SCARS

Lost and Found

The sun had melted into the horizon by the time Vi, Mylo, and Claggor reached Piltover. The streets, bathed in the last embers of twilight, gave way to a cold, steely blue as night began to stretch across the city. The prison loomed ahead, a hulking shadow against the sky. Lights lined the perimeter, stark and unkind, and the guards paced their posts with a mechanical precision. Each step seemed louder in the quiet of the night, boots clicking against the pristine stone.

The three of them crouched low, hidden in the alley across from the entrance of Stillwater, watching the guards pace in front of the prison gates. Mylo shifted restlessly, his hands twitching against his knees. "So, uh, when are we grabbing one of these guys?" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper but already laced with impatience.

Vi shot him a glare, her expression sharp, her nerves wound tight as wire. "Just wait," she hissed, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. But Mylo opened his mouth again, his needling persistence already on the tip of his tongue.

"Seriously, Vi, how long are we gonna—"

"Okay! Just make the damn distraction now," she snapped, cutting him off, her voice harsher than she intended. She exhaled sharply, trying to steady herself, her eyes flicking back to the guards.

Mylo rolled his eyes but stood up, his movement quick and fluid, his usual bravado masking the tension in his shoulders. "You know, one of these days you should thank me for putting up with your charming personality." he muttered sarcastically, slipping off toward the edge of the alley.

Claggor glanced at Vi, his expression uneasy. "You sure this is gonna work?"

Vi didn't answer, her jaw tight as she focused on the pacing guards. She clenched and unclenched her fists, waiting. Across the way, Mylo started yelling, his voice loud and exaggerated, a mix of shouts and clattering noise as he knocked over a crate. The guards stopped mid-step, their heads snapping toward the commotion. Two of them moved quickly, their boots echoing as they rushed toward the sound.

Vi didn't hesitate. She darted from her hiding spot, quick and silent as a shadow. She spotted one of the enforcers, a tall man with a stern face, patrolling the outer edge of the gate. She moved toward him, her breath steadying as she prepared herself. In one swift motion, she grabbed him by the arm, yanking him backward and out of view. His startled grunt was the only sound as she dragged him behind a corner, where he was quickly subdued.

The struggle didn't last long. She had him unconscious in less than a minute, his body limp in her arms. She pulled his uniform off quickly, her fingers moving with practiced precision. She slid into the enforcer's gear, her frame slightly awkward in the ill-fitted uniform. The mask hung low over her face, shadowing her features, but the jacket sat too broad on her shoulders, the pants too tight against her legs.

Two minutes later, she emerged from behind the corner, her posture stiff, the mask pulled low over her face. The noise of Mylo's distraction had started to fade, and the guards were returning to their patrols, resuming their rhythm. Vi adjusted the cuffs of the enforcer uniform as if she belonged, trying to match the steady pace of the others who continued their rounds.

She moved quickly, slipping into the line of guards with the practiced ease of someone who belonged. Mylo's distraction had done its job—just enough to shift the attention away from the real danger. But it was still a risk. She could feel the weight of it, the pressure of the walls closing in on her as she neared the prison doors.

She kept her head down, her eyes forward, trying to match the rhythm of the guards around her. But as she neared the entrance, one of the enforcers guarding the door stepped into her path, his eyes sharp and suspicious.