That night:
A dense fog had rolled in off the harbor, coating Zaun in its grey, ethereal embrace. From above, it softened the usual glare of neon signs, flashing in electric yellows, greens, and purples. Caitlyn shifted in her seat. She watched through the tram window as the undercity drew nearer through the glass. There was only one tram stop available for those looking to make a trip to Zaun, and it ended feet away from the Bridge of Progress. When the tram came to a complete stop, and the doors opened with a puff of air and whir of gears, Caitlyn stepped off, her focus immediately on the bridge.
It was a grand thing, a marvel of steel and ingenuity, connecting a city that had so long ago split into two very distinct pieces. Once, the bridge may have been viewed as a kind gesture, Piltover reaching out an arm to bottomside's inhabitants, but these days it only seemed to be a reminder of everything that had driven the two halves apart.
As she walked across, her boots thumping on the sturdy metal walkway, the fog engulfed her. Was it Zaun's way of sending her a warning? Go back, topsider, you're not welcome here. Or was it a tentative embrace? Help us, detective. She couldn't be sure. What she was sure of, though, was that she was going to get to the bottom of this case. After it was solved, wrapped up in a pretty bow and stored away in filing cabinets, she was going to initiate the reform policies that'd been brewing in her mind for the last two years of her training at the academy.
I will help, she resolved herself, her leather gloves creaking as she balled her fists. Help would only come to Zaun if things started from the top.
Nothing seemed to keep the undercity's streets clear – not rain, not fog, not the dead of night. While Piltover closed its doors, locked up its shops, and people turned in after a long day of work, Zaun became more and more alive as the sunlight waned, and daytime turned to night. The streets were filled with pumping music, bass so heavy she could feel it through the soles of her feet, and people swayed to the music out in the open, huddled around one another. Smoking. Drinking. Laughing. Pushing. Signs sparked overhead, an electric hum noticeable as Caitlyn passed directly underneath one, mixing with the street music in odd harmony.
She pulled up the hood of her jacket a bit more, slightly nervous. Not that she would get hurt, but more so at being seen. It'd be bad for her if someone spotted her, recognized her, and set the whole city on edge.
To her left, a bar brawl burst out onto the street. A tangle of several people, limbs flying, went careening to the right as momentum, alcohol-induced rage, and angry bystanders yelled at them to fuck off. Steam hissed out of pipes, street grates, adding to the noise and the fog, like everything in Zaun all came together as one in some chaotic melody. An intense, unforgiving heartbeat that shouted into the night.
In a way, it was a bit thrilling; Caitlyn couldn't stop herself from occasionally pausing to have a closer look. It was a world far removed from the one she knew, and alive in a way she'd never thought possible. Piltovans always saw themselves as the greatest innovators, inventors of Runeterra, brimming with academic ingenuity. But they couldn't hold a candle to Zaunites, who could scrape together pieces of junk – things Piltover discarded – and make miracles. Well, they seemed like miracles to Caitlyn, anyway.
As she retraced her steps to the crime scene, she ducked down alleyways, passed curiosity shops and scrapyards, and food vendors with an array of fish and seafood strung up on hooks. The smell of burning hot coals, cooking grease, and fish meat mingled with pipe smoke, rust, and exhaust.
Finally, she turned down the street that led to Benzo's shop, ready to pull out her notepad and redo the drawings. But as she approached she heard movement inside. What sounded like an empty bottle rolling across the floor, stopping with a soft thud. A soft curse word. She eased her steps, moved very slowly, to avoid her boots making noise on the pavement.
Before she got too close, she stopped to remove her rifle, carefully snapping it into place so it made no sound. Then she took out her flashlight and held it atop the rifle, so it'd shine light exactly where her barrel would be aimed.
When she came around the ruined edges of the shop front, she saw a figure inside, moving with careful, measured steps to avoid knocking into anything. It was difficult to do, given all the rubble, glass, wooden support beams, and miscellaneous stuff strewn across the floor, but the person was steady. Surefooted.
And looked oddly familiar.
The figure crouched down where the main blast site had left a black scorch mark on the floor.
Caitlyn raised her rifle, aimed at the person's back. She clicked on her flashlight and it became clear who it was. "So," she said with a triumphant undercurrent, "the perpetrator returns to the scene of the crime."
The woman slowly stood, pulling her hands from her pockets to lift them into the air in surrender. She turned to look over her shoulder, and Caitlyn saw the profile of her face, even with the hood up. A shock of pink hair, a single powder blue eye, a nose ring in her left nostril.
"Gonna' come over and cuff me?" She teased, a little something dark laced between the words. "You can be rough – I don't mind."
Caitlyn opened her mouth, closed it again, then cleared her throat and finally said, "Put your hands down. I'm not going to arrest you. I told you last night, I just want to talk."
"About?" The woman shot back, lowering her arms.
"Why you're here, for starters."
"Here? In Zaun?" There was a mischievous glint in her eye as she casually shoved her hands back in her pockets. "I live here. Born and raised."
Caitlyn was momentarily taken aback at her sarcastic tone, wincing mentally with the thought, Well, she's going to be a tough one.
The woman mistook her moment of silence for confusion and said, "When a man and a woman have sex–"
"Stop!" Caitlyn closed her eyes for a moment in irritation. "I understood you the first time."
"-they make a baby. Nine months later I was born," she finished with an infuriatingly confident shrug.
"I meant," Caitlyn responded, straightening her spine. "What are you doing here? At this shop? A crime scene?"
The woman lifted her hands up, inside her pockets. "I came to see if I could get something back I pawned. But look at this mess." She gestured around them. "Guess I'm outta' luck."
"There are usually two types that return to the scene of the crime," Caitlyn said confidently, ignoring the stranger's veiled mockery. "Those who want to bask in the glory of their handiwork and those who knew the victim." She paused, an eyebrow slowly quirked. "How'd you know him?"
Her pale, blue eyes rounded a moment, as if in surprise, but she recovered quickly, one side of her mouth pulled up. "I don't look like the guilty type?"
The detective shook her head. "No. I watched you–"
"You flirt," the woman interjected.
She pressed on, ignoring her words. "–moving carefully through the rubble. You didn't want to disturb or break anything." Her head tilted in curiosity. "This place means something to you. Why?"
There was a sigh, followed quickly by another smirk. But something else crossed her expression, like mild admiration. Or was Caitlyn just imagining it? "Not bad, cupcake."
"So?" She prompted.
"Yeah," she finally confessed, "I knew the shop owner. Known him since I was a kid."
"Did he have any enemies?"
A raised eyebrow. "Benzo? The guy was a teddy bear."
"Who'd want to do this to him, then?"
There was a moment of hesitation, like the woman was weighing her options or her words – possibly both. She scratched the back of her neck while she shifted weight onto her left leg and let her gaze wander away. "I don't know. That's what I'm trying to figure out."
"That's also what I'm trying to figure out," Caitlyn said. Then she folded up her rifle and slipped it into the open backpack hanging off her shoulders. All business, she pulled her notepad from her pocket, turned to the page with all the main details, and found the brief description she'd written last night about the woman. She added a quick sketch of the tattoo on the woman's cheek: VI, with a line on the top and bottom.
"What are you writing," the other woman asked, curious, as she took a few steps closer.
Six (?) Caitlyn hurriedly scribbled down.
Caitlyn heard the woman scoff before her pencil was snatched from her hand, followed quickly by her notepad. The woman had drawn close – very close – and was scratching out what she'd just written. Underneath, Caitlyn watched her write: Vi, as in 'violence'. Then she handed back the pencil with an overly smug grin.
Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. "Very…clever," she muttered.
The woman didn't return the notepad, though. Instead, she took hold of Caitlyn's wrist and used the flashlight clenched in her hand to see the paper better. Caitlyn watched her eyes move from the top of the page to the bottom, absorbing all the drawings and inner thoughts she'd committed to the page.
"Huh," the woman said, a thumb running over the symbols. She lifted her head, so Caitlyn did the same, and their eyes met.
That's when Caitlyn realized how alarmingly close the pink-haired woman was. And that there was something lingering in her gaze.
"You really care about this, don't you?" Her words were soft, something in her stare akin to disbelief.
Or maybe… relief, Caitlyn mentally wondered.
She gulped, taken aback by their proximity. "Y-yes," she said, feeling disarmed, especially when their shoulders brushed in the tight space, both of them trying to avoid stepping on anything around them. "It's my job," she said more confidently, squaring her shoulders.
A stillness settled in the air as the woman continued to shift her eyes between Caitlyn's notepad and her face, as if trying to piece something together herself.
Get a hold of yourself, Kiramman, she mentally admonished herself before she straightened to her full height and held out her open palm. "Can I have that back? I am here on business, after all."
The woman – Vi – handed the notepad back without a sarcastic comment or self-assured smirk. Just passed it into her hand, their fingers brushing.
Caitlyn took it, blew out a breath, and carefully maneuvered around her so she could get closer to the blood splatters. She crouched down, turned the page of the notepad, and poised her pencil, ready to begin. Her other hand held the flashlight aloft, shining it at each symbol as she took in the details one after the other, before she went back to the first and began drawing.
"What are you doing?"
Vi's voice sounded unnervingly close, but Caitlyn ignored it and kept working.
"I'm copying these symbols into my notes."
"But you already have them."
"Yes," she said with a sigh, "but they're too messy for a friend of mine to read. He asked me to redraw them."
"Why?"
"Are you really asking me to divulge my investigation process for an active murder?"
"What if I'm just a concerned citizen who wants to make sure you do your job right?"
"I always do my job right," Caitlyn huffed, a bit of her own self-assuredness laced between the words.
"Hmph," was all Vi said in return.
"Do these symbols mean anything to you?" It might've been a long shot, but Caitlyn didn't see the harm in asking.
The room grew so quiet, and so still, for a moment she thought the woman had left. With a one-shouldered shrug, she continued until the last symbol was copied down, then took a moment to admire her handiwork; they were definitely much clearer and a faint smile pulled on her lips.
She stood and turned around, ready to put her notepad and pencil away, when the sight of Vi still standing there, hands in her pockets made her heart skip a beat.
The corner of Vi's mouth twitched. "Didn't mean to scare you."
Caitlyn busied herself with closing the notepad and slipping it back into her pocket, clicking off her flashlight and slipping it into her backpack, to give her heart a moment to calm down. "You don't scare me."
"So," Vi said casually, eyes looking to the side. "Who'd you say you were taking those to?"
Caitlyn adjusted her vest, pulling down on the ends to smooth out the crinkles. "A friend," she repeated.
"Hmph," she said again. Then she turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" The question came out automatically; call it part of Caitlyn's detective training or her inability to be left out of the loop of any situation.
"I have somewhere to be," Vi said, her voice growing fainter as she reached the edge of the shop.
Caitlyn quickly followed after on her tiptoes, doing her best to avoid the scattered debris. "Where?" She asked, dogging her steps.
"Relax, detective. Nowhere that involves any of that." A hand came free from her pocket as she gestured behind them in the general direction of the ruined shop.
"I doubt that," Caitlyn said tightly.
"Oh yeah?" Vi glanced at her sideways as she finally caught up. "Why's that?"
"Because you look like a woman on a mission."
"Takes one to know one," Vi smirked.
Caitlyn tagged along on Vi's adventure. Though her presence seemed to annoy the woman, she didn't fight very much to get her to go away. Most of the time spent walking was in silence, though Caitlyn noticed a tick popping off in the corner of Vi's jaw as they went.
After some time, they finally appeared to have reached Vi's destination. Without preamble, the woman pushed through a set of doors that stood under a sign reading: Black Lightning.
With a strut that looked like she owned the place, Vi walked through the main floor, a space littered with tables and patrons, all of them gambling. Each table seemed to be hosting a different game, some with cards, others with dice, and one that made Caitlyn raise her eyebrows in near shock when she saw a pile of throwing knives. The sound of coins being shuffled across the wooden tabletops, clanking in coin bags, being counted or flipped, filled the room amidst a rowdy hum of conversation. Lots of laughter accompanied by fists banging, bottles being raised, and the occasional insult when the person being laughed at didn't take the joke too well.
It was a colorful cast of people. Old and young, tall and short, thin and wide; it was apparently an establishment that welcomed anyone, so long as they had money.
"Vi?" A deep voice yelled in what sounded like surprised excitement.
Vi quickened her steps, then was pulled into a one-armed hug by a tall, dark-skinned woman with short black hair pulled tight on the back of her head. Her arm was thick and enveloped Vi's shoulders with ease.
"Heard you were out," the woman said with a cigar between her teeth. "What took you so long to come say hi?"
Caitlyn's interest was piqued. Out?
Vi pulled out of the hug and smiled ruefully. "Sorry, Sevika. You know how it is. Had ten years worth of history to catch up on."
Sevika laughed. "That's the truth." She sat back down at her table, kicked out an empty chair with a booted foot. "Sit down, have a drink."
Vi slid into the chair, and as she did, Sevika threw up a signal to a bartender near the back.
Sevika's eyes landed on Caitlyn and she tipped her chin. "Who's the pretty girl?"
"Ignore the cupcake," Vi said dismissively, waving a hand in Caitlyn's direction.
She went from a moment of embarrassment, a slight warmth filling her cheeks, to a flash of indignation at Vi's words. With a snort through her nose, she folded her arms and set her jaw.
A drink was dropped off at Vi's elbow, and without even asking what it was, she wrapped her fingers around it and took a healthy swig.
Well, she knows her, Caitlyn reasoned with a grimace, far too cautious to ever drink something if she didn't know what it was.
Vi leaned forward on her elbows, looking at Sevika through her brows. "What do you know about Silco's whereabouts?"
"Silco," Sevika questioned, exhaling a puff of smoke. "Why're you looking–" Her expression changed from confusion to understanding. Vi didn't seem to question it, but Caitlyn was lost about the subtext and it frustrated her. What was going on?
"His body washed up on the shores of the harbor three weeks ago," the woman said, nonchalant. "Bullet holes peppered in his chest."
Vi grit her teeth. "Dammit." She finished off her drink and slammed the glass down a bit too forcefully. "Then can you tell me where my sister is?"
Sevika pulled the cigar from her mouth, holding it between her thumb and forefinger. There was something in her eyes as she gazed at Vi, something a bit like pity, and when she spoke her gruff tone had softened. "No one knows where she is, Vi."
With a strained groan of frustration, Vi got up from her seat, the chair scraping loudly across the floor as she forced it back. "Thanks. I've got somewhere else to be, but I'll stop by again."
"Any time," Sevika said, slipping the cigar back in her mouth. "You're always welcome."
"Thanks," Vi said again, then turned, hands shoved back in her pockets.
Caitlyn smiled politely at the woman and muttered a quick, "Thank you," even though she had no clue what the exchange was about and she'd been offered nothing to drink, and spun on her heel.
Back out on the streets, Caitlyn could tell that whatever that conversation had meant to Vi had soured her mood. As she glanced at her sideways, it was clear intense thoughts were running through her mind as her expression fluctuated between anger, uncertainty, hopelessness, and back to anger.
When someone bumped her shoulder, the anger was unleashed.
"Watch it," she snapped out of the side of her mouth.
The man paused in the street, his face twisted into a mean scowl, made even meaner by the scars that criss-crossed his face. "You bumped into me, bitch."
Caitlyn took a physical step back, surprised at the speed with which Vi turned, reached out, and fisted the guy's coat in her hand. He gave her a jab to the ribs, and her posture leaned on that side as she grimaced, but she didn't let go of his coat. Instead, she shoved him back against the nearest wall and got right into his face.
"I've had a really bad fucking day," she grounded out between her teeth. "I'm not in the mood for bullshit. So apologize and I'll get on with my night."
He opened his mouth to say something, but then his eyes flicked down. A sudden wave of nervousness overtook him. "S-s-sorry," he stammered, raising up his hands. "I'll look where I'm going next time."
"Great." She released him, then started walking in the original direction they'd been headed.
Caitlyn tisked at her as they rounded a corner. "Charming, aren't you?"
But instead of a slick reply, Vi fell sideways into the wall, her left hand holding her right side. "Can you…" she paused, breathing heavily. "Can you take me to Babette's?"
As if Caitlyn knew who that was. "As long as you give me the directions," she said with an eye roll. She threw Vi's left arm around her shoulders and wrapped her other arm around her waist. Vi steadied herself off the wall, but in the next second she leaned her weight into Caitlyn's side. "Oomph," slipped out between her teeth as she adjusted her hold, trying to bear all of the woman's weight. Gods, she's heavy, she thought, her facial expression strained.
Caitlyn discovered "Babette's" was a pleasure house in the darkest part of the city she'd seen so far. It was nestled back in a dead end street and there were no neon signs outside to light up the area. All that stood there was a metal door that was heavily bolted, a rectangular slot at eye level.
Vi rapped her knuckles on the door, making the metal thrum. The slit in the door opened and a pair of eyes assessed them. Then the door slid open without a word.
Sitting in a chair at the entrance was a Yordle wearing heavy make-up and a silky dress. Vi lurched towards her the best she could still in Caitlyn's grip and smiled weakly.
"Hey, Babette, I need the strong stuff tonight." She lifted up the right side of her shirt.
The Yordle tisked, and Caitlyn leaned forward to eye the huge, purple-black bruise along Vi's ribs.
Babette pulled back and nodded. "You got it, honey. I'll send it in shortly."
"Thanks," Vi said breathlessly.
Vi led the way down a dimly lit hallway with many rooms to the left and right, some of the entrances open, some of them blocked by sheer fabric. Giggles could be heard on both sides, some casual conversation, and, to Caitlyn's horror, a few moans as well. She bit down on her lip, resolved to keep her mouth shut as she helped Vi to a room at the end and they slipped inside.
As soon as Vi plopped down onto the velvet couch, she sighed in relief and leaned back, her eyes closed.
Caitlyn stood awkwardly by the entrance, unsure of what to do. Her night had taken several unexpected turns and she was feeling very out of her element; if her mother could see her now she'd be screaming her name. She winced at the mental image, looking anywhere but at Vi as her chest rose and fell heavily, her arms limp as they rested on her thighs.
It was a small room with no where to sit down except the couch Vi occupied. There was an odd smell in the air, a mix between perfume and incense, and Caitlyn noticed the sheer curtain on the inside of the entrance, held in place by a silken rope tied around a hook in the wall. She gulped. She could still hear the moans from a couple of rooms down and an uncomfortable warmth was blooming along her neck and cheeks.
Someone – an employee, Caitlyn assumed – came in with a tray. The only thing on it was a long, black pipe and a box of matches.
"Care to light it for me?"
When Caitlyn swiveled to look at Vi, her powder-blue eyes were locked on her face.
Hesitant, she slowly stepped closer and sat down next to her on the couch. She pulled a match from the offered box, then picked up the pipe awkwardly, unsure of how to hold it. She struck the match along the side of the box, but didn't know what she was supposed to light.
"There." Vi's finger pointed to the bowl at the end.
Caitlyn touched the match to the purple substance that was packed inside, then startled when she felt Vi's fingers gently take the pipe from her hand. She inhaled a long, deep breath and leaned further into the cushions.
There was a moment of silence. Caitlyn let her eyes linger on Vi's face as the pain eased out of it; her eyes were closed, so she couldn't catch her staring. The detective had no idea what to make of this woman. She was unlike anyone Caitlyn had ever met before in her life. Crude, sarcastic, assertive, carrying herself with a cockiness that'd be seen as unsavory topside. She had a comeback for everything, or could deflect any question with practiced ease.
And yet. Caitlyn smiled a little. There was something unusually endearing about her.
After another moment of silence, the room hazy with smoke, Caitlyn asked, "Does it... work?"
"It takes the pain away," Vi muttered, a cloud of purple passing through her lips.
"Then it doesn't actually heal you."
Vi opened her eyes to look at her, face flat. "Runic magic is banned down here, remember? That means no healers."
"But this is hardly–" She stopped. "Medicine."
"You take what you can get down here, cupcake."
"My name is Caitlyn." She interjected.
"Well, Caitlyn, everything down here is made of metal, chemicals, or some combination of both," Vi said bitterly, before she raised the pipe back to her lips and took another drag off its long stem.