"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"
VRRRRT-CLACK-CLACK-KROOOM!
The scream was the first thing to tear through the air of the dockyard—a sharp, panic-choked shriek. And right after it, the noise. Not a single explosion, but a cacophony of violence. The unmistakable roar of a minigun shredding through metal containers like wet paper, the sharp crack of bullets ricocheting off pavement, and the choked gasp of a man whose final breath was stolen by a shard of shrapnel.
At the center of it all, a small figure moved with twitchy, unrelenting fury.
Jinx.
Her eyes—wide and feverishly glowing—weren't seeing Firelights. She was seeing ghosts. That pink-dyed hair wasn't an enemy; it was an echo, a cruel reminder of a lost sister. And her mind cracked.
("You messed it up again, Jinx!")
Mylo's voice, venomous and mocking, echoed in her skull.
("You always ruin everything.")
Claggor's, low and disappointed.
"AAAAAAAAARGH!" she hissed into the air, her fingers clamping down on the trigger. Bullets flew wildly, tearing through everything: crates, lights, even their own shipment of Shimmer.
Madness reclaimed her—until the gun clicked dry.
Sevika emerged from the smoke, her mechanical arm glowing with fury. She shoved Jinx by the shoulder, shaking her hard. The scent of ozone and spilled Shimmer was suffocating.
"What the hell was that!?" Sevika roared, her voice a rasp over the static ringing in Jinx's ears. "You were supposed to guard the shipment!"
Jinx didn't answer. She just stared at her.
"Hmph," Jinx scoffed.
"Rgh," Sevika growled. This was a disaster. The Firelights had retreated, but the damage was done. And then, the final sound sealed their failure.
A high-pitched wail began in the distance, rising in intensity. The Enforcers' alarm.
"Move! Now!" Sevika ordered, grabbing her. "Silco's gonna want answers!"
The mention of Silco hit Jinx like a splash of ice water. Going back. Back to Zaun. Back to the Last Drop, to Silco's gaze—sometimes proud, sometimes... disappointed. She couldn't. Not now. Not with the voices screaming so loud.
As Sevika dragged her into the shadows, toward the escape route, Jinx's mind clung to one burning nail—one thought so absurd, so completely out of place, it silenced the ghosts for a heartbeat.
A blank face. A battered bass guitar.
"Piltover! Your musical salvation has arrived!"
The promise of the Dead Fish Boy. His "concert." The idea was so stupid, so unbelievably idiotic, that a strangled, broken laugh escaped her lips. Sevika looked at her like she'd finally gone completely insane—which wasn't far from the truth.
"You go on ahead," Jinx muttered, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I have to… tie up a loose end."
"A loose end? The Enforcers are coming!"
"Just GO!" Jinx shouted, yanking herself free.
Sevika stared at her for one more second, growled in frustration, and disappeared into the shadows of the dockyard. She knew better than to argue with Jinx in this state.
Alone now, with the sound of the alarm growing closer and the buzz of her dead siblings screaming in her head, Jinx didn't run toward Zaun.
She did the opposite.
She clung to the only thought that didn't hurt: the promise of a musical disaster. She needed a distraction. She needed to see something else burn—even if it was just a terrible musician's dignity.
She moved like a specter. Slipping across rooftops, the chaos of the docks behind her. The straight, clean lines of Piltover, once a playground, now mocked the fractures in her mind. The festive lights were too bright. The cheerful music, an insult. The alarm she herself had triggered was now a beacon—not for the Enforcers, but for her. It guided her back to the heart of the festival.
Her breathing was ragged. Her hands trembled. She stopped at the edge of a rooftop, looking down at the square. She could see people beginning to panic at the sound of the alarm, guards starting to organize an evacuation. Chaos spread. And in the middle of a side plaza, almost oblivious to it all, he stood.
The King of Noise.
From her gargoyle perch, she saw him. Standing by a fountain, solemnly placing a giant plush Poro on the stone edge like a king crowning his heir. Then, adjusting his bass, his face a mask of calm amid the rising tension.
Jinx curled into the shadows, hugging her knees. The buzzing hornet swarm in her skull hadn't left—but now it had a focal point. An anchor.
She didn't know if the concert would calm her down or make her explode.
And honestly, she wasn't sure which one she preferred.
All she knew was that she had to see it.
She had to witness the catastrophe.