INTERMISSION I: Best Laid of Plans and intentions

Seven Years Before the Founding

By Kenny's estimate, Rod Reiss was nothing special. He looked like almost any normal person that could be dragged off the street, nothing about him was particularly memorable. Grey, hollow eyes and a listless expression were his default appearance, and his physique wasn't anything to write home about either. His clothes were the drab sort of affair you'd expect to see on a mid-level accountant, not that of one of the most powerful people in the city. The councilman didn't even carry himself with the standard pride and regal bearing of his peers, preferring instead to sulk about in the corner of the room as though he hoped people would forget him. All in all, Reiss was an unnoteworthy individual in almost every way that mattered.

And that, Kenny decided, was precisely why he was so dangerous. Reiss was a man of little to no ambition, which was at odds with his secondary profession as a merchant. He had no desire for wealth or power, as they were merely byproducts of his actions - all in service to his true goals. Reiss wasn't even a particularly smart individual, approaching most problems he faced with the subtlety of a hammer. Even the few vices he had were as unremarkable as one would suspect.

But there was one thing that Reiss did posses which was in surprisingly low quantity in Piltover.

Faith. Faith in what, Kenny hadn't been able to decipher in all his years of service to the man. But whatever it was that Reiss so fervently believed in, he would do anything to see it fulfilled.

Even now, Kenny could see it. They were in Reiss' study, a modest room containing a plain, undecorated desk, with bookshelves lining the sides of the room. As unremarkable as the man himself. Rod Reiss was staring out the window, his listless eyes glazed over as he beheld the city below him. He was idly swirling a glass of red wine in his left palm as the sounds of the city washed over him.

To anyone else, the councilman would have appeared to be deep in thought. But Kenny could tell elsewise. This was the same man that gave the order to have his own daughter killed. That mercilessly put down any hint of rebellion in Zaun. That dispassionately passed laws that made slaves of men in all but name.

Kenny smiled as he was finally able to parse the mood his employer was in. "So... things're sorta fucked, ain't they boss?"

For being such a large man, Reiss lashed out surprisingly quickly, flinging the glass of wine with a surprising amount of force at Kenny. The Ackerman patriarch easily bent his head, smirking in bemusement as the glass shattered across the study's walls.

Reiss' expression was blank, a masterfully crafted visage that anyone but Kenny would have fell for. But his eyes? That was all rage. "Tell me Kenny," the councilman intoned in a deep timbre, "exactly... how have you managed to fail this simple task I assigned you? One that, may I remind you, you seemed all too eager to perform for the last few years."

"Ah well, ya know, weren't exactly expectin' yer girl to grow a pair so suddenly," Kenny playfully sniped. "And 'sides, you shoulda let me off her a few years back. Weren't no sense letting her live this long, I told ya a thousand times."

"Hm." And just like that, Reiss was back to staring out the window, his hands clasped behind his back. "And of all people, it was that man's son that came to her rescue." The councilman let out a barely audible sigh as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Even beyond the grave, Grisha manages to haunt my every action. And the timing... 'perfect' wouldn't even begin to describe it."

"Ya think Vander's finally making his move? A smash-and-grab like this don't seem his style, 'leastwise not in broad friggin' daylight."

"No. The Hound is too fond of the status quo to attempt something this bold. And even if he were, he'd not be so stupid as to use Grisha's son. No, this... this might just be the work of a third-party. If not entirely unrelated, it is at the very least a new player on the board. Perhaps a holdout of the ZRC."

Kenny scoffed. "That ol' buncha yellow bellies? Thought Vander dearest took care o' all them loose ends."

"We can't afford to discard any possibilities. Not this late in the game." Reiss turned around, staring directly into Kenny's eyes. "Which is why you're going to be making a visit to the undercity."

Starving children. Back alley fights. Bloodied knuckles and rusty knives. Cloying smoke and choking fumes-

"Ah hell, Rod, if yer so damn mad at me you don't gotta send me to that shithole again," Kenny bit out.

The emaciated frame of Levi as he stood vigil next to his mother's half-rotten corpse. The frenzied look of Mikasa as she brandished a cleaver in self-defense.

"Me 'n that place ain't exactly got a good track record." Kenny adjusted his hat, the brim low to his eyes. "Better off sending one of your boys down there, maybe look for your relative while you're at it."

It was only by the smallest fraction, but Reiss' eyes narrowed. "Markus is a lost cause, and even if he wasn't, he's more useful to us missing than he ever was while present. And besides that, this is all a mess that could have been prevented if you hadn't been lazy and delegated your task to others. It's bad enough Historia still draws breath, but then that Jaeger brat had to go and kill three enforcers under our payroll. Once Erwin manages to take control of this situation, there will be inquiries. Inquiries that will lead the good sheriff to answers we'll have to kill him over. And his replacement, while eager, is not yet ready."

Reiss walked across the study and stood directly in front of Kenny, his arms casually folded behind his back. There was no arrogance in his countenance, nor anger or any sort of mood that Kenny could ascertain. "So you will search all of Piltover, and if necessary, you will descend into Zaun. You will find my daughter, and end her before she has a chance to spill our secrets. You will find whoever is behind this whole mess, and you will uproot them wherever they may be into the light. But most importantly-"

There was a moment of silence. Reiss chose his next words very carefully.

"... Eren Jaeger may still be in Piltover. The district lockdown Erwin instated has yet to lift, which means the boy could very well have slipped through his fingers. If the boy is in the sheriff's custody by the end of this day, I'll consider the matter settled. A few orders to the right men, and Talis will ensure the boy doesn't live to see a trial. But, if by some miracle the boy manages to make his way down to the undercity, you will find him. You will drag him to the church. Alive." The look Reiss gave Kenny could have frozen the deserts of Shurima. "Do you understand, Lord Ackerman?"

Kenny stared into the councilman's eyes for what seemed like an eternity. There was no weakness to be found in the man, nothing he could exploit. Finally, he huffed and shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you say, boss."

The staredown lasted much longer than either man was comfortable with. With a huff, Kenny was the first to break eye contact, grumbling to himself as he made his leave and slammed the study door behind him.

Reiss waited a few moments before letting out a deep breath. He made his way back to the window of the study, gazing down at the city below in deep thought.

Spires and towers made of mechanical marvels. Skies filled with dirigibles bearing trade and commerce throughout Runeterra. Streets paved and planned in immaculate detail bordering on perfection.

Piltover was a shining beacon of civilization. In a world dominated by the war-hungry Noxus and the feudalistic Demacia, Piltover divided the two. It was only a matter of time before either empire decided to break the stalemate and attempt more... aggressive tactics to sway the independent city. Noxian forces had already tried to infiltrate the city numerous times - attempts that Rod had managed to curtail with a not inconsiderable amount of coin.

Time was needed. More time for the plan, the plan the Reiss family had spent generations iterating upon.

And Rod Reiss knew just how to buy more of it.

Rap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Your stagehand is too mouthy for my tastes. Far too many lines."

The man had made his way into Reiss' study with nary a sound. As expected, Rod thought, for a man who cost as much as he did.

The councilman resisted the urge to turn around. The assassin didn't like being looked at. At least, not by someone 'whose character was as lacking depth as Rod was', in the man's own words.

"You're earlier than expected. How fare our northern friends?"

Rap. Tap. Tap. Tap. A melodic clinking of metal upon a wooden frame.

"Mm. The Noxians were as boorish as I suspected, though they were decent enough canvas. Or at least they would have been, if you weren't so stringent in your direction."

Further down on the street, Rod could see a gaggle of children happily running through the crowds, not a care in the world. He tried very hard to think about how much the city would thank him after everything was said and done. And not about how many would suffer as he plunged the city into the very fires of hell.

Time was needed. And nothing would buy him more time than fear.

And the quickest way to install fear in the city was a road even Rod hesitated to take.

Rap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"I have another target for you," Rod stated. "You'll just be studying him for now, but in the next few weeks, I'll need you to take care of him in your... preferred fashion."

A warm and throaty chuckle reverberated throughout the room. "Truly? How surprising. I thought you found my performances distasteful." A pause. "Well, I'm not one to question the orders of my director. Whom shall have the honor of being my next masterpiece?"

"The proprietor of a popular bar down in the lanes. A man by the name of Vander."

Rap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"How... exquisite."

Rod waited a few moments before turning around. The assassin had left as quickly as he had come. He ran his hand down his face, the immeasurable guilt already taking it's toll. And as he took his seat behind his desk, he tried very hard not to think what Frieda would have thought about the monster he had become.

Or the monster he would soon unleash upon his paradise.

Rod: He who wishes for paradise, must dive deep into the bowels of hell for their own salvation. And salvation awaits only for those who bear hell upon their shoulders for the good of humanity. Thus lies our our problem, my daughter. For who are either of us to say that we are strong enough for such a burden? Will our children? Will our children's children?

Historia: They must, father. To bare the weight of evil itself, the sins upon which humanity endlessly adds - I refuse to bear such a burden. I would rather commit all the evils in this world rather than submit myself to them.

- excerpt from Cylia Bronnhurst's The Lost Paradise of House Reiss, a stageplay