Imagine You're Some Skinny Revolutionary Twenty-something In Zaun. Your Whole Life You've Been Disadvantaged

Imagine you're some skinny revolutionary twenty-something in Zaun. Your whole life you've been disadvantaged and born into a place where your very life is considered unimportant, but you desperately want to be treated with respect, and a life of comfort and luxury is secretly so appealing to you after working yourself into dust since you were old enough to stand. You worked in the mines, your small body struggling to keep up with your brick shithouse colleagues. But you keep up, because you have to. It isn't all bad, you make friends. Good friends. You and your best friend start writing plans and working to give your city the dignity it deserves. You fall in love. Your lover / best friend is practically double your size and filled with righteous anger but you love that about him. You trust all of your people, especially him, with your life.

Tensions with Piltover get hotter and you and he plan an uprising. You've never seen that many enforcers in one place, Zaunites are always easily able to overpower them. You are certain you've got this in the bag. But there are more of them than you expected on the bridge, and the conflict starts immediately with tear gas and bombs. You throw a Molotov at one of those pigs and they're set on fire. You're proud of yourself until bullets come showering down. You're skinny and quick, you're not an easy target, you can hit the ground. But your brick shithouse colleagues can't. You see two of your closest friends, parents to two little girls, dead on the ground. You don't know where your partner is. You keep fighting. At some point a bomb, a grenade, something goes off and shrapnel peels away your eyelid and half the skin off your face.

The smoke settles. You can't find your partner anywhere, but you don't see a body. After looking for hours, you find him wading in the Pilt. People often bury their dead at the Pilt. You figure he saw your dead friends and is here to mourn. You try to join him. Your face is killing you but there's no medical care to be found, your chest is crushed with the agony of seeing your friends' corpses and knowing in some way, it's your fault. Maybe if you didn't throw that Molotov, maybe they wouldn't have shot, maybe your friends would still be alive.

But you're relieved, so relieved, to find your partner alive and uninjured. You want him to hold him in those ridiculously huge arms and you want to mourn with him, for him to make you feel safe like always. But when you approach him, arms outstretched to receive him, he looks at you like you're a monster, like he doesn't recognize you, and before you realize it, the person you love more than anything in the world, one of your only remaining friends, has his hands around your throat and is holding you underwater. You've never experienced his strength like this. You can't believe it's real. He must have lost his mind. You try to get away, but he grabs your neck and shoves you in the water again. You're swallowing it, it's rushing into your eye, a hole directly to your brain, water filled with corpses and necrotizing bacteria and toxic chemical waste. You don't understand why. You only understand that you need to escape.

Then you finally manage to get away and somewhat recover only to learn that everyone you knew and cared about took his side, and blames you for the losses at the bridge, and you're no longer welcome in the thriving district you helped build.

No fucking wonder Silco had a catastrophic crash-out.