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Apr 13, 2025

COME HELL OR HIGH WATER - Chapter I

Silco x fem!Reader / Hades x Persephone-ish / enemies to lovers (kinda) / slow-burn/ canon-typical violence / explicit

Masterlist / (AO3)

Is there light in the abyss ?

Down where lost souls wander paths carved long before their time, dreams and nightmares merge as heroes and monsters collide, myth and reality chaotic currents blurring into an endless maelstrom.

It is said the Fates hide there in the shifting shadows, weaving an intricate tapestry of destinies.

Whose thread will you find intertwined with yours ?

Headstrong and ambitious, you are Piltover’s most promising chemist. Dreaming of independence, your life is turned upside down when you catch the feared Eye of Zaun’s interest and he... well, catches you. What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object ?

Chapter I – Happy Progress Day

« What the hell ? »

Your voice is merely a whisper as you fidget with the jagged switch of the fume hood, the quiet hum of the vent mechanism filling the room. Finally managing to turn it off, you sigh as you take your gloves off and tidy the bench top, collecting the notes scattered across the sleek surface and adding one last scribble to the already cramped page of your latest experiment before wiping the ceramic counter clean, the acrid smell of rubbing alcohol lingering in the air.

The small desk lamp turned off, your only light source comes from the starlit sky, moonlight shining far beyond the highceiling windows, its pale glow seeping through the ornate mullions like ghostly fingers reaching out to you. Instead, they fall on the glassware you’re squaring away, beakers looking ethereal as you slide them into place, their cristalline chime a soft lullaby in the quiet of the empty laboratory.

Finally satisfied with your organization, you shrug off your labcoat, the rough linen scratching your sensitive fingertips as you hook it next to the door before putting on your jacket. Turning back to the bench top, you pluck your notes with one hand, while the other turns on a small flashlight, faint scent of ink and paper wafting over and following you into the corridor as you exit the room, juggling with your bundle while you fumble with your key, going through the motions like an automat.

The sound of your key turning inside the lock jerks you out of your tired haze. You sigh, bringing your hand to rub your eyes, startled by the resistance it encounters : greasy fingerprints obstruct your vision and you begin to wonder if the solvents you used haven’t affected your brain, until it finally dawns on you : you’re still wearing your glasses. You chuckle, propping them on top of your head, the slight scrape of the nose pads on your scalp foreboding the promise of a messy disentanglement once you’ll get home – but you are too weary to care.

Your steps are muffled by the thick periwinkle blue carpet as you make your way through the labyrinthian corridors of the Academy, the halo of your dim light only accentuating the darkness enveloping you, its weight so tangible you’re tempted to reach out and feel it. Instead, you absentmindedly trail your fingers on the small bronze patterns that ornates the towering walls, cold metal raising goosebumps on your skin as you sink deeper into the building.

At last, you spot a soft glow seeping beneath the threshold of a large wooden door. Corners of your mouth lifting into a smile, you land two soft knocks on the polished oak before clasping your hand on the brass handle, turning it as slowly as you can to prevent the hinges from creaking. Arms securing notes and flashlight safely against your chest, you peek through the gap and reprimand, nasal voice a perfect – in your humble opinion – imitation of the Dean’s,

« Graveyard shift is over, young man. »

When no response comes from the brown slump of hair hovering above the desk on the opposite side of the room, you cross the threshold with a pout and let the door revolve, loud click of the latch reverberating above the low thrumming of the hextech gemstone. This seems to pull the hunched form before you out of its reverie, thick chestnut curls swirling as golden eyes peer through furrowed brows, relaxing once their owner meets your gaze.

« Shouldn’t you be asleep, Kore ? » despite the teasing words, exhaustion leaks through his tone.

You stick out your tongue at the nickname, crossing the workshop in a few strides before flumping your notes and light with a thud on the desk, propping yourself on the edge, left leg nudging his thigh as you respond, « Genius doesn’t sleep, Viktor. »

He grins, bright eyes meeting yours as you lift his cane absentmindedly, tapping a pale finger to his chin in mock wonder, « And how exactly would you know that ? »

You feign a gasp at his sarcasm and lift the back of your free hand to your forehead, tilting your chin dramatically as you explain « ‘Tis a terrible curse bestowed upon me many eons ago, » you bring back your gaze to lock with his, cocky grin pulling at your mouth, « one you should consider yourself lucky to be escaping. »

For a fleeting moment, your words linger in the air above the light buzz of the levitating gemstone, its blue hue flickering across your features while the lantern’s golden glow casts long shadows upon Viktor’s, emphasizing the light purple of his dark circles and the way his shoulders start trembling faintly, before you both burst out in a fit of laughter.

You revel in the fuzzy warmth blooming in your chest, wiping away stray tears at the corner of your eyes as you try to catch your breath. As per usual, Viktor is the first to gain his composure back, dusting invisible particules from his shirt, straightening upon his stool to ask softly « Seriously though, why are you here ? » long fingers proding your knee as he continues, « And I don’t mean distracting me from my work. Though I suppose you are. »

Mouth dropping to a thin line, you lovingly trace the pair of snakes adorning his cane, eyes riveted on the golden details before mumbling, « Better working than tossing and turning in my bed I guess. »

« Is it perhaps due to your nervousness regarding tomorrow’s events ? » the lilt of his accent is a comforting sound, its familiar weight a welcomed anchor in the tumult of your thoughts.

« We’re already tomorrow Vik,» you check the pocketwatch tied to your waistcoat to emphasize your point, « in case you haven’t noticed, it’s 3:30 A.M. »

« Then Happy Progress Day to you. »

You scoff, jumping off the desk to land on the stool next to him, bumping his shoulder as you sit on the worn leather.

Brows furrowing, he asks in hushed tones « Is it because you do not wish to go home ? » his accent growing thicker with his concern as you don’t respond, « Did something happen with your mother ? »

You wince « We argued. »

He nods knowingly, « Ah, let me make an educated guess : about your plans to travel ? »

« Yep, » you answer, popping the ‘p’, « apparently it is 'reckless to toss my brilliant career for a sliver of freedom', » drawing exagerated quotes in the air as you get more and more agitated « I’m a grown woman, I should be able to make my own choices, don’t you think ? » You turn to wave a finger under poor Viktor’s nose, « and don’t even get me started on my career : the experiments I would actually like to work on are always relegated to the background, subject to the whims of Professor Seilenos. I’ve got more ambition than stalling as his assistant, for gods’ sake ! »

Your rant over, a frustrated sigh escapes your lips as you burry your head in your hands. Viktor hums, smooth sound lingering in the air. When you finally tear your fingers away from your face, two golden irises meet yours, « and did you tell Demeter you wished to see your father upon your journey ? »

You snicker, « You’d be speaking to me through wooden planks and six feet of dirt if I had. »

Silence follows your words as memories of your argument flood your mind, heavy weight of regret chasing the air out of your lungs. Sensing your distress, large palm comes to rub soothing circles on your back, Viktor reajusting his stance so that you can rest your head on his shoulder.

« Anyways, one thing led to another and I said some… unsavory things. » You tilt your face up, a quirked eyebrow prompting you to add sheepishly, « The words ‘control freak’ might have been uttered, »

He scoffs, « the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. »

You shoot him a dark stare beneath your lashes, eliciting a chuckle, loose strands of your hair fluttering under his warm breath. All of a sudden, the amusement in his gaze is replaced by pain, a rictus distorting his features.

You immediately jerk back « Headache ? Does it worsen ? »

You get up when he nods, fumbling with your pockets before your fingers wrap around a small container, which you settle gently into his palm.

« I meant to give them to you earlier but I got carried away… you know how working in the lab tends to go, » he gives you a small smile as he rubs his temples and you clear your throat, « I altered the coating so the acidity of your stomach wouldn’t dissolve them too quickly. »

« You’re too kind,» he jiggles the case before opening it, white pellets nearly overflowing, and tsks « I can’t help but notice the amount you made. »

His eyes search for yours, silent question hanging in the air as you bit your lower lip. His voice is low and sharp as he states « Long trip then. »

You offer an apologetic smile « I’m sorry Viktor… You could always come with me, should you wish to, »

« and leave the Piltovian on their own ? You know they need us foreigners, » you chuckle as he pursues, « go and enjoy the sweet taste of freedom for both us. »

You gently squeeze his hand, tablets bouncing inside the case.

« If you leave before I can see you tomorrow... » his voice catches slightly, « I’ll miss our talks. I’ll miss you Kore. »

You pout, « No you won’t you bastard. And please don’t call me that, you know I hate it. »

He grins cheekily before standing up and wrapping you in his embrace. A distant clock chimes and you reluctanctly leave his warmth to pick up your notes and flashlight. You’re about to leave the gentle light of the workshop behind to step into the darkness of the corridor when he teases,

« Don’t worry about your speech tomorrow, Professor Seilenos will probably try to steal the spotlight anyways. What’s more rewarding than the adulation of the Piltovian elite ? »

You scorn « I’d rather the ground split into two and swallow me whole. »

***

The heatwave is a surprise to everyone. Underneath the giant marquee, the heat is stifling : it is as though the thick striped material has decided to harness the full rays of the afternoon sun, only to cook you slowly but effectively as you answer the never-ending visitors’ questions about your work at the Academy, trying your best to stay affable despite your body’s desperate need to escape from the rising inferno.

Finally, the family of three you’ve been entertaining for the last twenty minutes seems to have their fill of chemistry for the day, offering you a welcomed respite as they exit the tent, little boy excitingly rambling about hextech as his parents bid you goodbye with an apologetic expression. You smile, waving back at them, though as soon as they leave your boiling prison, a groan escapes your lips.

Not losing a beat, you shrug off your emerald jacket, golden leaves embroidery glittering as you toss it haphazardly on the table before collapsing yourself on a nearby chair. Reaching for the water jug, you pour a large glass, attempting to quench your thirst in three large – and very uncouth – gulps. It takes the entire pitcher for you to feel human again, at which point your mind takes malicious delight in reminding you of everything going wrong in your life, including but not limited to : an extremely furious mother – whom you haven’t seen since your fight, a shaky career as a professor assitant despite shining credentials, and an overall non-existant personal life, all morphing into a monstruous tableau behind your closed eyelids.

Breathing deeply, one hand comes to rub your temple while the other fidgets with the silver band on your middle finger, thumbnail scrapping against the vine leaf engraved on the metal as you try to calm your rampant imagination.

Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of clinking glass breaks your fragile peace, prompting you to drawl, « Please don’t touch the display. »

Opening your eyes with a sigh, you’re met with a flash of wild blue hair, white toothy grin stretched across a freckled face while big azure eyes shine with mirth as they scan your tired form.

« Rise and shine ! » the girl in front of you chirps, stepping back as you quickly leap up from your slumped position.

Brows furrowed you utter, « I remember you, you came by last year. »

Her smile widens even further at the mention, « Yeah, yours was the only exhibit I actually wanted to see. »

You chuckle « You did seem fairly interested, given the amount of questions you had about explosives, » lips stretching into a smile of your own, « it was rather refreshing, given that most people usually only ask me about my work related to hextech. »

The tip of the iceberg, you add to yourself.

« Well, my father follows the entirety of your work intently, »

You raise an inquisitive brow, « does he ? »

She nods vigorously, « He even went to your conference on volatile organic compounds a few months ago, which is saying a lot considering he rarely leaves the undercity. »

You completely miss the last part of her sentence, foggy memory clouding your mind as you reminisce about the day : the event in itself a blur, contrasting starkly with the way you remember the anguish twisting your insides before stepping on stage.

Shrugging off the souvenir, you straighten up your white shirt, tugging at the cuffs as you inquire « So, do you have any fiery questions for me this year ? »

« I do and I’d love to stay for a chat but I’ve go to scram, » she smiles as she walks towards the exit, pulling at the fabric before tilting her head back to you, « something tells me you’ll be able to answer me soon enough though… See ya ! »

And with that, she steps outside, tent side flapping with the strong motion, while you’re left completely bewildered.

Is the heat so great you’re starting to hallucinate ?

Lost in a daze, the clock startles you when it chimes, cruel reminder of the fleeting nature of time, precious peaceful seconds seeping through your fingers like sand as you collect your vest. Overtaking the relaxed enforcers making idle chatter amongst themselves, you make your way begrudgingly towards the supplice awaiting you on stage, the ever watchful eye of the scalding sun following your every move.

***

Hidden in the relative cool of the velvety curtains’ shade, your gaze is fixed on the wooden floorboard making up the large stage in front of you, details of the tawny worn grain dancing in your eyes as you focus your breathing. Scent of amber, varnish and sweat linger in the air as you distractedly tap your fingers to your thumbs, echoes of a long and pompous allocution flying above your head, the crackling sound scratching your eardrums to die in the quiet of the wings surrounding you.

Suddenly, the unpleasant noise stops.

Your lost gaze wanders to the mic stand, upon which is perched a lanky man, the olive complexion of his parchment-like skin contrasting with the glitter of the decor’s gilding. Carefully layered strands of thin grey hair do a poor job at concealing his well-advanced baldness, sweat glistening with every movement of his head under the blinding sun. Finally, you register his bulging brown eyes and the way his lips seem to form something. Narrowing your eyes, you discern : « Come here, now! »

Realization hits you like blades of a zeppelin at full speed. You wince. What a grand entrance.

Mentally cursing yourself, you dart through the short steps leading up to the stage, trying to plaster a smile on your face – which probably looks more like a demented smirk - as you settle next to the older man. You’re pretty sure you look as spooked as you feel.

To your relief, the professor resumes his speech, allowing you to scan the large crowd, planted in front of you like exotic birds in an aviary, garish colors of the nouveau riche mixing with the more subdued colors of old money in a cacophony of fabric. In this buzzing kaleidoscope, you spot a familiar head of bright blue hair, corners of your mouth softening at the sight.

You raise your gaze to the tall figure looming behind the child, clashing against the crowd. The man reminds you of the colorful depictions of reptilian species you used to marvel at in old natural history tomes. Textile scales of charcoal and burgundy lined with golden details catch the sun in mesmerizing patterns, up to the large collar framing the sharp features of his face like a cobra hood. Skin prickling, everything seems to still as the outlines of your world start to blur, feeling yourself caught by the magnetic pull of his mismatched gaze as it bores into yours, engulfing you in a languid emerald sea before crashing into burning amber. Speech a distant buzz, you can only feel your blood running cold, pulsating electric current coursing beneath your skin, a voice in the back of your head whispering an ominous warning : you are in danger.

Your attention is pulled back to your neighbour when you hear your name followed by a litany of superlatives and you can’t help but squint, doubting your hearing, before letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

One quick glance to your side is sufficient this time for you to get your cue, your carefully rehearsed discourse flowing from your lips in – to your suprise – a steady tone. However, as time goes by, your mind loses its focus, edges of your vision fading, echoes of your own voice feeling estranged to you as you decypher various strings of words : « beyond hextech », « gas handling safety », « venturing into the medical field ». You’re brought to a halt when you tug at your collar, shallow breaths coming out of your dry lips.

Seilenos seizes the opportunity to conclude in your stead, self-satisfaction coating his words as he pats a clammy hand to your shoulder «...truly astounding work, » the never-ending verbal flow drowning in a buzz.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re about to pass out. The asshole you have for a superior is giving you your flowers in a new convoluted monologue destined for Piltover’s elite and you’re about to pass out like an idiot. Of course.

What’s even more infuriating is the fact that you’re finally handed the recognition you deserve the exact day you’re supposed to leave that damned city. The irony isn’t lost on you. Thunderous applause conclude Seilenos’ eulogy, and the corners of your lips pull up in what you hope is a replica of a smile, expressing your thanks in a rale.

« What raw emotion ! » the old man marvels at your flushed expression, completely mistaking your feverish state for a sheepish blush as he rambles on. You lift your gaze as you search for a dash of blue against crimson shades amongst the chaotic palet of colors, but you're only met with the amazed expression of the Piltovian audience.

You excuse yourself with a mumble, Seilenos more than happy to bask alone in the spotlight as you bolt towards the sanctuary of the shadows, darkness providing instant relief.

Legs wobblying, you make your way through the quiet of the empty stalls towards your tent, desperately pulling apart the fabric and almost topling the display over as you collide with the table.

***

Knuckles of your left hand blanch as you brace yourself on the wooden surface, right hand shaking as you fumble to open a new bottle of water, discarding the lid to drink directly from the bottleneck. Dampening a tissue you found in your breastpocket, you bring the soft fabric to your forehead, hoping to aleviate the fever burning on your skin. You exhale a sigh : you’re so tired it’s a wonder you’re still standing. Tilting your head towards the canopy, floating dust dance above you unrushedly as you take in the quiet of the dome, your gaze focused on the alternating streaks of fabric, veins of cream and midnight blue pulsing slowly in the rising breeze.

A smooth voice breaks the silence, a hint of curiosity tinting the words « So, this is Piltover’s most promising chemist ? »

Your heart leaps from your chest and you snap your head forward, almost dropping the bottle you forgot you were still holding in your hand.

« Can I help you ? » your tone is acrid despite your heavy breathing, your eyes searching the space frantically.

Slithering out of the shadows, the tall man from the crowd comes to stand before you, his build increased by the width of his coat. His slick back hair is veined with silver streaks at his temples, the right side of his face marred with gruesome scars which you couldn’t see from the stage. However, the intensity of his stare remains the same, tranquil aquamarine paired with smoldering orange swirl embedded in an obsidian orb fixed on you. Finally, he muses, « We’ll see. »

You swallow, your grip tightening around the neck of the bottle as you suggest, « I think you got lost, the show’s that way, » tilting your head towards the exit.

He smirks, « I’m right where I want to be. »

You scoff, « Allow me to doubt that, » gritting your teeth, « access is reserved for Academy staff only. The enforcers outside must have told you as much. »

He hums « Indeed they did. However, I can be very persuasive, » there’s a dangerous undertone to his words and a shiver runs down your spine as your brain conjures disturbing images of the enforcers’ fate, a whisper of fear coiling deep inside your gut.

« You see, I’m here on business, » he continues, voice low and calculated,« looking to invest. »

You snicker as you circle him slowly, making your way discretly towards the exit « And what could possibly interest you here ? »

« Talent. Potential. You. » Each one of his word carries an authoritative weight, unwavering certitude in his tone, as if you couldn’t escape the outcome he had planned for you.

The tension grows as your patience runs thin and you cut the conversation short, « I am not looking for employment. »

He doesn’t hide his contempt as he responds « Indeed you’re not. Does the estimed Professor Seilenos know you intend on give him the slip ? I believe there’s a ship in the northern harbor you intend to board tonight. »

You freeze and barely feel the ghust of wind flowing from the entrance, shimmery dust swirling around your boots in frenzied patterns.

Your throat is dry as you push your next words out, « How do you know that ? »

Tilting his head slightly, corners of his mouth lift to bare his chipped teeth as he answers « I’m a prudent investor. »

Narrowing your eyes, your composure cracks as you snap « What do you want ? »

« I have a proposal for you,» his voice is husky as he steps closer, circling you to position himself in front of the tent opening, « one that I would like you to consider thoroughly.»

You scoff, « Oh ? Well I would like peace and quiet. »

« I can provide that. »

« Yeah, by leaving. Now. »

A venomous sneer stretches across his features when he answers « Great minds think alike. »

At the flick of his fingers, several henchmen appear in the marquee, broad figures displaying wide arrays of scars, tattoos and mechanical enhancements.

« You see, I’m very much counting on your cooperation and would like to discuss said proposal in a civilized manner. Though I can see you might lack the politeness required despite your pristine attire, » his voice is icy, irritation clear in his tone as he concludes, « now, I would advise you to display the famed logical mind of a scientist and follow me quietly. »

Unfortunately, you’ve been running on sheer spite for years, so it is only natural for your contradictory spirit to silence any semblance of common sense despite the blaring alarm going off in your head : I’m not fucking doing that, you think.

« I’m not fucking doing that, » you say, accentuating the profanity.

He shrugs, « Figured as much, » then glances behind you before turning around, « Sevika, she’s all yours. »

You whirl around to come face to face with the most imposing woman you’ve ever met, purple scars pulsating around her jaw, grey eyes sizing you up in a quick swipe, her scowl turning into a smirk at your bewildered state.

However, hope washes over you as you realize you’re only a few steps away from the entrance : with an energy born of despair, you swat the glass bottle at Sevika and dart.

Regrettably for you, a mechanical arm wraps around your wrist, yanking you back towards the woman now sporting a broken nose, blood oozing from the wound as you hear her breath come out in a whistle through what you guess is a deviated septum. Eyes widening in horror, you lift your hands in surrender, glass bottle shattering on the ground. Opening your mouth in an attempt at negociation, your efforts are cut short when a fleshed fist comes flying towards your face : the last things you register are the sting of your jaw and the unmistakable taste of blood flooding your mouth before darkness takes over you.

***

Fuzzy shooting stars dance behind your eyelids when you regain consciousness, your breath warm on the scratchy material you can feel laying against your skin. Blinking, you’re still met with darkness, muffled sounds surrounding you like waves crashing on a distant shoreline. As your tongue darts to wet your lips, the metallic taste of blood submerges your senses when the tender flesh parts, sharp sting eliciting a hiss.

You presume you’re being dragged, hands tied behind your back as rough rope gnaws at the delicate skin of your wrists, iron grip on both your biceps lifting you up while your boots scrape on gravel. A few minutes later, they meet a sturdier surface : with the pain that regularly ricochets in your knees, you’d wager you’ve reached a cobblestone road.

You try to speak, but only a hoarse sound escapes your mouth, the action sending you in a couching fit, blood coating the fabric around your mouth and smudging on your skin in warm and sludgy smears.

Suddenly you’re brought to a stop and almost tumble forward, but firm hands steady you. Once it’s clear your body doesn’t intend to leave you to fend off gravity on your own, one hand releases its hold on your arm, then fidgets around your neck. Finally the fabric is pulled from your face, leaving you to gasp for air as you’re overwhelmed by a myriad of sensations, sending your head spinning until you’re on the verge of nausea.

You breathe deeply, eyes accomodating to the sickly glow of salacious neon signs, and you realize Sevika is the one holding you, gaze scanning your bloodied cheeks and chin as the burlap sack dangles from her flesh hand.

As her eyes meet yours, you croak, « Oh gods, what an ugly sight to wake up to, » you tilt your chin towards the bag, « please spare me and put that on ! »

A punch to the stomach quickly stops your bravado, and for a brief moment you wonder if your spleen hasn’t come to tickle your lungs. Folded in two, you wheeze, spitting blood to decorate the already grim-looking street : through the clouds of acrid smoke seeps the dull hue of neon lights, erratic flashes of pink and green bathing passerby in a faint glow, casting strange shadows over the decrepit walls of the buzzing street. No one bats an eye at your wounded state and you guess it must be a familiar sight around here.

« Will you behave or do I need to drag you on all four the rest of the way ? » Sevika asks briskly as you straighten up.

You mutter a colorful response under your breath as her mechanical hand claws around your bicep once more, velvet of your jacket a poor barrier against the sharpness of the metal. Sevika leads you on, two of the men you saw earlier following you diligently.

You take in the narrow streets, chaos whirling around you in vivid colors and loud noises, life pulsing steadily through the arteries of what you assume is the Undercity. Everything seems raw and genuine beneath the grime, and you can’t help but feel mesmerized by the wildness, the tentalizing sparkle of freedom drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

In the distance, you catch sight of a huge neon eye ornated with spikes in an intimidating display, basking the surrounding streets in a greenish glow. To your horror, the way the whole group accelerates gives you a clear indication as to where you are headed and desperation starts to swell in your chest.

Suddenly, a woman steps out of the crowd and gestures towards Sevika, bringing you all to a halt. Despite their hushed tones, the conversation gets progressively more animated and soon, the grip on your bicep loosens. In fact, it loosens so much that your brain comes up with the worst plan ever known to humankind : you run.

In the growing darkness, you don’t have the tiniest clue where you’re going, but you’d rather take your chances in the unknown streets than wait to be thrown in a cage – or whatever it is these people intend to do with you. You make your way as best as you can amongst the overflowing stalls, knocking over pots and pans, jumping over peculiar-colored puddles as you thank your lucky star for putting on pants this morning.

Bolting through an alley, you feel a slight increase in the ground under your feet and a smile tugs at your wounded lips as you glance over your shoulder : no one in sight. You bring your gaze back on the road ahead only to collide with a muscular arm, the impact sending you flying backwards into the dirt. Breathless, you gasp against the ground, muscles spasming when you feel yourself being hoisted over a brass shoulder.

« Do that one more time and I leave you to the first organ trafficking gang we come across. And trust me, we’re not short on that over here, princess. »

Exhausted and miserable, you let Sevika bring you towards the glowing eye, surroundings blurring in the thick dirty fog, the air clinging to your skin as if it wanted to seep through your pores and corrode flesh, muscles and tendons.

Sevika comes to a halt, and you spot a motley line of people from the corner of your eye. Feeling self-conscious, you mutter, « At least put me down now. »

You feel her shrug under you.

« Please ? »

Your feet meet the ground with a strength that makes your teeth chatter. Turning your gaze towards her, you notice the intricate patterns on the door she opens, tilting her head before crossing the threshold. You follow the tall woman inside the building and the door revolves behind you, plunging the room into darkness, sparse neon lights pulsing their eery light towards you. Apart from their lingering buzz and the sound of your boots, the room is silent : there is no one to sit on the scruffy stools, occupy the dimly-lit leather booths or gather around the large pool table.

You almost expect ghosts to serpentine towards you, whispering dark promises in your ear – when a warm golden light emerges on the other side of the room, illuminating a well-furnished bar and chasing any spectre that might lurk around you.

Still trailing behind Sevika, you make your way to the counter, your curious eyes attracted to the wide assortment of liquors and spirits arranged in a colorful exhibit, glass bottles gleaming in the light. The backdoor swings open and a stout man carrying a clinking crate enters, settling the load on the varnished surface with a thud. Large brown eyes scan over you, a quizzical brow raised as he leans against the crate, face cant towards Sevika.

« Hey Dion, is the boss up there ? »

He nods, beaded dark braids falling over the ebony skin of his forehead, « And has been for a while. I guess you and your companion, » he shoots you a fleeting look before turning back to your abdunctor, « are running late Sev. »

She grunts, motioning for you as she begins to climb the stairs leading to the upper level. You walk past other booths, thick burgundy curtains loosely drawn swaying in your wake as you head towards a narrow corridor, leaving behind the relative light of the open space to step into total darkness.

You almost bump into Sevika when she halts to knock on a large wooden door, slowly creaking it open, her sudden reverance sending your skin crawling. Following her inside, you hear the latch close behind you with a definitive click. You suppress a shiver, focusing on the space in front of you as your boots thump against the creaking wooden floor, sound reverbating in the otherwise silent room.

A pale green glow seeps through the stained glass of a large oval window, strange shadows cast upon the room as the light hits its intricate grid like waves crashing against a levee. To your left, a small lamp perched haphazardly upon a cluttered coffee table diffuses a subtle coppery glow over various glinting decanters settled next to the stainless steel of mechanical prototypes, splatters of bright paint jarring against the sharpness of their edges.

Your eyes trail over the mismatched rugs to sweep upon a leather couch, its shadow stretched upon the wooden panels of the walls, brass details running like molten amber in the low light. Your gaze is drawn to the other side of the room, where a floor lamp dimly lights a bookshelf filled to the brim, weight of the numerous tomes threatening to capsize the whole thing.

The edge of the warm halo falls upon the huge desk in the center of the room, its surface sinking underneath piles of papers and maps, cigar stub smoldering in a hefty ashtray, its fume wafting over you as Sevika pushes you roughly on a chair, your tied hands scratching against wooden bars.

You shoot her a sharp look as you’re about to give her a piece of your mind but the rustling sound of paper makes you shudder, your gaze gliding to the massive chair behind the desk, its carved back slowly rotating to reveal the man from the marquee, gaze cast downwards to the clipboard he holds, long fingers sifting through the pages. You inhale deeply, trying to calm the frantic beating in your ribcage, scents of cigar smoke, ink and cypress filling your lungs.

One crimson arm sweeps over the varnish of the desk as he deliberately settles the papers down, your eyes following the silky fabric of his shirt up to the cream necktie that plunges under his intricate waistcoat. Everything about his appearance suggests power, from the calculated display of wealth to the way he moves, purpose infused down to the fingertips he drums on the desk. The silver strands in his hair catch the dim light as he slowly raises his heterochromatic eyes to yours.

That’s when it dawns on you : this isn’t a serpent’s nest, no. You’ve stepped into a wolf den.

And for the first time in a long time, you are truly and utterly alone.

Dread coils deep in your stomach, goosebumps raising as he ponders, smoky voice carrying a subtle yet menacing undertone « Now, where were we? »

Swirling seafoam and burning amber bore through you as ghostly fingers wrap around your heart and squeeze, reality finally sinking in.

Down here, no one’s coming to save you.

~~~~

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