Arcane: I have Plasmids F*** YEAAAAAAH!!!

The Last Drop wasn't like the factory.

It was even more tense.

Lukas stepped through the doors, and the air hit him like a punch to the gut.

Eyes everywhere. Watching. Waiting.

And at the center of it all?

Marcus.

Talking to Vander.

No—threatening Vander.

Lukas's breath slowed.

His pulse steadied.

Bad.

This was bad.

Marcus turned to one of his men.

"Search the Place."

The enforcer nodded and started moving.

Shit.

Vi and the gang were hiding in the basement.

He needed to move, fast.

---

"That's a really bad Idea."

His voice cut through the air.

Firm. Unshaken.

The entire bar stilled.

Marcus's eyes flicked toward him.

And Lukas saw it.

That moment of disdain.

Of dismissal.

Like he wasn't even worth noticing.

Like he was just another street rat.

Lukas tilted his head slightly.

Test me.

The enforcer closest to the basement door stopped.

Marcus's expression darkened.

"And who the hell are you?"

Lukas stepped forward.

"Someone who knows that unless you have a search warrant, you're not stepping foot in that basement."

Tension.

A spark before the wildfire.

One of Vander's men shifted at a nearby table.

Another placed a hand on his belt.

The Enforcers felt it too.

The way the room changed.

The way the air tightened.

The way suddenly, they were the ones being watched.

Marcus's smirk faded.

"You testing my patience, boy?"

Lukas held his ground.

Marcus's fingers curled slightly.

Then—

A slow, calculated gesture.

And the biggest of the Enforcers—a brute of a man, masked, baton in hand—stepped forward.

Towering over Lukas.

Trying to intimidate.

But Lukas?

Lukas didn't move.

Instead—

He shifted his coat.

Just slightly.

Just enough.

Enough for them to see the it.

(In CJ's voice: Ain't that a surprise, I got a Gun.)

Everything changed.

The enforcer froze.

Eyes widened.

And then—

"GUN!"

The Last Drop turned into a powder keg.

---

The enforcers snapped into action.

Rifles up. Batons ready.

Boots scraped against the floor as men took positions.

Lukas didn't move.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't blink.

Instead—

He waited.

Across the bar, Vander stood.

His massive frame blocked the light.

His fingers twitched.

Slowly— he reached for the items hanging above the counter.

His gauntlets.

He wasn't letting anyone die tonight.

Not in his bar.

Not his people.

Not Lukas.

Marcus stepped forward.

His eyes burned.

"You think this is funny, kid?"

His tone was dangerous.

"You pull a stunt like this, and you think you're walking out of here?!"

Lukas's expression didn't change.

He tilted his head.

"That depends."

His voice was smooth.

"On what?"

Marcus took another step.

Lukas smirked.

"On how stupid you really are."

Another enforcer gritted his teeth.

His finger were dangeroulsy close to the trigger of his rifle.

"Go on."

Lukas' voice was calm.

Too calm.

"Start shooting."

A pause.

"See how that goes for you."

---

The tension spiked.

The enforcers hesitated.

Because they weren't stupid.

They felt it.

The weight of dozens of eyes.

"Three of you."

His eyes swept the bar.

"Fifty of us."

A lazy shrug.

"Not counting the folks outside."

He let the words sink in.

"You ain't got enough bullets for all of us."

"Kill as many as you can, And whoever's left standing?"

His gaze was serious.

"They'll beat the shit out of each of you."

---

Vander moved.

His voice was low.

Dangerous.

"That's enough."

Marcus froze.

Vander's presence filled the space.

The kind of weight that stopped fights before they started.

The kind of presence that made men think twice.

He stepped beside Lukas.

His Gauntlets were on.

His eyes locked onto Marcus.

"You come into my bar."

His voice was measured.

"You come in here with your guns, your threats… you threaten one of my kids."

His jaw tightened.

"Get the fuck out."

Marcus's face twisted.

His fingers tapped against his gun.

The bar braced itself.

Vander stared him down.

Silent.

Waiting.

And then—

Marcus snapped.

His fist slammed against the counter.

Drinks spilled.

Glass shattered.

The entire bar flinched.

His face was red.

Angry.

Furious.

But he knew.

He knew.

He turned to Vander.

"This isn't over."

Then—to Lukas.

"For both of you."

A beat.

Then—

"Let's go."

The enforcers hesitated.

Then followed.

And just like that—

They were gone.

The doors slammed shut.

---

Silence.

For a moment, everything stood still. The tension that had choked the air was still thick, still pressing against Lukas's skin like a vice.

Then—

"LUKAS!"

Vander's voice boomed across the bar.

Lukas barely had time to turn before a hand grabbed his vest.

Slam.

He was shoved back—not hard, but firm.

Not to hurt.

But to snap him out of it.

Vander's grip was tight.

His eyes burned.

His chest heaved.

Not just in anger.

In fear.

"Do you have any idea what you just did?"

Vander's voice was low, strained.

Lukas could feel his breath—Beer and frustration.

Lukas didn't push him off. Didn't fight back.

He knew Vander needed this moment—to yell, to demand answers, to make sense of the shitstorm that had just unfolded in his bar.

So Lukas let him have it.

A long breath passed between them.

Then—

"I stopped them from finding the kids."

Vander's grip tightened.

"This isn't a game, Lukas."

Lukas exhaled through his nose.

"I know that."

Vander's jaw clenched. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to shake some sense into him.

"You think that just because you're smart, you're untouchable?"

His voice dropped.

"You just painted a target on your back."

Lukas didn't flinch.

"I've had that target on my back since the moment I stepped out of that cardboard box."

Vander's breath hitched.

Lukas continued.

"I won't let them harm us."

Vander's grip tightened.

"I won't let them walk all over us."

His eyes burned.

"Fuck Piltover."

For a moment—just a brief second—Lukas thought Vander might hit him.

But he didn't.

He just let go.

And turned away.

---

Lukas straightened his vest.

"Piltover doesn't see us as people, Vander."

Vander stiffened.

"They see us as lesser people. Expendable."

Lukas exhaled.

"And when we start to get too loud, what do they do?"

Vander didn't answer.

So Lukas did.

"Good ol' Bullet to the head."

Silence.

Heavy. Unshakable.

Vander ran a hand down his face.

"You think I don't know that?"

Lukas didn't speak.

Vander shook his head.

"You think I don't know what it's like to want to fight?"

His voice cracked—just a little.

Lukas saw it.

That weight. That guilt.

Vander wasn't a coward.

He was tired.

Tired of war.

Tired of losing.

Tired of burying people.

"You think I don't remember?" he murmured.

Lukas exhaled.

"You remember."

His voice was calm.

"But you forgot what it means."

Vander's shoulders tensed.

Lukas stepped closer.

"You forgot what it means to dream."

Vander finally looked at him.

And Lukas didn't stop.

"You've spent so long trying to keep us safe that you stopped believing in something greater."

Lukas's voice softened.

"But I haven't."

He held Vander's gaze.

"That's why we built the telegraphs."

Vander blinked.

Lukas didn't waver.

"It's why we fight."

Vander inhaled.

Slow. Deep.

And when he finally exhaled—

Some of the weight in his eyes lifted.

Not gone.

---

Vander walked past the bar.

Past the tables.

Toward the door.

His steps were slow.

Heavy.

And as he reached it—

His voice came out quiet.

"You're staying the night."

Lukas watched him.

"Sure."