A poet visited Zaun during its founding. He wrote home to his family about glades and meadows. He spoke fondly and with smooth prose about a sweet breeze whispering from the bay, and about grass like silk. At night, he claimed, the constellation of The Lady winked at him, and The Noble bowed and tipped its hat. He wrote of natural wonders, and unnatural marvels. He wrote of potential.
Janna never met that poet, or saw his vision. The 6:30 Regular woke her again. It roared overhead, dusting her face and shaking the steel girder she had claimed at night. She gripped it, remembering suddenly the loose screw her fatigue had ignored. She thought of the drop below her, and saw the screw wiggling loose at her feet. She secured it with the heel of her boot, and glanced down to the ground.
These girders held up the Mid City, and bedded the workers that maintained them. Below her- very, very far below her- was the floor of the Undercity. The less dexterous lay where they fell, their nutrients awaiting the return of sky and meadows. She only saw muck, and the pooled acid rain of the last ten years.
But her eyes refocused, and she saw instead the eyes of her friend, on the girder below her.
"Good morning Janna," the girl strained.
Her arms were folded like a pillow for her head. And, true to their friendship, she had placed her boot under Janna's girder, and was supporting her weight.
"Good morning," Janna yawned back. She reached up to another girder, making sure not to disturb the rising workers around them. They had woken this way for most of their short sentience. Neither knew their age, but they had no one younger to look down on in this line of work. They rose to the surface, the Mid City, as a sea of brown insects, their work overalls bearing the proud emblem of Architech Inc, and the stitched-on Motto, "We hold the city up!"
The surface was much safer. Workers gathered there on flat surfaces that had no holes. Above them was a smog where a sky might be. Around them was the Architech staging yard. And in their midst was a soap box. The men were arguing over its rightful owner.
"I really don't see a difference," one man murmured.
"Well they take turns, right? One went yesterday, the other goes today."
"Why don't they just split the pay? I really don't see a difference."
"We're wasting time. Today's all you, Janna!"
A chorus of cheers pushed her to it, and hands too calloused to be gentlemen's helped her step up above the crowd. Breakfast was being disbursed by the Architech kitchen staff nearby, at the cost of Architech company gold; and company men were rolling out an armory of rivet guns and steel girders, rentable for company gold. The workers were paid for each iron girder replaced with steel, and were charged for each rivet used.
"New prices!" a Company Rep announced.
The crowd grew silent, forgetting Janna in their worry.
"Nail packs are three company gold today, not two! Those of you working second jobs can change out currency from other companies to Architech Gold at a two-to-one rate."
"Usury," a worker mumbled. And he stripped his uniform and left.
"Can't make a damn living here," were his parting words to a silent crowd. He was right, to most of them.
But Janna had a special source of income. The men would buy her meals, breakfast, lunch, and dinner in exchange for her dulcet tones and literacy. She was handed a stack of periodicals- Zaun Daily, the Journal of Justice, Ladies of Hextech- and she cleared her throat, hoping to earn her way by lifting the mood.
"Good morning, everyone!"
She smiled back at the faces of men ready to forget. Zaun Daily came first.
"White sails billowed into port today after a month-long journey from Noxus' shipyards. Even as it protects itself from the aggression of the Demacian Empire, Noxus has spared troops to stabilize the Ionian Isles in the wake of its latest anarchistic turmoil. After seeking support from the international community, Noxus called on its oldest ally, Zaun, to provide the industry and tools necessary to get the job done. So hold your head high, fellow Zaunites! Join the war against banditry! Remember in the years to come that you were a part of something great. And keep the supplies rolling. When those ships set sail, it's your blood, sweat, and tears that will keep those rifles working! To another five years!"
The crowd smiled at that, and a few men cheered. Janna felt the patriotic fervor burning in her chest, and even peeked over the crowd towards the harbor, hoping to catch that post-card moment when the boats came en masse. She saw only smog. The next article made her scowl.
"And more news about Piltover! The long and oppressive arm of Piltover clutched at our riches yet again this week. No doubt we make a lucrative target after the success of our last five-year plan. When the alarms at The Embassy Suites sounded on Wednesday, a quick-reaction force of Elite Bloodthirsters secured the area with efficiency and professionalism. The so-called 'Ambassador' of Piltover, Sheriff Caitlyn, was caught red handed with Hetxtech Trade Secrets and a rushed Alibi. The only thief named 'C' around here is you, sweetie! But not for long! Naysayers like Dr. Arregor Priggs be damned. Zaunites can rest safe now that the borders are closed under the watchful eye of industry!"
Janna giggled on the attention-high she was getting. But the 8:00 am bell interrupted her next article. Zaunites could never rest.
Janna set her first rivet fifteen minutes later with breakfast still in her mouth. Her friend cursed nearby, which could only mean she'd dropped her meal. The dull splash confirmed it a long moment later.
"I had to pay for that one, today," she moaned.
Janna cast a pitiful smile in the girl's general direction.
"Well it's your turn tomorrow, right?"
Janna cast another smile, this one with more effort. Her friend only spit, down into abyss. But they did not hear it land. Instead, the twang of a well-used guitar responded. They weren't the only workers to pause and listen. The whole competing line of riveters stopped in disbelief to look below. Some crazy fool was in the wastes of the Undercity, making music. His voice carried, like the exhaust of a freight train. He was probably breathing exhaust. But what he exhaled came purified, and the workers found themselves stopping for more than just the novelty. He sang, and the song struck a chord that their boycotting friend had found earlier. Janna had only heard music from the passing radios of private automobiles. She hung now on every word.
"They used to tell me, I was building a dream.
And so I followed the mob.
When there was earth to plow or guns to bear,
I was always there, Right on the job.
"They used to tell me, I was building a dream,
With peace and glory ahead!
Why should I be standing in line,
Just waiting for bread?"
They never heard the rest of the song. A gunshot reverberated through the metal belly of the city, and the guitar stopped. Running footsteps, and the yells of mercenaries, carried into some dark, distant place where hope had been forgotten. The sound of riveting returned as men and women set to work in fear for their lives and livelihood. But Janna's friend did not. She sat with her rivet gun held across her lap, and stared very intently at some distant, imaginary thing.
Janna had heard a dissident from Piltover say that food fueled contentment. She could see now that hunger fueled rage.
"Hey," Janna called. "You ok?"
The answer was clear when the rivet gun followed breakfast into the dark.
"Cog it all! I am going to eat!"
And she set off on meeting that goal.
Janna had never seen someone leave work out of anger, let alone destroy equipment they were renting. She didn't know what to do. But she knew she had a friend. So she set down her equipment, making sure to balance it, and set off to see what was wrong.
"Wait!"
Her cries fell into the chasm, buried under the sound of labor. But her feet carried her over narrow beams, and she was catching up. Panic struck when she saw the destination. She followed the brown overalls up a manhole, and poked her head into an alleyway of the Middle City.
"Wait!" she called again. But a car had passed between them. Janna had never crossed a street before. She didn't have to this time. A snickering and happy face came running back, arms full of bread and packaged food. She had an apple between her teeth, but had to spit it out to yell "Run, Janna!"
Janna didn't need to be told twice. She ducked back into safety and sprinted over the nearest steel beam, letting the manic laughter of victory follow her back to the hive. The workers that saw them looked up to gape in surprise, jealousy, disdain, or just hunger.
Some thoughtful vagrant had gathered enough sheet metal for a floor under the train, and it was here that Janna and her friend stopped. The spoils were dumped onto the platform, and work stopped again with baited breath. Everyone was waiting, hoping that the announcement would be what she screamed.
"FREE FOOD! Last one's a sucker!"
No one moved. From cradle to grave, Zaunites respected property. Ill-gotten food might as well be poison- which, incidentally, starving men will eat.
"Dibs on the cupcake," someone called.
Nervous chuckles. Inaction.
"Come on! It's free! What are you waiting for?"
The train passed overhead, and Janna shied away from her friend, avoiding the glares around her. As it rattled into the distance, she made out the first signs of discussion.
"Which one's which?" someone mumbled.
"I can never tell," one of the older men grumbled.
"Damn, though," he added, "I haven't seen a meal like that since my grandpa's wake."
"Janna," someone called.
"Janna, did you steal that?"
Janna stepped farther from her friend, her head shaking, and pointed.
"No! I'm Janna. She stole it, not me."
"Janna! Come on!"
"You did, though," Janna shrieked, "You stole it!"
"Well I'm sharing it, Janna! It's for everyone, isn't it? Look around at these people. Everyone, look at yourselves!"
The girls twirled, looking around them at the assembly. Men, women, and children hung from every angle on every girder, makeshift ropes and clothes mixing into the rust and dirt. All that stood out were faces, hungry or pious.
"Who here hasn't labored day after day for a better Zaun? Can anyone here name another who doesn't deserve to eat?"
The answer came swiftly, from another of the older men.
"You don't. You're a thief. I really expected better from you two."
Her rebuttal had to wait for the next train. It roared overhead, postponing the moment. The food smelled unreal, and what really played out in that moment was not a battle between right and wrong. The battle waged between stomachs and minds. The train passed, and Janna stepped back as her friend stepped forward.
"Why? Why would you expect me to better when I have nothing? How could I be better without money? Should I spend the rest of my life working down here until I'm you? Is that better? Let me tell you something, you old fool! Money is what makes people better. Arregor Priggs ain't on a tower because he works harder or plays by the rules. Money's the only reason we're down here and they're up there: They got it, and we don't! It's money that makes the man. Now I'm going to start eating. And anyone who's more hungry than dumb can join in!"
That was all it took. Girders clanged as the work was abandoned, and feet landed on steel sheets. Too many mouths were full to argue, and the few lone sounds of rivets being driven drowned under the chewing. But nothing drowned out gunfire.
Horrified faces turned in unison. The Bloodthirsters had come, quietly as they set up, and now with the voice of their weapons. The mercenaries' forms shifted in the darkness as they took aim at the crowd. One stepped forward into the dim light filtering through Zaun's cloud, and holstered a revolver. But his face did not leave the shadows, or the operating table. Metal spoke for him, through a flat, steel mask anchored to his skull.
"Point to the thief, and the rest of you can continue eating."
Janna recoiled. Half of the crowd had pointed to her, and the other to her friend. They both ran, bullets and fury sparking behind them. The sound of chewing and the smell of food gave way to exhaust and exhaustion. They passed over the same beams and leapt the same routes they had grown up with. It was not a misstep or an error of panic that stopped them. It was just iron-oxide and time. Janna had to slow to regain her balance. So as she watched the girder give out below her friend, she smiled, frowned, and cried out at a deaf deity of destiny. Then she screamed into darkness for the girl no one could distinguish her from.
"JENNA!"
Zaun stopped on no occasions. There was no silence or rain. Her answer was the gears of the Undercity, unobstructed by flesh.