cole calmly picked up the knife from where it had fallen and took aim. With a flick of his wrist that seemed almost casual, he sent the knife spinning through the air. It found its mark with terrifying accuracy, burying itself between the fleeing man's shoulder blades. The man stumbled, took two more steps, and then fell forward onto the grimy cobblestones. I could already imagine the blood pooling beneath him.

Cole turned back to me, his expression as impassive as ever. He wiped a smear of blood from his knuckles onto his pants and took the bowl and sign from my trembling hands.

"Put the money in your pockets, and let's go," he said, his voice betraying no sign of exertion or concern. "It's getting late."

He was so nonchalant about it, stepping over the bodies as if they were nothing more than garbage. Yet when I did so, vision of the girl who I had killed in the gray spill began to flood my mind.

I wondered when I'd be able to not affect me, like Cole, how many times I'd have to do it. I wanted to ask but I controlled myself and kept silent, following Cole down the sewers and back to the hideout.

As we moved down the sewers I thought of the men in the alley.

Were they dead?

Would anyone miss them?

Where they fathers, brothers, sons?

Or would they simply be forgotten, more nameless casualties of the Undercity's endless struggle for survival?

The questions swirled in my mind, but I kept them locked behind my teeth. I wasn't meat to ask questions, and I didn't want to know what asking questions would mean. Questions were weakness. And weakness, as I had already seen, was something I couldn't handle.

So I followed Cole in silence, clutching my seven bronze coins tightly in my pocket, trying to ignore the fact that they were worth more than those men's lives had been.