Note: Don't hate me for this late update, okay, I've not had internet for a week now, and the majority of this chapter was done at about 3 in the morning. I don't have a beta, so if there's anything that doesn't make sense or sounds strange, accredit it to that (Also, if anyone is interested in being a beta for this story, just PM me). Thank you everyone for your lovely reviews, I really appreciate them. The more reviews I get, the faster I write, so tell me what you think. I'm open to criticism as well as suggestions for plots/ romances.

Rhinne: Thanks for the review, I'm glad you like the context, and no, Janna's not going to be 13, probably more around 15-16, because you're right… 13 would be creepy with the implied (possible) romance.

Thank you to everyone else who reviewed, and please review if you liked/disliked the story, tell me why and ask questions: those are the things that make me want to write!

Disclaimer: I don't own Riot, LoL, or any of its lore, but how could I not use it…

Twisted Fate leapt out of the window, landing on his feet with a catlike agility. Janna was nowhere to be seen.

Shit. What have I done. She's going to die and I'm going to get beat up tomorrow. I have to find her.

Squinting his eyes in a futile attempt to see in the cloaking darkness, a glint of red caught his eye. Moving closer, he saw that the glass on the floor was stained with blood and that two large footprints lead away from it. Heavy duty boot prints. Janna hadn't been wearing shoes: lack of self-concern seemed to be characteristic of her.

What have I gotten myself into?

Sighing, he started to consider a course of action. The adrenaline pumping through his veins told him to run after the man, but the logical part of his mind told him that he'd have a better chance of finding her premeditatively: ironically, in anything other than gambling, Twisted Fate's instinct wasn't especially good. He tried calming the adrenaline fueled part of his mind that was trying to convince him that running after her was the best idea, using the clear, proven logic to convince himself that a plan was the only way he'd get her back. The logical part of his mind won the battle, and he climbed back in through his smashed window. The girl's debt to him was becoming larger and larger the longer they were in each others' presence.

Maybe I can use that to my advantage.

Once inside, he sat down on his bloodstained sheets, and thought about what to do.

Not again. Please, PLEASE not again.

Janna reawakened to find herself gagged with her hands and feet bound to a chair. Her neck throbbed from what she was sure were bruises from being strangled. She was in a room filled with what she assumed was furniture, under dust covers. It was vast, and she didn't see a point of entry (and therefore exit). A strangled sound escaped her mouth in a futile attempt to cry for help. Her mind was filled with a terrified panic, and she had a pounding headache whose every beat seemed to chant:

Shimmer... Shimmer...SHIMMER...

Please I can't die here. PLEASE.

A tear escaped the corner of her eye as her hands shook in their bonds, her fingernails scraping against the wood of the chair. Around her, objects morphed into visions of sobbing monsters with eyes made of a spectrum of bright colours. They advanced on her, and she could do nothing as they thudded closer, and closer, until something within her snapped and she released a tempest, knocking them off of their feet and breaking her bonds. Everything around her was morphing into strange shapes with violently bright colours swimming over their skin and in their eyes, but she managed to pull herself to her feet, gripping her chair tightly.

Her legs shook and her muscles couldn't grip anything. She needed Shimmer. She sighed wistfully and looked around, trying to focus on something, anything solid, but everything was fluid, like sand slipping through fingers, the walls were sand, slipping through her vision. Her subconscious pulled one memory to the front of her mind: she remembered how, just before her abduction she had felt so clear from the pain of the slicing glass: it had superseded the pain of her addiction.

Wildly, she looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon. She was desperate, she would do anything to save herself, including damaging her already scarred body. She found a nail lying within her reach, and without further hesitation she proceeded to drag the sharp, rusty tip across her wrist. Scarlet blood poured from the gaping wound, pulsing as her heartbeat, and everything but the pain cleared from Janna's mind. All thoughts of her parents, the drugs, the panic, everything went away, even if only for a short time.

It worked. I can finally leave.

She crept forward, ducking behind furniture, trying to ignore the voices that whispered in the back of her mind. The dark voices, telling her she was worthless, that she should die: her life had no purpose, and that in the greater scheme of things, her feeble attempt at existence was futile. And she believed them, but forced them back with a great deal of self-control, thoughts for another time, another place. In her current, clear mindset, she could prioritize, but there was a terror within her of a time when she would not be able to think so logically, and she knew that that day, in need of Shimmer, starving and already half dead, she would be no more.

I guess you could say that that I'm motivated to escape, even if my only purpose is to find Shimmer.

She pressed her hand to the fresh wound, and a sharp stab of pain filled her mind. Lowering her wet hand, her eyes finally focused on what could only be an exit. She ran as fast as she could towards it, dodging the bulky shapes that adorned the room. When she reached the door, she reached tentatively towards the knob, expecting it to be locked, but the knob twisted easily.

This is too easy... I wanted so much for this to be an escape, but it's not.

She wanted to break down and cry. Why was it that the only times that she could see with clarity were those when she had gone to extreme measures out of despair. At one point she had even drunk a full bottle of Shimmer to forget. The corrosive substance had burned her from the inside out, and she was convulsing for days, but at least she was feeling something. The sharp pain of a blade slicing her skin gave her a similar, but weaker, clarity. It was an adequate substitute until she could get back to her Shimmer. Janna prided herself on not being one of the Shimmer addicts who was obviously an addict: if she looked like one, nobody would trust her near their shop, or their purse. So, however exhausted she was, however much she itched for the drug, or for sleep, she forced herself to create a mask of normalcy for the outside world to see and judge. She sometimes wondered what it would be like to be able to create such a mask on the inside, hide your subconscious self from your waking self.

You'll never be granted that reprieve. The closest you can get is a semblance: drugs and blood are your only mask, and those can be broken through easily enough.]

Shaking herself from her reverie, she took her hand off of the knob. She turned around and looked around for an exit. Luckily, she had trained her eyes to be keen: it hadn't been a choice, more like keen eyes were the difference between life and death on the streets of Zaun. Her eyes caught a glint in the corner of the room, and she looked up to see a window. Closed shut, and grimy from disuse, but a window all the same. Janna's heart leapt, and she rushed towards it, before nausea overcame her, and she fell to her knees retching painfully. Stabbing pains shot through her body and she was incapacitated. It took all of her willpower not to scream.

The pain receded, and she managed to stand up, albeit painfully. She was running purely on adrenaline now, and she stumbled to the wall, her weak arms shaking to pull her diminishing weight up onto pieces of furniture. She finally reached a height where she was at eye level with the window. She collapsed in exhaustion, her weak body unable to move.

I give up. I GIVE UP.

She couldn't run any more. Her spirit and body were agreed on that.

I guess there just isn't a point to this anymore.

In her state of waning consciousness, her last wishes were for an end to the misery that was her life. She was sick of the constant switch between terror and numbness. She wanted to live again, not a half life, not a tainted life of addiction and death. Sighing, she was pulled under and knew no more.

Twisted Fate groaned. He'd gotten no sleep during the night, his suppliers were coming today, and he knew who'd taken Janna. He also knew that getting her back would be suicide. Warwick. He'd been an okay guy before that scientist had tried to do god knows what to him. He'd turned insane, a raging, unpredictable man/ wolf, whose ruthless lackeys would carry out his every command. Sighing, Twisted Fate decided to give up hope on getting the money back, and went to open up his shop. As he was pulling up the shutters, a thought struck him.

During his travels, he had happened upon a shady game of cards in an alley. Young and foolhardy, he had thrown all of his money into the game, and lost it all. He had then gone up to the man who had won the money, and demanded a rematch. The man's eyes glinted ruthlessly.

"You won't get your money back, but tell you what. If you win this match, I'll owe you a favour. Anything you want. Eh, kid?" His rough voice was not unkind, but there had been a hint of underlying menace. Twisted Fate had agreed, and won the game, but had told the man that the favour wouldn't be repaid yet, not until he really needed it. The man hadn't looked ecstatic, but he'd agreed to it, and told Twisted Fate to start asking around for Malcolm Graves, and it'd get around to him. Twisted Fate had been dubious, but had let it go as he had been grateful to escape alive with all of his limbs attached. Now he reconsidered the offer.

Wandering out into the street, he locked up his store, resigning himself to another profitless day. He'd return to meet the suppliers in the evening. He saw authorities 'patrolling' the streets. Everyone in Zaun knew that the authorities were a joke. They did nothing to stop crime, and they only stopped people to extract 'fines'. But asking them seemed worth a try.

"Excuse me, I was wondering if you've heard of Malcolm Graves?" he asked a nearby officer who was lounging against the wall outside his shop, ogling the legs of a girl who couldn't have been more than 12, and who was evidentially a prostitute. He'd started early on the drink as it would seem, Twisted Fate watched him set aside his beer, and watched carefully as the man's expression changed from boredom to suspicion. The officer turned slowly to look at him, and said in a quiet voice.

"How do you know about Graves. That's a top security investigation, the common folk aren't supposed to even know he's here!" Raising his eyebrow, Twisted Fate took in the information.

Great. A wanted, top security level criminal. Smooth TF.

The officer was glaring at him accusingly. Twisted Fate inwardly groaned, and explained:

"Well, you see I was wondering if they had informed the lower level officers of the current situation, as my division deals with misinformation. I'm glad to hear that they're informed you well. I'll just be on my way now." He stood up as straight as possible, entirely aware that his clothes looked nothing like those of a senior officer, and more like those of a gypsy. He turned away and walked as fast as he could without running. Only when he had concealed himself in a crowd of people, did he slow down.

The encounter had told him one thing. He wouldn't find Graves by asking random passer-bys: he'd have to find someone who specialized. Behind the casino that he frequented, there was an alley of people dealing in goods and information that were shadier than one would find in a casino. They usually gave you two options: you could gamble them for an object, or information (the more valuable the object, the higher the stakes), or you could pay straight up. Certain vendors gave you a third option too: Pay up or die, then leave without your purchase. Needless to say, it was always a good idea to go back there armed. Unaware of the peril Janna was in, he headed back to his shop to prepare himself for the evening to come.