"This whole city stinks."
Sett could no longer ignore the noisome odor that permeated every corner of Zaun and was steadily working its way into his expensive silk clothing.
"If you would prefer," said the woman standing next to him, "you are always welcome to stay at my home. It's shabby, I know, nowhere near your tastes, but the air is clean."
Sett looked down at his guide and saw a timid grin and the faint hint of a blush on her face. He returned the grin, though he had absolutely no intention of taking her up on her offer. He had seen her home, a veritable rat's nest of scrap metal, refuse, and miscellaneous everything salvaged from all over Zaun. A place like that was not meant for him. If he were to stay in this big stinking city, until his business was done, he was going to stay at the finest hotel he could afford. Still, that was no reason to be rude to his guide. She did, after all, smuggle him past Piltover's customs officers and was a half-vastayan like himself.
"Appreciate the offer, Moyna," he said, "but you've done enough for me. Don't wanna impose or nothin' like that."
"Oh, all right," she sighed, "you're not imposing though. This is a favor for an acquaintance of a friend of the family. Besides, you are a paying customer."
She reached into her pack and pulled out a stack of letters tied up with twine.
"These are the letters for the family back in Ionia," she said before placing a drawing of a person on top of the stack, "and here is the guy with too many teeth."
Sett looked at the photo and smirked.
"How many teeth is too many?" he asked.
"I leave that choice up to you."
A nearby clock tower began to toll, sounding the hour with boisterous peals. The sudden sound caused Moyna to jump, completely destroying the calm veneer she was wearing a moment ago. Her blush deepened as she quickly regained her composure.
"My, is that the time already," she said with a nervous laugh, "I best be going, but if you need anything while you are here, don't hesitate to ask."
She turned to leave, but before departing, she said one more thing.
"Oh, and if you want to do your best recruiting, I would start in the Sump. Real interesting folk down there. Real mean ones too. Be careful."
After Moyna had left, Sett took a moment to look at the sprawling city above and below him, taking in the whistles of steam vents, the wrought iron structures built haphazardly on top of each other, the glimmer of dozens of chem-lanterns twinkling through the industrial haze, and the strange, ugly wonders of the place.
"Yup," Sett thought to himself, "'bout as from home sweet home as you can get."
As if on cue, a roiling cloud of Gray, fresh from the factories, went billowing up past the bridge he was standing on. Sett sneezed, the acidic aroma stinging his sensitive nose.
"Argh! Damn it! Alright, first, I'm getting the cleanest smellin' room in this whole place, then I'm getting' outta my good clothes, and then I'll head out to find what passes for talent here."
Sett was not amused by his reflection in the mirror.
"Don't look great, but don't look too bad either."
He felt a little ridiculous wearing these new clothes, even though his crew back home had assured him that this was what was fashionable in Zaun.
"Boys probably just told me what I wanted to hear. 'Nah Boss,' they said, 'you look great. All those Zaunite girls will just be fawning over you.' That's what I get for listenin' to 'em. Ugh, I look like I'm 'bout to burst right outta this suit."
The pants were looser than he would have liked and the jacket was tighter than he would have liked. At least the color of the clothing, a warm charcoal, was pleasant. The shirt he wore was also handsome, with a rich maroon color and buttons of polished brass. The boots were heavy, made of thick dark leather to protect against stepping in anything caustic, but pinched his toes. It seemed like the only article of clothing he didn't have any complaints about was the hat; a white trilby with a ribbon of matching charcoal fabric wrapped around it.
If nothin' else," Sett thought as he put the hat on, "this is nice. Doesn't even pinch my ears. Could maybe even see myself wearin' it back home."
Sett gave himself a final check in the mirror before heading out into Zaun. It was midafternoon, though the light outside was already as dim as twilight. From up on the Promenade level, Sett could look down and watch as more and more chem-lanterns blinked on, dotting the city with their bottle glass hues. He walked along the crowded streets, watching with interest the people who passed by with mechanical limbs.
"Augmentations. I think that's what Moyna said they were called. Interesting. Wonder how much one of 'em costs? Puttin' one on one of my scrawny fighters could make for an interestin' show. Oh, or better yet, let's get one for one of those poor bastards that lost a limb in my ring. Audience loves a good comeback story. And if the crowd's big enough, I'll even comp the cost of getting' augmented."
The sound of hissing steam caught Sett's attention. He turned towards the noise and saw a hexdraulic elevator packed with Piltovans and Zaunites alike disembarking. Each member of the rowdy group was excitedly talking about the nightclub they were headed to. This piqued Sett's interest.
"Where's there's a party, there's people who're gonna get rowdy. And when people get rowdy, there's usually an enforcer to stop the fun. Maybe, if they're any good, they'll come enforce for me. Clean Ionian air should be a good enough sellin' point."
Sett followed the band of merry makers to one of the Promenade level's many higher end clubs. Blinking chem-lanterns illuminated the sign that showed a painting of a fish guzzling ale from a cask. The name of the club was written below it.
"Who was allowed to name this establishment? 'Drunk off Your Bass,' they should be ashamed."
Once inside the establishment though, Sett almost completely forgot about the horrendous pun as he took in the atmosphere of the club. It was dimly lit, as to be expected, and what light there was came from chem-lanterns housed in different colored glass. Bottle glass green, cobalt blue, warm ambers, and frosted white painted the walls with a cool, motley cheer, enhancing the overall jovial attitude of the club's patrons.
Sett made his way to the bar, turning a few curious heads as he passed by. He sat down and drummed his fingers on the on the polished mahogany as he looked over the gleaming glassware with a passing interest. Drinking was not why he came, but while he was here, he may as well enjoy whatever it was the locals brewed.
"Excuse me," he called out.
A woman wearing a crisp white blouse with a hunter green vest over it approached. Above her heart she wore a large brass pin, exquisitely detailed, of a bass.
"What can I get for you?" she asked.
"What's good to have 'round here?"
"Ah," she said with a smile, "want to have what's actually top shelf or what's local, Mister Ionian?"
"And I thought I looked the part of a local," Sett commented as he ran a finger over one of his pointed ears, "What gave it away? My furry vastayan ears?"
"Your accent, actually. Used to work topside dockside. Got real good learning everyone's accents. Yours is obviously Ionian, but if you want me to be specific, it's Navori."
"Bravo," Sett smirked.
The woman gave a shot bow.
"So what can I get you?" she asked again.
"Something local. Top shelf, local."
"Coming right up, Mister Navori."
"Sett, and no 'Mister.' That's too formal for me."
"Alright, Sett. Drink's coming right up."
The bartender went over to a cask and filled a glass to the brim with mead, before placing it before Sett.
"Cavernberry mead," she said, "about as local as you could ask for. Those berries flourish here in Zaun. Odd plants seem to love the Gray."
Sett thanked her and took a sip of the garnet colored drink. It was sweeter than he expected. He had grown used to drinking imported Noxian wines; dry and rich. Mead would not have been his first pick for a drink, but he was not displeased, and with each passing sip, the flavor was growing on him. There was a subtle tartness to the honey wine, the cavernberries he assumed, which kept the sweetness in check.
"Might need to bring a bottle or two back for the crew to try. Definitely need at least one for me."
Sett was at the very end of his second drink when the commotion broke out. A gangly man with hair dyed to an obnoxiously bright pink had decided, now that he had imbibed enough courage, to start harassing a group of Piltovans.
"Bunch a posers," he accused, "just want ta' taste a Zaun. Prolly couldn't ssshtomach, stomach the real thing though. Just look at yous clothes. All cleaned and nice."
The Piltovan closest to the man scoffed.
"Yeah," he laughed, "screw us for wanting to dress nicely before going out to drink, right?"
"Yeah, I am right," the drunk replied, "You wanna fight 'bout it?"
By now the man's belligerent tone had brought the bouncer over to him. The bouncer was a tall man who could have easily looked Sett in the eye, and if that wasn't already intimidating enough, both his arms from the elbow down were replaced by augmentations. Their polished surfaces gleamed threateningly in the lamp light.
Though he didn't show it outwardly, Sett was quite pleased with what was unfolding before him. He had hoped to see one of these augmentations in use and now it looked like he was going to get his wish. Without it looking too obvious, Sett pivoted on his stool to get a better look at the confrontation.
"Is there a problem?" the bouncer asked, his voice deep and slow.
"Yeah, these Pilties are ruinin' the placesh."
The bouncer looked between the seated group and the wobbling drunk.
"They look like paying customers to me. Not making a racket like you are."
"Ugh," the Zaunite grunted as he threw up his hands, "Now I sees two problums. Them and yous, a Zaunite shtanding up for some Pilties."
"I'm going to have to ask you leave now."
"And I'm gonna have to ashk you to si'down."
With a movement faster than anyone was expecting, the drunk spun around and delivered an uppercut right into the jaw of the bouncer. As the man had spun around, his jacket had shifted, revealing his shoulder. Tubes, flowing with an oily substances, plunged into his arms from a small chem-tank strapped to the back of his neck. Whatever chem-solution was hyping him up was potent, as the boost of strength it provided gave the smaller man more than enough strength to knock the poor bouncer out cold.
"Ya' gotta be kddin' me," Sett thought in disbelief, "The guy's a glass jaw?"
"Aww," Sett heard the bartender sigh behind him, "Roscoe . . ."
Now that the bouncer lay on the floor, the now much more combative Zaunite turned back to the Piltovans and thrust a challenging finger towards them.
"So which one of yous is next?"
Sett let out a sigh and placed his trilby on the table as he stood. No sense in risking getting his new hat all dirty.
"Right here," he declared.
The drunk spun around to confront Sett, teetering as he did.
"Who the hells is yous?"
"Someone who's gonna give ya' just one chance to leave on his own two feet."
"Yous challenging me, pretty boy?"
"Nah, this ain't much a challenge."
With a sigh, Sett rolled his shoulders and waited for the irate man to almost assuredly make the first move. He didn't even have to wait a second. The Zaunite rushed him, swinging wildly for his nose.
"Fast, but sloppy."
Sett let the man do all the work of closing the distance between them, not moving until he was less than an arm's length away. Then, with one clean motion, he parried the man's blow away with his right forearm and thrust forward with his left. He fist connected with the man's center, knocking the air from him. Without even pulling his arm back, Sett grabbed the man's shirt and lifted him off the ground. He chambered his right arm.
"You're lucky I don't wanna make more work for the nice people here," he growled.
Sending someone flying backwards with a punch was all well and fine in the pit, crowds loved it, but this was a fine establishment. So as much as Sett wanted to see this scrawny punk crash pitifully into a table, he didn't want to be rude. He threw a right hook. It connected with a crack that signaled broken teeth, and Sett felt the man go limp in his grip. He turned back to the barkeeper.
"Ya' need me to take this trash out for ya'?"
"Dump him in the alley and I'll comp your drink," she promised.
Sett gave a quick nod and did as he promised. He dropped the unconscious man outside, came back to collect his hat, tip generously, and apologize for the disturbance.
"No need to apologize," the bartender said, "truth be told, I enjoyed watching it."
"They always do," Sett thought to himself.
"If anything," she continued, "I feel like I should be offering you a job."
"Nah," Sett said, "I'm already self-employed."
"I get it; you like being your own boss and all."
"I like being the boss."
She gave him and confused look but he did not elaborate further. Sett placed his hat back on and gave the bartender a quick nod before leaving.
"Hope the rest of your evenin' is quiet. Take care."
"And you stay safe too, Sett."
Back into the bustle of Zaun's streets Sett went, but unlike before, he now traveled with a destination in mind. He began looking for an elevator station.
"Look at these people, Sett," he thought as he watched the people go by, "all these fancy clothes and unscarred faces. Doubt half of 'em have ever been in a fight. Bunch of dandies. Moyna was right. I need to get lower. Desperation breeds scrappy people."
It did not take Sett long to find an elevator ready to depart to the lower levels of the city. He paid his fares, grabbed a newspaper to skim on the ride down, and boarded the structure of iron and glass. With the clank of the doors closing and a hiss of steam, the lift began to descend.
Sett watched the city pass by with mild interest, splitting his attention between the views outside and the newspaper in hand. With each passing minute, it became darker, as though all of the twilight hours had been condensed into one. By the time the elevator passed into the Sump level, none of the natural light remained. Everything here was illumined by chem-lanters and candles, giving this portion of the city a feeling of perpetual night.
As the lift operator announced that they were entering the Sump, Sett folded up the paper, tucked it into his jacket's pocket, and turned all his attention to observing the kind of place he would be stepping into.
"Dark. Looks like an easy place to get mugged."
Despite the darkness, this part of the city was still quite vibrant. The people who crowded the lift station wore clothing with bold patterns of pinstripes, splotches, and checkered fabric as if to hide the inevitable stains their clothing would receive among the busy designs. Light shone off the various metallic accessories everyone seemed to carry. In similar muddled fashion, there was no consistent theme with these items. Some displayed gaudy jewelry made of brass, others wore homemade accessories that were a blend of clothing and armor, many had breathing apparatuses strapped to their faces, a few were augmented, and others had trimmed their garments with orphrey of gears and wires.
Overall, Sett found he approved of the motley people of this level. Did he like their fashion sense? No, he found it quite hideous if he was honest, but he liked what it showed about the people. They had been dealt a difficult hand in life, but they were still carrying on in their own ways.
"I can respect that."
Sett disembarked and resumed his aimless wandering. As before, he ultimately wanted to end up in a place where a fight could potentially break out, but the more he walked, the more Sett realized that that could be anywhere in the Sump. He could feel dozens of eyes upon him and the finery he wore.
"Bet I look like a damn mark. Ah well, if they wanna fight me, they're more than welcome to try. Maybe if they get close to landin' a blow on me I'll invite 'em back home. Not a terrible plan. Let 'em come to me. Just gotta make myself look like a 'blivious idiot."
But Sett's size alone was enough of a deterrent for most people to avoid him, so again, he decided to travel deeper, this time by foot. After an hour of wandering though, Sett came to the awful realization that somewhere along the way he had transitioned from a guy playing the lost outsider to actually becoming the lost outsider. He let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a growl as he beheld the fifth dead end he had wandered down after taking a detour to avoid having to get close to a runoff pool. His frustration began to bubble over.
"Another one. Who the hell designed this place? Great stinkin' puddles everywhere and more streets to nothin' than any place needs. And the smell. 'Bout had it with the smell. It better come outta my fur. I swear, if I don't find a fighter down here I'll –"
A voice, trying its best to sound intimidating, cut off his thoughts.
"Alright, Piltie! Just hand over your cogs and hexes and nobody's gotta get hurt or nothing!"
Sett turned around to see who had confronted him and he could not suppress a chuckle when he saw who was standing at the entrance of the alley. A kid who could not have been older than eighteen was posturing as best he could to look more threatening than he was. He was wiry in build, even scrawnier than the man Sett had knocked out in the bar, and the weapon he grasped in his shaking hand was not a knife made for combat, but very obviously a kitchen knife.
"Nope. This kid definitely ain't what I'm lookin' for in a fighter, but I needed the laugh. Gonna let him off easy."
"Alright, kid," Sett said, "Put that cookin' tool away and let me by."
"Not until you hand over your money!" the boy shouted back.
"Really? You tryin' to mug me?"
"What else it look like?"
"Looks like you're tryin' to get yourself whooped. Ya' look like you've never won a fight before and now you're goin' for the title round."
"I've fought more than you, topsider!" the kid lied.
"Doubt it," Sett smirked, "Look at your stance. And the way ya' holdin' that blade, a child could knock it from your hands. Yup, you're 'bout as threatenin' as a wet kitten."
"Shaddup!"
Sett ignored his pitiful cry and continued talking.
"Now what ya' need it to better balance yourself. Watch, like this," Sett shifted his legs and settled into a fighting stance, "and stop holdin' the knife like that. Ya' tryin' to mug me, not make me dinner."
"Quit mockin' me!"
"Alright. You feelin' good fighting like that, come on. I'll even let ya' make the first move."
The kid blinked in surprise. This was not how he expected this to go, but he couldn't afford to back down, so he lunged at Sett with the knife. His hands were still shaking.
Sett sighed. He pivoted out of the way of the attack and struck the kid's arm that was holding the weapon, connecting his forearm with the kid's wrist. The knife clattered to the ground. Before the kid had time to react, Sett grabbed his outstretched arm. He moved in closer, pulling the kid's arm in and drawing his chest into his shoulder. Then, with little more effort than it would take to lift a sack of potatoes, Sett flipped the kid up and over his shoulder. The boy slammed into the pavement, gasping for air as he connected. Sett did not relinquish his grip on the boy as he leered down at him.
"Ya' wanna try that again, but this time with the stance I told ya' to take, or have you had enough?"
Sett didn't give the kid a chance to respond before pulling him back to his feet. The young man swooned as wobbling feet tried to regain balance. Once Sett was sure he wasn't going to immediately collapse again, he released him.
"This work don't suit ya," he said as he turned to leave, "You're gonna get yourself seriously hurt if ya' keep this up. Next person might not be as nice as me."
"Wait," the Zaunite called out, "How'd you do that? Can you teach me?"
"Don't got time for lessons, kid," Sett responded without turning back around, "and besides, ya' didn't even take my last advice."
"Didn't think you could actually fight. You look like a Piltie fop."
"I ain't even from Piltover."
"Where are you from?"
"Ionia."
"Ionia? You one of them fighting monks I've heard about?"
At the notion of him being a monk, Sett laughed.
"I'm 'bout as far from a monk as you can get."
"Then how'd you learn to fight like that?"
"Long story."
"Tell me."
"I really don't wanna take the time. Ya' did try to mug me. Lettin' you go with all your teeth was kindness enough from me. No go, kid, scram."
The kid refused to leave Sett alone. He followed the half-vastayan down every turn and twist of the Sump, bombarding him with questions the whole time. Sett did his best to ignore the young man, hoping that by not answering a single one of his questions about fighting, he would eventually leave him alone. When the kid realized that he wasn't going to get any information out of this stranger, he switched tactics, immediately starting to beg for money.
"Come on," he pleaded, "just look at how you're dressed. You gotta have some cogs to spare. I'll even take some washers. Please."
"Kid," Sett grumbled, "ya' beg 'bout as good as ya' fight. It's pathetic."
"I know I'm pathetic. It's why I'm begggin'. Please, show a sump rat some mercy."
"I ain't a charity."
"And I ain't happy to be beggin' for handouts."
"Then why are ya' doin' it?"
"I gotta."
"Why?"
As if on cue, the answers to that question stepped out from either end of the alley, blocking Sett and the teen in.
"Izzy," said the man who stood before them, his voice worn out from decades of the Gray's abuses, "How nice to see you."
"Yeah," said the woman at the other end, her voice equally harsh, "We've been looking everywhere for you."
"Otmar, Kori," the teen replied nervously, "Listen-"
"Unless it's about the money," Kori cut off, "we're not going to listen."
"We thought we were more than accommodating," Otmar said as he sauntered towards the boy, "when we agreed to give you an extra week to pay the boss back. Time's up, Izzy. Give us what you owe or we'll sink you in the deepest Sump pool we can find."
"Not a step closer," Izzy warned as he cowered behind Sett, "or this guy's gonna thrash you."
"What?" Sett exclaimed as he look down at the terrified kid.
"Please," Izzy whined in a whisper, "I don't have the money. That's why I tried to mug you."
"Yeah, ya' did try to mug me, and now ya' want me to fight your battles?"
"They're gonna kill me, and if I'm gone, who's gonna take care of my Ma?"
Sett let out a load groan.
"Oh spirits take my bleedin' heart!" he cursed himself.
"Fine! Kid," he said, "I'll get ya' outta this mess, but afterwards, you're gonna bring me to a lift so I can get outta here."
"Deal! Deal! Whatever you want!"
Sett took a step forward.
"You heard the kid," he said as he cracked his knuckles, "Get outta here."
Behind them, Kori removed her hooked staff from her back as Otmar approached Sett. The shorter man glared up at him and puffed out his chest to make himself look bigger. He jabbed a finger of his augmented arm into Sett's chest as he spoke. Sett remained unmoving, refusing to be intimidated by the Zaunite's posturing.
"This doesn't concern you," Otmar sneered, "Boss wants his money or the kid's Sump bleached bones. He doesn't care if anyone else ends up dead in the process, so I suggest you take your fancy dress and go elsewhere, topsider."
As he finished speaking, he brushed his hand up, flicking the brim of Sett's trilby and knocking it from his head. It landed in a puddle of Gray. Sett felt a fire begin to burn in him as he watched the smog laden puddle stain his beautiful, white hat.
"And now it's personal."
"You're gonna regret that," Sett said coolly.
"Why?" Otmar chuckled, "Your daddy some wealthy Piltie noble?"
"Nah. I just really liked that hat."
Sett looked back at Izzy one last time.
"Ya' want a lesson? Watch closely, kid. I usually don't do free shows."
Without further discussion, Sett delivered a left punch right into Otmar's face. With an awful crunching noise, he felt the man's nose break under his knuckles. Otmar clutched his face as he staggered backwards, blood dripping from between his fingers.
"Kill them!" he shouted to his partner, "Kill them both!"
"Ya' didn't fall over after one punch," Sett smirked, "not too bad. Too bad for ya' though, the beating is just startin'."
Sett stepped through with a right hook, sending the blow to Otmar's stomach. The thug doubled over in pain and vomited. Not wanting to give his foe a break, Sett grabbed a fistful of the man's hair and pulled back his right to smash another punch into his face.
"Watch out!" Izzy shouted.
Kori had charged Sett, wielding her staff like a spear. She jabbed with it, aiming for his throat. Sett released Otmar and pivoted backwards. Without missing a beat, Kori swung her weapon back at him, giving her partner time to recover. Sett raised his guard, blocking the attack with both his forearms. He grunted in discomfort. The force behind the blow was not terribly great, but as he just learned, the end of Kori's weapon was covered in small barbs. They pierced the thick fabric of Sett's jacket, but mercifully, not his skin. He kept his hands up as Otmar and Kori circled around to either side of him, thinking they would gain an advantage through flanking.
"They always think this'll help 'em. Never once consider how far my arms reach."
They rushed Sett at the same time, just as he anticipated they would. He snapped his arms out towards each of them but suddenly felt the fabric of his jacket straining against him and restricting his movements.
"Arrgh," he roared, "This is why I never wear anything with sleeves!"
Without hesitation, Sett pushed himself onwards and tore the seams of his jacket. The fabric slipped down his arms as he lashed them outwards to catch each of the thugs. He gripped the collars of their shirts and yanked them towards each other.
"Play nice!"
He released their garments as soon as they were before him, quickly moving his hands up to cup the backs of their heads and slam them into each other. The resulting crack echoed through the alley. There was a fresh spray of blood from Otmar's nose as both he and Kori collapsed. Otmar was knocked out cold, but Kori, with a groan, pulled herself back up to her knees.
"Now listen here," Sett growled down at her, "You ain't gonna be botherin' this kid again. I could kill ya' two and dump your bodies in a pool but I ain't. Consider this payment for his debt; your miserable lives spared for his pathetic one. You're welcome."
Sett bent down and picked up his hat from the puddle before taking off down the alley, leaving the thugs behind to lick their wounds. Izzy sped after him.
"Janna's mercy," the kid stammered, "that, that was terrifying. You flattened them."
"Yeah," Sett said, "that's what I do."
"And we're just gonna leave them there?"
"You wanna drag 'em along?"
"No!"
"Didn't think so. Now it's time for your end of the deal. Get me to a lift."
"Of course Mister. . . "
"No 'mister,' just Sett."
"Of course, Sett. I'll take you to a lift, but first I think we should get you to my Ma. I feel bad that you ruined your jacket protecting me and she's a seamstress. I know she'll help, 'specially after she learns what you did for me."
One look at his arms was all the convincing Sett needed to follow the kid back home.
"Sleeves will just be more in my way if I don't get 'em fixed."
"Alright, kid," he agreed, "I'll go."
Izzy led Sett through the confusion of Zaun's Sump to his apartment, which was situated right above his mother's seamstress studio. She was standing in the doorway, struggling to reach up to turn off the chem-lantern outside the store and close up the shop. As she saw her son approaching with Sett, she stopped and turned to her boy.
"Isidor," she called out, "come help me, please."
Izzy rushed to her side and switched off the lantern. With the lantern taken care of, the woman turned her attention to Sett and his torn jacket. As she had turned, Sett saw the source of her struggle. The woman was missing a leg and was leaning heavily on a cane for balance.
"I'm sorry," she said, "we're closed, but if you come back tomorrow, I can take a look at that for you."
"His name is Sett," Izzy said, "and he's a friend. I told him you'd take care of his jacket tonight. He uh, saved me from some trouble."
"Trouble?"
"He was tryin' to mug me," Sett answered, "and then some thugs tried to kill him."
"Isidor!"
The young man's face turned beet red.
"Ma. . . "
"I don't want to hear it. Inside, now!" she turned to Sett, "I'm so sorry for my son's behavior. Please come inside. Fixing your jacket is the least I can do after my boy tried to rob you. I am so sorry."
Sett shrugged and accepted the invitation.
"He didn't succeed," he said, "so I ain't too bothered."
The inside of the shop was neatly cluttered, with all manner of articles of clothing waiting on labeled racks. Izzy's mother made her way to a cushioned seat, her son there to offer support the whole way over. As she reclined into the chair Izzy pulled over a footstool and placed it before her.
"I'll get the leg," he said as he took off up the stairs to the apartment.
Now that her son was out of the room, the woman let out a long sigh before looking to Sett and giving him a warm but weak smile.
"He's not a bad kid," she said, "but he's got bad judgement. He's gotten so rash since his father passed. Again, I am so sorry for his behavior."
"No more apologizing," Sett said, "those were his actions, not yours."
"As his mother I still feel responsible."
"Nah, don't feel that way. Mommas can't always control their boys. Trust me, I know."
"You make your momma worry sometimes?" she asked with a knowing smile.
"I try not to."
"You sound like a good boy," another sigh, "so can you please be good and tell me what happened today? And please, let me see your jacket. I'll work on it while you talk."
Sett removed the garment and handed it over to the seamstress before explaining to her what had happened.
"I warned him that might happen," she said, "Isidor, my leg isn't worth your life."
As if summoned by the mention of his name, Izzy came down the stairs, a mechanical leg cradled in his arms. His Ma's augmentation was simple, enough to help her walk around, but not as finely crafted as those of the people of the Promenade or Entresol levels, and it was constantly exposed to the harsh conditions of the Sump. As a result, it broke down more frequently and required nightly maintenance. Izzy leaned the augmentation against the stool and his mother pulled back the edge of her skirt to reveal the base for the limb, resting right above her knee.
"Please forgive the informality," she said.
"It ain't a problem," Sett answered.
He watched with interest as Izzy attached the limb to his mother before pulling something small and metal out of his pocket.
"I found it," the boy said with pride, "took hours, but I found one in the heap. Didn't steal it, so you don't need to give me that look."
"I'm giving you the look because you tried to rob this man. He told me about the gangsters. Isidor, I warned you about borrowing money from them."
"You needed that new part 'sides, Sett set them straight."
"But if he wasn't there, you would be dead. I know you worry about my leg, but I can survive without it. I can't survive without you."
"But Ma-"
"Listen to your momma," Sett interrupted, "You'd make an awful criminal anyways."
"You gotta be so rude about it?" Izzy asked.
"It's the truth," Sett retorted, "In a real fight to the death, I'd give you a minute, tops. You'd hardly be a warmup. So listen to your momma and stop pickin' fights ya' can't win, which, again, is all of them."
"Alright, alright. I won't try to mug anybody again. Happy?"
"Yes," Sett and Ma said at the same time.
The next few minutes passed in silence, with Izzy working on the augmentation, his mother fixing the jacket, and Sett watching the boy work.
"So," Sett said, breaking the silence, "you can put these augmentation things on people."
"No," Izzy answered, "I'm not a doctor, but I know how to take care of them. Kinda had to learn and learn fast after Ma lost her leg."
"And for that," his mother cut in, "I will always be grateful."
Izzy looked up at his mom and smiled, the faintest blush visible on his cheeks, before turning back to his work.
"Now I've got a question for you, Sett," Izzy said.
"As long as it isn't 'bout more fighting advice," Sett replied, "ask."
"Hey, I already said I wouldn't fight anymore. I just wanna know what an Ionian was doing way down here, that's all."
"Talent scouting."
"Talent scouting?"
"Yeah, for my business back home."
"I didn't think Ionia cared for industry," Ma commented.
"It's not for that," Sett said, "I'm in the entertainment business."
"You're a little deep for that. Most of the entertainers are up in Entresol; whole bunch of singers and dancers and actors."
"Those aren't the kind of entertainers I was lookin' for," Sett reached over and pulled the newspaper from his jacket's pocket, flipping open to the article he had been reading on the elevator, "I'm lookin' for people like this."
He pointed to a photograph above the article. It was of a kid, not much younger than Izzy, with hands clad in a pair of makeshift knuckledusters and held high in triumph. Beneath him was the unconscious body of a goon who was a known enforcer of a protection racket.
"I need upstarts, someone to get crowds excited. Look at his kid, a real brawler, someone who really gets it! He's already got a "one-two" right there in his stage name."
Ma gave a concerned look to her guest.
"Umm," she said, "I don't want to be rude, but what type of entertainment do you provide exactly?"
Before Sett was able to answer, an angry shout came from outside.
"Izzy, you bastard," shouted a man with a broken nose, "You have five minutes to get your cowardly ass out here and pay or my boys and I are coming in there taking some collateral!"
Fear washed through the store. Izzy's hands began to shake as a look of pure horror descended onto his mother's face.
"Ma," the young man started, "I'll get you upstairs then I'll-"
"Stop," Sett cut him off, "whatever you're 'bout to say, don't."
Sett stood and walked over to the window to peek into the street. Otmar was there along with five other gang members. Judging by how they were armed, Sett doubted that the money was what they were really after anymore.
"Bit of a crowd out there," Sett informed the room, "but it shouldn't be too much trouble."
"I hope."
He began to unbutton his shirt. He didn't want anything to get in the way of his mobility. He could hear his hosts gasp as they beheld his muscular physique, finally free of the confines of formal attire, and saw that a pink blush bloomed on Ma's cheeks.
"Yeah, I'm impressive. I know."
"You wanted to know what kind of entertainment I provide," he said as he placed the garment on the chair, "well, you're 'bout to find out."
Both Izzy and his mother erupted into protest about what Sett was about to do, but he simply shrugged and turned towards the door.
"Don't worry 'bout me," he said with a smirk, "if ya' must worry though, worry 'bout the ones who are gonna have to clean this all up."
He stepped out into the street.
"Well, well," Otmar growled, "if it isn't the furry bastard. Haven't run back to Piltover yet?"
"Last I checked," Sett shot back, "I wasn't the one runnin' at the end of our fight, but then again, neither were you, but it is hard to run when you're knocked out cold. So why'd ya' come back? Want another beating? It's been a long day and I could use the stress relief."
"Stress relief? Pal," Otmar chuckled, "there's six of us and one of you. Do you really like those odds?"
"If you were more experienced fighters, I might be nervous, but I don't think that you all put together have been in as many fights as I have. Also, I don't do that whole 'three warnings' thing. This is your second and last one. So tell your boss I'm buyin' the kid outta his existing contract by not runnin' up your medical bills," as he spoke these last words, Sett's fur bristled, "I spared your miserable life back in that alley cause killin' you wasn't worth the effort. This time, it might be."
The words visibly had an effect on Otmar, but the man's fear of his boss far outweighed his fear of Sett, so he refused to back down. He motioned for his men to fan out around Sett and draw their weapons, a motley assortment of bludgeoning tools and blades. Sett reached for a pouch strapped to his belt and pulled form it a set of shining, ornate knuckledusters. A wicked grin, not unlike the one on the wolverine head that adorned his right knuckle, crossed his face as he gripped his weapons.
"They're gonna wish it were just broken noses they'll be gettin'."
"I'm gonna count down from five," Sett said, "if ya' wanna keep all your teeth, I suggest you not be here when I get to 'zero.' Got it? Five."
He stretched his neck from side to side.
"Four."
He sunk into a fighting stance.
"Three."
He looked between all his opponents.
"Two."
He never got to count any lower.
"Just rush him already!" Otmar shouted.
"Let's get to work."
Everyone but Otmar came charging towards Sett at once. Unlike before, Sett did not let his opponent close the gap. He chambered his fist and stepped through with a solid left punch directly into the chest of the thug in front of him. Without missing a beat, he grabbed the shirt of the man and pivoted, dragging the gasping goon around with him. He lined up his pinned foe with another who had been rushing him from the side before slamming his shoulder into the man, sending him flying back into his comrade.
This left Sett with just enough time to react to two thugs attempting to flank him. As he had in the alley, he whipped out with his arms and caught them by their collars.
"Guess your buddy didn't warn you 'bout this," he smirked, "or maybe I left his brain more scrambled than I thought."
He dragged the two towards each other and smashed their heads together. The cracking sound of their skulls colliding brought a smile to his face.
"Enjoy that noise probably more than I should. Probably."
His amusement was cut short though by the feeling of something hard striking his back.
"Ouch! Actually felt that one."
He spun around with more speed than would be expected for someone his size, lashing out with a right hook and shouting as he did so.
"Who has the gall?!"
The foe who had struck him had done so with their augmented arm, the knuckles of which were studded. It was the shoulder of this limb that Sett's attack connected with. Under the force of the blow, the rusted metal dented and groaned as vibrations were sent down the length of the limb. The thug recoiled in pain as the augmentation's connections to his body were strained.
"That looked like it hurt," Sett commented, "be a shame if it happened again, huh?"
And it was a shame for the thug. Sett landed a staggering blow in the shoulder again, this time aiming more directly for where metal met flesh. Then, as pain held the man in place, Sett threw out a quick left, catching the man in the temple of his head and sending him toppling to the ground.
Anticipating that another of his enemies would try and attack from the back again, Sett brought his arms up to guard and turned back around. His prediction had been correct and he had only a moment to react to prevent a pipe from connecting with his chest. He blocked the blow with his forearms, adding to the bruise given to him by Kori's attack earlier.
"That hurt, but l don't think anything's broken. They won't be able to say the same."
Immediately, Sett gripped the weapon before the thug could pull it back. He pulled it towards him at the same time as he lashed out with a left backhand. His brass knuckles connected with the man's face with a wet snap. He screamed, releasing his pipe to clutch his gushing nose, as he staggered back. Sett shook the blood from his fingers with a casual flick.
"There's another broken nose! Anybody else want one?" Sett challenged with a gleeful grin, "I'm just givin' 'em away."
He tossed the pipe over his shoulder as he surveyed the goons spread around him; the man behind him was knocked out cold, the four others that had rushed him had dragged themselves upright but all looked worse for wear, and Otmar glared on disbelief, reluctant to put himself within Sett's reach again. Despite the thrashing they received, none of them fled. Excitement pumped through Sett's body with each heartbeat.
"Good. It's been too long since I've had a decent fight."
"So," he asked as he took a step forward, "since none of you are leavin', I take it you're ready for round two?"
Otmar's men looked back at him for direction.
"Stop being cowards," he demanded, "and take the damn chems! If you don't, I'll tell the boss you were more afraid of some Piltie bastard than him."
"Hey," Sett cut in, "I ain't a Piltie bastard, ya' got that? I'm the Beast-Man bastard! If ya' gonna insult me, do it right."
Otmar ignored Sett and, as if to lead by example, pulled a small vial out from his inner coat pocket. The liquid inside was ruddy, nearly blood red in color. Without giving himself time to reconsider, Otmar popped open the vial and downed its contents. Within seconds, his body began to tremble, his eyes screwed shut in discomfort. But when they reopened, there was a new bloodlust in them. He pulled out his weapon, a baton with a chem-battery attached, and glared down at his men.
"Take the damn chems, boys."
Without further word, he surged forward with his baton held high. Light flickered across the surface of the weapon as he brought it down with an overhead strike aimed for Sett's shoulder. Such an obviously telegraphed attack was easy to avoid, and Sett side stepped it without much effort. He counterattacked by stepping into the man, moving too closely for the baton to be an effective weapon, and delivered a punch to the shoulder of the arm brandishing the weapon.
But much to Sett's surprise, Otmar did not flinch away as he had before. The thug gritted his teeth and swung his weapon again. Although there wasn't much force behind the blow, the strike made Sett to recoil in shock. Electricity from the chem-battery had cloaked the weapon, causing even the weak attach to sting.
"Damn! Not a fan of that. Just gotta hit him harder."
Sett pulled back his right arm and took a deep breath. He stepped through and let out a shout as he threw the haymaker directly into Otmar's gut, accepting another shocking strike from the baton to ensure that the blow connected. Otmar gasped as the air was knocked from him and he was sent flying back several feet. He landed with a hard thud and began coughing, trying to force air back into his lungs. But rather than stay down, the man jumped back to his feet faster than Sett had expected him to. He wiped the blood from his lips and gave a smug smile to Sett.
Whatever was in that vial, Sett was sure was responsible for his foe's new resilience. Anger built within him as he noticed that the other four goons had followed their leader and downed vials of their own.
"So, this complicates things a bit. Still, not too bad. You've fought worse. Bones still break. I know I felt a rib crack on that last punch. They can just ignore the pain. Easily solvable problem. Just hit 'em till they stop movin'. Might take a few extra punches, that's all."
He watched the thugs spread out to encircle him once more.
"This is gonna hurt a little, but it's just pain. Can't let 'em get to the kid. It'll be more than pain for him and his momma. Alright, Boss, let's tap into that human half of you and get ugly."
Sett pulled back his lips in a snarl and bristled his fur. He set his sights on Otmar, prepared to rush him and pummel him until he stopped moving. But before he could begin his assault, there was an unpleasant splatting noise, loud and sudden, behind him. From the corner of his eye, Sett saw movement but had no idea what he was looking at and, judging by the expressions on the thugs' faces, neither did they. Sett cautioned a look over his shoulder.
Large, green, and gelatinous, an amorphous entity forced itself into a humanoid shape that loomed over even Sett. It continued to undulate as two glowing points on its form shifted upwards and something resembling a mouth twisted into existence underneath them. The creature glowered down at them with its newly formed face. Under its displeased gaze, the fighting paused.
"The hell is that thing?" Otmar demanded.
"I thought you would know," Sett shouted back, "you're the one from this pit!"
Then, much to everyone's shock, the creature spoke.
"Leave."
Its voice was a man's, deep and surprisingly pleasant to the ears. If the creature had been human, it would be easy to believe that he would be around the same age as Sett.
"This family," the creature continued, "you won't bother them anymore. Leave."
"I wasn't botherin' anybody," Sett protested.
But then a realization dawned on him.
"This thing could be an ally. Usually prefer a solo act, but I'll make an exception."
"But these people here, that's another story," Sett continued to speak, "What was it I overheard ya' wantin' to do to the kid? Sink him in the Sump or something like that?"
The creature's unnerving gaze shifted squarely to Otmar.
"I don't like that," he said.
"Me neither," Sett agreed, "so what do you say, big guy? Let's give 'em a show!"
With a slow nod, the creature acknowledged Sett.
"This is gonna get messy," he said in his slow voice.
Without further hesitation, the creature barged forward, its rubbery limbs stretching to increase the distance it moved with each stride. The gangsters, still under the effects of whatever chems they took, threw themselves at him without fear. The creature focused his attention on the one lunging at him with a blade made form a hacksaw. He reached out for the man, leaving his palm exposed to an attack, one which the thug was all too eager to capitalize on.
He stabbed the creature, sinking the blade deep into his hand. This however appeared to have no effect, as instead of recoiling in pain, the blob simply absorbed the weapon further into himself before grabbing hold of his assailant.
"Stop going in one at a time!" Otmar ordered his men, "All at once! Kill that monster!"
"Monster?" the blob grunted, "No need to be mean."
At his command, the remaining goons rushed in at the creature from all sides, trying to pummel him with their weapons. Sett was at his side in a moment to help defend him. He swung with a right hook at one of the thugs focused on the creature, catching his unsuspecting target in the shoulder.
"Don't forget 'bout me!" he smirked as he watched his foe's crowbar clatter to the ground, "Just cause I got a partner now doesn't mean I'll be upstaged!"
"I won't forget," the creature said with a nod.
Sett was about to comment that that taunt was meant for their enemies, but the creature spoke first.
"Shirtless man," he said, "please move."
Sett had just a moment to dodge before great globs of goo erupted from the creature's back, striking those surrounding him. They staggered away as though they had been struck by rocks. The globs hit the pavement with a splat. Then, with one swift motion, the creature passed its arm over the globs, reabsorbing them into his body, before reaching out to catch another goon in his other hand. He then crashed the two enemies he was holding together.
"Hey!" Sett said with a laugh, "I know that one. Ya' copyin' me?"
"No," the creature responded bluntly.
His next words were to the thugs still held in his sticky grip.
"When you land, stay down. I don't want to hurt you anymore."
He swelled the end of his arm, making it as wide as a chem-cask, and backhanded the men before him. They went soaring through the air before crashing against the homes on the other side of the street. With a thud, they crumpled on the ground, unable to move, even with the chems. Sett let out a low whistle as he watched this.
"I've gotta get this guy back home to the pit. Crowds will love him. But first, there's other business that needs tendin' to."
"Hey, big guy," Sett called out, "Can you take care of the other two? I want this guy with the incredibly punchable face."
"Okay," the creature agreed as he turned his hulking form against the last two of the gangsters and addressed them, "Sorry about the pain."
He flung his arm back, letting the elastic limb stretch back before snapping forward with more force. Adding to the force of the blow, the creature shifted the shape of his body, swelling the end of his hand to twice its starting size and making the blow impossible to dodge. His fist connected with his opponent with a hard, popping squelch. The man's pitiful block did nothing to weaken the strike, and the creature heard the telltale sound of arm bones snapping. Had the man remained conscious, the sound of screaming would have filled the street, but he was silent and unmoving when he landed before the other thug.
The last goon hastily bent down to grab his fallen partner's knife and prayed to the Sump that this weapon, along with his own crowbar, would be enough to fight the monster before him. He would have no such luck.
The creature bent down low and gripped the street. He let his form around the tips of fingers relax, turning back into a viscous state so that they could seep into the cracks of the pavement and improve his grip. With his grip secured, the creature pulled himself backwards, stretching his arms like a bowstring drawn back. Then, he lifted his feet, springing himself forward with incredible speed. His legs disappeared, pulled back into his amorphous form from the force, but as he neared his target, the creature spun and reformed his legs beneath him so he could stomp down on his foe's stomach with tremendous force.
All the air was knocked from the thug's lungs as the gelatinous leg collided with his stomach. He was slammed down on the pavement and gasped in pain as he struggled to regain his ability to breath. With monumental effort, he gathered enough strength to roll over and vomit. The color of his bile was altered by the chems, and spattered in a mixture of red and maroon across the pavement. Before he could regain his footing though, the massive hand of the creature pushed down on his back, forcing him against the ground.
"Stop moving," he warned the pinned man, "and don't push your luck."
A pained groan was the only response the creature received, but the man ceased his struggle and accepted that he was just going to be held against his own vomit.
As the creature had been fighting the two gangsters, Sett was able to give Otmar his undivided attention. He rolled his shoulders and let a wicked grin descend onto his face.
"Alright, creep," he said, "time for a little payback."
"I should be saying that to you," Otmar snarled back, "you're the one who broke my nose!"
"Yeah, I did, and I think a nice broken cheekbone or jaw will would complete the look. Maybe if ya' look mean enough, people will take your threats seriously. I won't, but others, maybe."
"Damn your chatter. You won't be so talkative when I break your jaw."
"I'd like to see ya' try. Seriously, try. Gettin' bored with how easy you all go down."
Without further discussion, Otmar charged at Sett with a roar. He swung his charged baton with reckless abandon. He didn't care where he hit Sett, only that he did hit him, knowing that consecutive shocks of electricity could wear down the stronger man.
Sett did his best to avoid the attacks, his years of fighting in the pit making him light on his feet. But even as he dodged the incoming attacks, he was having difficulty finding an opening to counter attack and with each passing moment, the chems Otmar took continued to enhance his speed, though his form was becoming less polished. With a groan, Sett prepared himself for what he had to do.
"Well, you're not going to be able to dodge him forever. Best meet the blow on your own terms."
With his arms raised to guard, Sett stepped into Otmar's attack, parrying it away with his right. Even still, Otmar was able to angle the baton downwards, grazing Sett's shoulder. Though the strike was little more than a touch, it sent a jolt of painful electricity down the arm. Sett snarled and slammed a left uppercut into the other man's guts.
Otmar gasped as the air, and some blood, was knocked from him, but this did not stop his assault. By now, the chems had taken their full effect, completely numbing him to pain. He returned with his counterattack sooner than Sett expected. Even as he was recoiling from the gut punch, Otmar pulled back his arm and slammed the baton into Sett's side.
"Gotcha you furry bastard," Otmar sneered.
Sett grunted in pain, knowing full well that that blow was going to leave a bruise. But he had suffered worse blows in the past and he pushed the pain of his stinging side from his mind. He chambered his left arm again.
"Little early to be celebratin,' I think," Sett said as he launched another uppercut, "cause I'm still swinging."
Again, the blow connected with the Zaunite's gut. This time though, Sett expected the counterattack and turned into it, taking the attack to his upper arm rather than his side. There was still pain, but far less, and he was able to follow up on his first blow much faster. A third punch connected and Otmar doubled over despite the chems. Sett pulled back his right arm and launched a hook to Otmar's cheek, sending him tumbling to the ground. As he watched his opponent land he could feel the warmth of the man's blood on his fingers.
"How's that cheek feel?" Sett asked as he leered down at the man, "Still think you're gonna be able to do the same to me?"
The skin on Otmar's cheek had split open. Blood dripped down his face, staining the front of his shirt.
"Now that felt real nice getting' to bust up your face," Sett continued, "So nice in fact, it's put me in a better mood. Gonna give you just one more chance to leave here. But you're gonna have to apologize all nice and polite like. First to me for ruining my hat, then the kid for threatenin' to kill him, then his momma for makin' her worry, and then the green guy just because. Understand?"
Otmar spit at Sett's feet. One of his teeth went with it.
"Like hell I am," he growled as he strained to right himself, "Damn you. I refuse to lose to some pretty boy topsider son of a dock whore."
Every strand of fur on Sett's body bristled at once.
"What'd you say 'bout my momma?"
"Ah," Otmar smirked as he wiped the blood from his lips, "finally found something that wiped that smug look off your face."
Sett allowed Otmar to get back to his feet as he kept talking. After all, they were easier to grab when they were standing.
"You're a bastard, you admit that," Otmar said, "but that was obvious without you saying it. Look at you; freakish strength, fur, fangs. I can see it now, a dark night on the docks and your ma, a degenerate lusting after exotic fruit, and your pa, one of Ionia's beast men."
By now, Otmar was standing again.
"Pick your next words carefully," Sett said in a cold tone, "cause they're gonna be your last."
The Zaunite sneered and continued to goad Sett.
"How much did he pay her? How long did it take her to pick all the fur from her teeth?"
"Poor choice of last words."
Sett's rage boiled over. He let out a roar that alarmed even his gooey partner as he charged at Otmar. The doomed man swung with his charged baton. Sett didn't even bother trying to dodge. The metal rod slammed down on his shoulder. Through his anger, Sett felt no pain.
He caught Otmar around his waist, lifting the smaller man with ease. Sett then spun into the air, giving himself the space he needed to slam the gangster into the ground below him. The air was knocked from his lungs and he was unable to return it in time to get out anything else. Sett landed on him, leading with his right fist. There was a cracking noise as the grinning wolverine on his knuckles crashed into Otmar's skull.
Even as the body below him moved no more, Sett did not let up on his assault. He pummeled the man's face as it became more unrecognizable with each blow. He only stopped when a giant hand, firm and clammy, wrapped around his entire upper arm and pulled him back.
"That's enough," the creature demanded, "He's already dead."
Sett tried to pull his arm away, but the creature refused to release him.
"Let go of me," he demanded, "I'm not done with him. Did you hear what he said about my momma?"
"Hear it? I felt it. The rage you emanated when he spoke was overpowering. It's sinking into me. I don't like it. Stop. I don't want get that angry."
As he said these final words, the creature strengthened his grip. Sett turned back and looked at the creature. He was trembling, the fury radiating from Sett sending visible ripples through his form. His golden lights that served as his eyes glinted with malice but from the way his face was contorted, Sett could tell that he was exerting a great deal of self-control to not give into the bloodlust that was coursing through him. So as much as much as he wanted to keep reducing the dead man's face to pulp, Sett stopped. He let out a long breath that was equal parts groan and sigh.
"Thank you," the creature said as he released Sett.
"Yeah, sure," Sett huffed as he begrudgingly stood, "Asshole didn't even correctly guess which parent was the vastayan anyways. Not worth my time."
Sett surveyed the damage. There was a fair amount of blood on the streets. Every one of the thugs, save the one the creature had pinned who was, wisely, remaining on the ground, was either dead or unconscious.
"Who's gonna clean up this mess," Sett grumbled, "cause I ain't. What about you, big guy?"
"Zac," the creature responded.
"What?"
"Now that we have time, I can introduce myself. I am Zac."
Zac held out an open hand, which the other man took.
"Sett," he responded as he shook hands.
Now that he was no longer fighting, Zac's hand had become soft, no firmer than seat cushion.
"Alright, Zac, question remains. Who's gonna pick this up?"
"He can do it," Zac answered as he motioned to the last conscious man, "or Zaun's scavengers will. Now I just want to make sure that family is okay."
Sett nodded and followed Zac back towards the shop. As they approached, Izzy opened the door, but only a little.
"Don't worry kid," Sett reassured, "this big guy is named Zac. I don't think he wants to hurt you or your momma. He's just a concerned. Isn't that right, Zac?"
Zac leaned down so he could be eye level with the young Zaunite.
"Are you hurt?"
"No," Izzy shook his head, "Ma and I are fine, thank to you two. But what about you? Sett, you're covered in blood. Janna's mercy, I can't believe I tried to pick a fight with you."
"Don't worry, it's not my blood." Sett answered.
"Let them both in," Ma said from behind her son.
Izzy opened the door and stepped aside so that the others could enter. Zac's form undulated, readjusting its shape to better fit into the little shop. Still in her chair with her augmentation propped up, Ma smiled up at Sett and Zac. She looked on the verge of tears.
"Thank you," she said, "thank you both. I don't know what would have happened if you weren't here."
"Nothing good," Sett thought to himself, "that's for damn sure."
Out loud though, he simply shrugged and said "Let's not think of that."
"Isidor," Ma said, "can you please go fetch a damp towel so that Sett can wash off."
Once her son was off up the stairs, she turned her attention back to the others.
"Sett, let me get up so you can sit and catch your breath."
"I'm alright," Sett said, "I've been through worse brawls."
She gave concerned look but didn't ask for details. She was still shaken by the violence she witnessed and she didn't want to hear about any more violent events.
"Why were those thugs here?" Zac asked.
"The kid owed them money," Sett answered, "He needed it to help his momma out."
"I understand," Zac said with a knowing nod, "I would have done anything to help my mom."
"Yeah," Sett began, "you seem like the kind of guy who – wait! You have a mom?"
"Yeah, she was smart and kind. She would be proud when I helped people and would laugh when I bulged my arms like muscles. 'Zac,' she would say, 'you are so big for your age.' Humans have to grow slowly, I learned. I was always big. I miss her."
"Miss, oh no," Sett mumbled softly.
He and Ma exchanged concerned looks.
"It sounds like she was a wonderful woman," Ma said, "I am sorry for your loss."
"She was. Bad men killed her. That's why I fight. I don't want other people to hurt like she did or like I did."
"That's a kind thing for you to do, Zac," Ma consoled, "I know your mother would be proud of you."
"Thank you," Zac said, "your kind words feel nice. I am sorry I need to ruin this nice feeling though. I need to ask questions. Are you and your son safe? Will more of those thugs come back?"
Izzy answered that question as he returned down the stairs with a towel for Sett to wash with.
"Maybe."
"Think we should go out there and finish the rest of them off as a warning?" Sett asked Zac.
"No!" Ma protested, "Please, don't murder for our account."
"But what if they come back wanting revenge?" Izzy asked.
"I don't know," Ma confessed, "but we'll think of something."
Zac made a deep humming noise as he thought. The sound sent ripples over the surface of his body.
"I can try to come by and check on you," he offered, "but there is still a chance I won't be here if they decide to attack again."
"I can keep trying to get their money back," Izzy offered, "Perhaps –"
"I killed that Otmar creep," Sett cut him off, "if they come back, it won't be for money, but ya' already know this."
"Yeah."
"We might need to move," Ma said with a deep sigh.
"I'm sorry, Ma," Izzy said, a few tears appearing in his eyes, "this is all my fault."
Sett looked around the room at the concerned faces of those gathered. An idea came to him.
"Not the best idea, but nobody else seems to have anything. Well, it won't hurt to ask."
"Alright," Sett announced, "I'm hiring you all."
All faces turned towards Sett in confusion.
"I came to this city to do some recruitin' and I think you all are what my business needs."
"Wait!" Izzy blurted out, "I thought you said I was a terrible fighter. You gonna teach me?"
"I didn't say I was hiring you as fighters. I didn't even say that running a fight pit was my job."
"It kinda became obvious when you thrashed those goons," Izzy said, "what other form of entertainment would require you to be able to fight like that."
"Fair enough," Sett said, "but as I was sayin,' I'm not recruitin' you as a fighter. You see, I want to get some of those augmentation things back to some of my boys and I'm going to need someone to take care of them."
"But I'm not a surgeon, I'm just a –"
"Kid," Sett interrupted, "stop fighting me on this and take the damn job!"
"Oh, yes, sorry. I'll do it, in a heartbeat. Thank you."
"You're welcome," Sett said before turning to Ma, "and I know I have use for a dedicated seamstress. My fighters are always tearin' their clothes. How are you with getting' stains outta stuff? Not just blood, but mostly blood."
"You can't be a seamstress in Zaun if you don't know how to clean a stain or two," she answered.
"Perfect, Sett continued, "you're both hired. Don't worry about movin' expenses; I'll take care of that. And don't worry about Piltover customs either, I've got someone who can help with that, and the Ionian ones know me. They know my people come from all over. They won't be a problem."
"So you're really gonna take us to Ionia?" Izzy asked.
"That's the plan. I'm gonna be in Zaun for a few more days, so I suggest you start packin' and get these clothes back to their owners. Got it?"
"Yes," Izzy agreed as a look, equal parts excitement and confusion, descended onto his face.
"Glad to hear it," Sett said, "Now, Zac, do you think you could stay with them until I'm ready to go? Keep them safe and bash any skulls that might try and harm my newest employees?"
"I can do that," Zac agreed.
"Thanks. Oh yeah, and I got one more thing to ask ya' big guy. I meant it when I said I had job for the three of ya'. Zac, I want ya' to come fight in my pit. The crowds will love ya.' I can see it now; folks linin' up, scramblin' to get it to see ya', the strange creature from Zaun, fight."
"I don't know about that," Zac admitted, "I don't like fighting. I don't like the angry feelings that come with it."
"Ah, but the fighting in the pit is different. Yeah, there's anger, plenty of that, but more than that is the joy and excitement you'll bring to the people. The sounds of crowds cheering is enough to get your blood, or whatever it is you have, pumpin'. And if you're so worried about all the angry thoughts, remember, you'll be in Ionia, supposedly the most peaceful place in the world. I'm sure we can find ya' a nice temple or something to help you meditate."
"Hmm," was Zac's only response at the moment.
"And," continued Sett, "I can take you back to visit my momma. She'll be happy to know that I'm meetin' nice people. I know she'd like ya'. Oh, and the soups she can make, ya' eat it and ya' feel like the world isn't such a horrible place for a bit. Ya' do eat, right?"
"I like snacks," Zac said with a nod.
"It's settled then," Sett said as he clapped Zac on the shoulder, the firm contact sending ripples outward, "I'm gonna take you back to meet her. Then maybe you can do a fight or two in the pit."
"I still don't know. I need to think about it. I've never been away from these cities before, and the people here will still need my help."
"Like I said, I'm gonna be in Zaun a few more days. Think about my offer. It doesn't gotta be forever. Think about it as a little Ionian vacation."
"With fighting?"
"With just a little bit of fighting. No more than three bouts, unless you want more."
"I'll think about it," Zac agreed.
"That's all I can ask of ya' big guy," Sett said before turning his attention back to Izzy and his Ma, "as for you two, you're already on the payroll, so start packin'."
Sett finished washing, forced himself back into the uncomfortable button up, and turned to head for the door.
"Now, if you'll all excuse me," he said, "I've gotta go find my smuggler. Gotta make arrangements with her. See ya' in a few days."
"I'll get right work, Sett!" Izzy said.
At his words, Sett paused in the doorway.
"Ah, yeah, one last thing," he called back, "ya' work for me now, so 'Sett' is too informal."
"So, is it Mister Sett now?"
"Nah, still don't like the way 'mister' sounds for me."
"So what should I call you?"
"You can call me the Boss."