Arcane: Broken Mechanism

"Let me ask, what do you know about me, boy?" Silco asked him, watching his men work on the pier from the window. Sirion stood to one side of him, the situation still seemed a little absurd to him.

"Nothing," he answered him.

Silco grinned without turning around.

"Nothing?" he repeated, his hoarse voice echoing in the spacious room. "It's even funny. Usually they come to me with a baggage of rumors and fears. People love to tell tales, especially about those who stand at the top of the chain."

Sirion looked at his back, trying to catch every emotion, every intonation. It was obvious that Silco enjoyed his role. It was as if he was trying to instill not just fear, but deep respect for his name.

"Perhaps I was lucky that I did not hear anything," Sirion said carefully, deciding not to show excessive curiosity. — I was taught information about all the crime lords, barons and baands of Zaun, but nothing about you… Silco, right?

Silco turned his head, casting a fleeting glance at him. His golden eye flashed in the dim light of the room and quickly ran over the white-haired boy, who was now his subordinate. Sirion was tense about the moments of silence in the half-hour he spent in this office alone with almost the main antihero of the first season. In fact, it made sense that no one told him anything about Silco. In the series, even Vander, who de facto controlled the entire lower city, knew nothing about Silco's activities. The latter was clearly hiding very well, or only a few knew his true face and name. If more people knew about him, someone would have definitely given all the information to Vander.

"Or, on the contrary, bad luck" he said, coming closer. "You see, knowledge is power. And ignorance... is weakness."

Sirion tensed, but managed to keep his gaze level. He understood perfectly well that for Silco, almost all of his subordinates were pawns that could be used like bargaining chips. In fact, his true colors began to show only towards the end, when he found a close person - Jinx, whom he considered his daughter. But this still did not paint him in a good light in the eyes of the teenager. Silco provoked the murder of Jinx's family: Milo, Claggor and Vander. He already knew the first two, and in some way they took him for a friend. Yes, Powder essentially killed them, but can you blame a child for this. Give a grenade to a child and who will a sane person blame: an adult who created the situation, or a child who does not see other options due to age? The answer was clear.

"You are right," he answered neutrally. "But knowledge sometimes comes with experience."

Silco laughed, the sound was low and sarcastic.

"You're not hopeless," he said, turning back to the window. "Finn chooses those who can survive. That's his talent. And my talent is to turn survivors into those who rise above."

When he spoke of Finn, the boy hunched his shoulders a little and pursed his lip, as if he'd eaten a piece of lemon. Finn was certainly an unpleasant man, and Sirion was waiting for the moment to stab him in the back and escape from him, preferably to Piltover. But given the choice between an ordinary gangster like Finn and Silco, who planned everything far in advance, he would definitely choose the former.

"The only question is where you want to take me," Sirion said, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Silco grinned again, but did not answer right away. He took a cigar from his pocket, lit it, and took a drag before calmly saying:

"Wherever I want. Or wherever you decide. The only difference is who holds the leash.

Silco stood by the window, one hand on the sill, the other holding a smoking cigar. He stood out against the dim light filtering through the dusty glass. Down below on the pier, the bustle continued: workers hauling crates, guards lazily patrolling the area. Silco didn't look at Sirion, but his whole demeanor suggested that he was in complete control of the situation.

"You know," he began, his voice hoarse and oozing with confidence, "Piltover has always looked down on us. They think of us as dirt. We're worms to them, crawling in the dark."

Sirion, standing to one side, crossed his arms over his chest, listening to every word. He knew this was more than just a conversation; it was a test.

"They don't see people," Silco continued, drawing on his cigarette and blowing out clouds of smoke. "We're expendable to them." War, disease, slums, these are just the price we pay for their progress. For their bright future.

He turned, and his golden eye caught Sirion's.

"But what if the worm becomes a snake?" he asked, the corners of his lips curling into a thin smile. "What if it bites the hand that crushes it?"

Sirion was silent. Silco's words were heartfelt, coherent. It was like the speech of a leader ready to lead a crowd. If he hadn't known who Silco really was, he might even have felt inspired.

"Zaun can be strong," Silco continued, stepping forward. "We can show them that we are not their puppets. That we are more than the slums beneath their shining towers."

Sirion frowned.

"But at what cost?" he asked quietly, breaking the silence.

Silco smiled, his smile frighteningly calm.

"The price they have imposed on us," he replied. "They have always paid with the lives of others. Perhaps it is time to make them pay with theirs?"

Sirion felt a chill down his spine. Silco spoke with such confidence and charisma that it was impossible not to fall for his words, even knowing they were dangerous.

"And you, boy," Silco stepped closer, his voice quieter, almost a whisper, "do you wish to remain a courier? Just another faceless link in the chain? Or do you have ambitions?"

Sirion looked him straight in the eye.

"I just want justice in the world and to survive in it," he answered honestly.

Silco laughed, his laugh short and hoarse.

"Survival is only the beginning. And justice is an illusion," he said. "Let's see what you do, boy, when you have a choice: to obey or to take what is yours."

Silco turned back to the window, his figure blending into the shadows of the room. The rich aroma of his cigar hung in the air, filling the room with an odd sense of power and menace. He spoke slowly, savoring each word.

"You know, Zaun has always been a home for those who can find a way where there is none. We do not wait for handouts from the upper city. We build our own future, even if we have to work in ash and dirt."

Sirion was silent, watching his silhouette intently.

"Zaun will change, boy," Silco continued. "I want to see it strong, independent. No longer will the streets be filled with those who live on their knees. We will show Piltover that their oppression and contempt do not last forever."

Silco turned, his gaze burning like fire.

"But any great cause requires those willing to do the dirty work." Small steps lead to big changes. You know what I mean, right?

Sirion tensed. He felt each word wrap around him like a net.

"I think I understand," he said carefully.

Silco smiled, thinly, almost imperceptibly.

"Good. You will have an important role. You already know how to work, how to be useful. This letter you delivered is just the beginning. Soon, you will move faster than a pawn on this board, boy."

Sirion felt a chill run down his spine.

"And what role?"

Silco turned away again, looking into the distance.

"You will be part of something greater. Time will tell how committed you are. Zaun cannot be bought or sold, but he rewards those who follow him to the end."

Sirion frowned, feeling the hidden meaning of those words envelop his mind.

"So this is what working for you will be like?"

Silco slowly approached, his voice quieter but much more meaningful.

"Working for Zaun, boy. You work for Zaun. Unless, of course, you are afraid of change."

Sirion did not answer immediately, but inside he already knew: Silco had started his game, and now he was part of this plan, whether he wanted it or not.

Silco took a step back, looking Sirion over with an appraising glance, and again paced the room, like a predator, waiting for the right moment.

"You will live here now, closer to the business. This level of the city will be your new home" he said with confidence, as if he were speaking.

Sirion frowned, trying to comprehend what was said.

" Wait, what about my room near Finn's factory? I have things there, tools..."

Silco stopped and looked at him again, his eyes like two black abysses, studying every detail.

"Things? "He chuckled. " You don't carry the past around with you, do you? I'm sure you don't have much, boy. If there was something valuable, it's already with you."

Sirion felt a slight wave of irritation rise up inside him, but he tried to remain calm.

"There were tools, materials…"

Silco waved his hand, as if throwing all these trivialities aside.

"Tools can be found new. And materials?" He bowed his head slightly. "Resources are everywhere in this city, you just need to know how and where to look."

Sirion gritted his teeth, but said nothing. Silco turned away again, his voice softer, almost coaxing.

"You don't need to look back, boy. Here you will have everything you need to be part of something great. Zaun does not cling to what is left behind. It moves forward. And you will go with it."

The words sounded beautiful, almost inspiring, but Sirion sensed the steel beneath them. Silco gave him no choice.