This City Has a Vast Memory

The roof was vacant, as it was meant to be. The sounds of the streets were nearly indistinguishable from the twilight silence that cloaked the place. The roof, aside from the few objects illuminated by nearby neon lights, was still and monochromatic. The metal platform was covered in dregs of loose pebbles, broken glass, and the leavings of birds and men. White and red splotches. The floor had not always been the sporadic design it was now. But time after time when me came up here to speak, tussle, drink, or simply appreciate the beauty of privacy, there were bound to be some dilapidation in some way. Everyone in the Undercity had their reasons for doing what they did. That was a benefit to living here, someone once said.

Across the platform were many stacks of crates, never higher than two, which lined the metal fence border. Directly longways from the entrance, the fence has broken, with either side stretching several feet over the ledge like two outstretched arms begging for affection. Toward the center of the roof laid the exhaust vent, which had grown so old, it was unable to rust further. Next to the corroded box, which still oozed noxious fumes even after its abandonment, stood a black ladder. Follow its thirteen steps skyward, and you were offered an enormous signet. The sign, adorned with paint, or what at least appeared to be paint, was a large crimson scorpion in desperate need of cleaning. The scorpion, which was nearly twice as tall as the ladder itself, still retained its color despite its foul reek. But more often than not, a man would simply lay his back on either of the pedipalps, and watch the night go by. At least as much of the bleak mechanized night that could be seen from a restaurant in the Undercity.

Down below, lay crooked and claustrophobic buildings, one of which was beating with a green glow, which was likely a greenhouse or chemical factory. Both were common.

But, besides the occasional residue scampering on the asphalt base, and the low whistle from the wind as it passed the banner, there was no disturbance from anything.

Swain, of course, expected nothing more.

What he was expecting though, was a meeting at this roof. And soon it came.

"First time I actually met you in person. Hopefully it'll be the last." Burke said, hearing the patter behind the Scorpion.

He did not look back yet, as he still conjured his own image of what the man he had done many deals with looked like. He could only draw from the descriptions of his demeanor and repute from his colleagues that had visited his homeland. 'Personable', 'honorable', and 'ruthless' were the words that jingled in his mind from encounters past. Now he would get to see the real thing.

"If only we met under more regal circumstances." Said a soft yet eerie voice, like the low string of a violin being played without break.

"And what circumstances would those be?" Swain asked, continuing to face the open platform with the shadow of the Telson hanging overhead, as if the signet was animate and waiting to strike.

The specter came closer, and stood several feet to the left of Burke. Burke turned his head to face the man, who was surprisingly shorter than he. He wore a gold and red trench-coat, with gold and swamp colored lining on his shoes. His hands were grey like the Undercity, and his green eye seemed to be the only human feature that felt familiar to him.

"Your home, General." Although he spoke in a controlled manner, his voice was far more potent than Burke anticipated. "I rather hoped that after lending my Doctor's services to your military, I would at least be granted the experience of Noxus's beautiful sunset."

"Deriving from what he told me, you actually prefer to see that sunset from here, or more precisely, up there."

They looked to the nighttime sky, which appeared more closer than it actually was. Another illusion of freedom that Piltover put on its inferior constituents.

"That's what the people like you up there fail to understand. It is the same sun no matter where you are. Every free man shares his evenings with it. But a sun hoarded from others is no sun at all."

Swain blinked at the man, who kept the left half of his face out of view.

"Is that why the Doctor's told me that you have been using the citizens here to climb to the surface? You are just as self righteous as I believed."

The man turned his face fully to Swain, revealing a sight so immaculate, Swain was shook. Even he, from all his experience of blood, woe, and macabre, had never seen anything quite like this. There appeared to be a black scar of sorts emitting from his swollen left eye, but was blended into the Dorian color of his skin. And his eye, not green, had a yellow ring around its pupil, and the rest infected with a dirty black shaded. It was as though life itself had left the eye, and yet, the eye still moved in sync with his right.

The man grinned, taking pleasure in seeing a fearsome General in faux at his unforgettable appearance.

"The letters we read and the tales we hear are only a fraction of reality, General. But when one meets the personage, conjecture and expectation melt away. There is only truth with men like us."

Swain steadied himself. It was time he set the records straight as to his purpose here. Only several months ago did a businessman from Piltover agree to send a scientist to Noxus in aid of the current war crisis.

"Is that why you have summoned me here? To ask favor. Even when a deal is concluded, you must consider a great many things. I negotiated a war deal with Piltover, in exchange for one of your best scientists. But coming here, I realize that the letters are indeed partly apocryphal. Instead of a statesman, or a revered merchant, I find a criminal."

The man raised his hairless brow, not in offense, but in acceptance.

"Has conflict ever incited between Noxus and Piltover, General?"

Swain shook his head. "

"Our presence in the sea of Shurima allows us to

"When, in Noxian history, has any soldier worth their salt avoided desperate measures?"

The Telson and the Caudal Segment hung overhead as if the signet was animate and waiting to strike.

Begging for ffection - Powder/Vi