DISCLAIMERS

This chapter is the second of Act IV in the The Unofficial Acts series. It is option, yet advised, you have read the previous chapters (They're Calling it the Hi-Jinx and There's Dirty War and There's Dirty War) before proceeding.

While being fanfiction, each chapter was formatted as if it were a 'scene' of a whole episode which is this work, as part of a hypothetical season which is the The Unofficial Acts (TUA) series.

This, once again emphasized here, is a HYPOTHETICAL SCENARIO and UNOFFICIAL, established far before the release of the teaser trailer in June 2024, so it shouldn't be taken with severe scrutiny. Care was taken to approach this work as close to the canon element as possible, but there are no guarantees of non-discrepancy, especially in regards to added elements that are introduced here. Some other elements from the original LoL universe (especially but not limited to origin stories) have been altered in as much a sense as they were originally in the series.

The elements depicted here contain multiple SPOILERS from Arcane: League of Legends Season 01. This is a warning to those whom have not completely watched the entire series, prior to start reading this fanfiction.

Elements of graphical violence, angst, psychosis and paranoia might be included across not only this chapter, but also the series. You were warned.

Based on Arcane: League of Legends by Netflix and Fortiche Studios. League of Legends universe and characters by Riot Games.

MARKET DAY

Many say we are whom we are, for what we have. Our name, our titles, what we've got, what we can do.

The noon light blazed high on a square in Piltover, as people of all ages, gender and species already crowded the square for the marketplace just installed there at sunrise. Stalls of all colors, filled with tasty fruit, vegetables, fish and even clothing, meat and small decorations loitered the open space, people laughing and chatting as they passed by and bought what they wanted, or needed. Children tried playing across the corridors, in a sweet, naive smile worthy of the outsides of the City of Progress.

Another day as usual. Supposedly.

But that's just it. It's just what we have.

It's not another day for one of the collaborators at an alley, whom observed through his pocket watch as the men close by were standing by. In a few minutes, it wouldn't be another day, even more with another event going on in concurrent, which was the burial for the Council members perished at the attack.

Despite the noise and commotion, the collaborator didn't take his eye off the watch. It was better that way. He didn't need those scars.

I learned, the hardest way, who we are is what we choose and the consequences of those choices.

Him and other teams like him were equally on stand by, just minding their own business, avoiding looking. Normally this would warrant suspicion, but the planner took measures to ensure no enforcers would be present, and those nearby would be 'conveniently' naive to the suspicious activities.

Where I came from, everyone, especially whom I came from, expected me to be just like them. Fierce. Dominating. Violent.

Within the nearby buildings, and even behind some crates, in some places, some small devices laid apparently dormant. Apparently, as within small ticks could be heard, like a clockwork watch.

Ticking in anticipation. Anticipation to participate.

Yet, I rejected that. They called me soft for it. I just wanted to believe we could be better. We could do better.

The collaborator, noticing the his watch closing the deadline, put on a mask. As did his fellow collaborators. The other teams would be doing the same as well.

The devices went live within the selected corners, brief bell noises as suddenly they exploded in plumes of olive-green smoke over ten times the device's size, the smoke spreading out quickly like flowers unraveling.

Flowers of death.

The consequences took too long to come. Of what I chose.

The collaborator and the others wasted no time in heading out, carrying large barriers to close the few street exists around the square, now enveloped in smoke, screams and coughing. He and the others reached their intended exit, setting the black barricades almost twice the size of a man, closing off the street, mallets hammering down the bolts by the stone streets and sidewalks, ensuring it wouldn't fall as easily.

It didn't take long for some to reach the barrier. It seemed like a young woman, a brunette with freckles. She started banging the barrier. The collaborators, their backs to the barriers, didn't move or flinch, this wasn't the time and the orders were clear. They knew what was required, and the strength of the stomach required, though things like this weren't a first for them.

Even with the woman screaming. Screaming to get out. Screaming to get her daughter out. The daughter's coughing non-stop. and the voice trying to call her mom reveals her age. An infant, about six or seven years old.

It's almost like a lesson, that you can choose. As long the others agree to it. As if you needed *permission* to choose.

The young woman attempts, but even the smokes are too much in that square for her and everyone else. The bangings diminish in pace. The collaborators don't move. The coughing frequency diminishes to a full stop, eventually.

Across the city, in another place, another avenue, there are people looking in horror at the rise of an olive green cloud of smoke, everyone getting scared. Enforcers are dispatched from the procession to rush to the scene and investigate.

Accompanying the procession, her eyes simply behold. All as timed. All as planned. She closes her pocket watch.

It just brings another question... If that's the case... Why bother choosing, at all?

ACT IV

ALWAYS YOUR WAY, FOR YOUR SAKE

CAMILLE

The initial half-hour since the break-in and being found by the guarding enforcers was a mess. The threats to the enforcers whom wanted to inform this to Jayce Talis or the new acting Sheriff pronto, plus the demands to call Malt in a hurry from the Estate almost brought another face to the supposedly controlled, confident, dominating face of the Gray Lady and Steel Shadow.

One where she had control issues. One whom was unstable. One whom was borderline unfit of her role.

Of course the small-minded enforcers would never understand. Both the value of what was stolen and how it did feel to lose the control of the situation, in the palm of your hand, just in a glance.

At least two of Camille's collaborators had arrived to the scene in time with the replacement pair legs, the originals lost to the beams of that mechanical arm that became the deciding factor of the burglars' escape. Malt himself, since the call, was away, attempting to find the one whom, now, at the most unlikely of hours, would be of use and pay his debt. She wouldn't have liked it now because it was too soon and early, but the stakes had skyrocketed enough to make inaction to be more damaging.

To not mention that ever since she had to sound the alarm and attempt to prevent the 'hourglass kid' from escaping with... that, all she could do now was attempt to devise the proper arguments to bring up to Councillor Talis, when - or if - he came to the scene, as to what she was doing at the Academy, at late hours of the night it was breached and robbed, and it just happened to be by that Firelight and the Councillor's supposed friend, the trenchrat cripple Viktor. It'd no doubt lead to the probability that she had the prior knowledge where they were going to hit and which time, which would lead to the very question of why she didn't even share that small, yet pivotal piece of information to the enforcers.

Camille couldn't deny it - positioning, precision, metrics and chronology at times did become a hindrance just not worth the elegance returned. Only this time it was worse than not having chronology under control, it was now in control of another - and an uneducated Trencher, of all people! And yet, she knew that even this factor, lack of education, didn't keep them from becoming a force not to be treated lightly. If they indeed manage to make a weapon out of Hextech, what to ensure, then, that they could master chronomancy better than any Piltovan scientist would?

Now was this something that would certainly upset the scales which Piltover gorged itself on and grew.

A legitimate threat, and one which she, supposed to eliminate such threats, ironic and accidentally created, and it fell to her alone to stop it.

The door of the reserved room of the Academy which she was being 'healed' opened, to reveal Malt coming in a hurry, heavily breathing denoting the haste he took to uncover the information and then return to Camille.

"Outside, now.", she ordered, in a cold tone regarding her condition, to both her 'healers' as they immediately got up and left the room. She stared at Malt. "Where?"

"Second fissure, southernmost extension.", Malt answered. "The former Slickjaw territory."

"Living off the scrapes of begotten fools...", Camille muttered, though not meaning to be ironic or funny, knowing this one particular group's days became numbered ever since their supposed boss, a steel-jawed sly scoundrel known only as Finn, was killed by late Silco over apparent rising disagreements. She then went on her feet, starting to walk while trying to take notice if there was any abnormalities with her new 'installations'. "Send to them, I'll be off to see him.", she said.

"It's a risk, especially so soon, M'lady.", Malt replied.

"Either this risk or further jeopardy.", Camille retorted, stopping. "And watch for updates, especially the cripple or his friend. I've just described the little sandclock Trencher rascal to the enforcers, ensure he's on the most wanted list, regardless of questioning or objection."

"And the Councillor?", Malt asked, knowing of this possibility as well.

"I'll say the words.", Camille answered, after a couple of seconds. "Evasives for him until I'm prepared. If he asks, that is. Are the previous arrangements in place?"

Malt nodded.

"Keep an eye on the general.", Camille glanced at him, tense.

She walked in a hurry to the outside.

Malt steeled himself, letting his air out.

It was going to be one of those nights, again...

Notes:

Be sure to comment and follow, as fresh new scenes become available daily, at 8 PM UTC-4. Several events played out here will be critical to understanding what's depicted next episode, that kickstarts Act V.