The toxic green chemicals of the sump sizzled and boiled as Singed withdrew his oars from the water. A dark shade of black clung to the surface of the oars, a burning smell wafting in the air and mixing with the other nauseating odors that emanating from the green canal of refuse. Singed didn't pay the half-burnt oars any attention whatsoever as he leaned forward to turn on the mini radio he had brought with him. The boat rocked violently as he did, his abrupt movement threatening to capsize the boat at any time.

"180.2 Zaun Station for the unshackled minds, D.J. Ekko on the mic keepin it real! Sssshhhhss 201.5 This is Piltover Radio, Classical Music Hour," The distorted words leaked out from the speakers, loud voices spilling amidst the growling of static.

Singed fiddled with the device until Sona's uplifting melodies could be heard clearly. He then straightened up, carefully as not to cause the boat to rock again and surveyed his surroundings.

It was late by Piltover's standards, but Zaun never slept, and this was especially true for the people making a living in the sumps. Even now Singed could see numerous orphans covered in makeshift protective equipment and filthy rags searching near the edge of the sump for useful parts they could sell to the workshops above. While those children were neither healthy, nor smart, they would suffice as test subjects.

Nodding his head at the thought the bald chemist opened the box beside his legs and removed his Hex-tech fishing rod from its case. The fishing rod, a marvel of engineering and ingenuity was of Singed's own creation, as none other than Singed himself could come up with the delicate and reliable instruments he needed to conduct his experiments.

Humming a tune he had picked up from one of his recently terminated test subjects the old chemist busied himself with calibrating his fishing rod, testing that the steel cord was strong, and that the retrieving mechanism was well-oiled. Singed used a piece of wood to gauge the snapping force of the bear trap attached to the end of the fishing rod. Too much force and the bear trap would sever the orphan's arm letting Singed's catch escape, less than appropriate force and the sharp metal jaws would open half-way during the retrieval dropping the new test subject into the sump.

The old chemist watched the bear trap close around the piece of wood with the satisfying *snap* of steel teeth shutting tightly around something solid. He pressed the release button on the grip of the fishing rod and the bear trap clanged open allowing Singed to inspect the marks the protruding teeth had left on the wood. This much force would suffice, Singed decided, reaching into his pocket for a bonbon he had bought earlier today.

With his finger pressed on the release button, the Zaunite scientist proceeded to attach the orphan-bait to the specially modified center of the bear trap. Upon finishing, he cast his fishing rod with expertise sending the trap flying towards the nearest shore occupied by dirty children. He saw the bear trap land amidst a pile of rusty metal parts and frothing puddles of toxic chemicals, and finally took his finger off of the release button.

Humming quietly, Singed adjusted the straw hat sitting atop his bald head and opened his newspaper.

Now, he only needed to wait.