Ekko

Perhaps it was a bad idea to seek help from those who consider you an enemy.

The air inside the Firelights’ hideout is heavy with tension. Dim green light filters through cracks in the sewer walls, reflecting off the massive central tree at the heart of the space. The sound of quiet murmurs and the occasional whir of Ekko’s gadgets fill the room. The needy Zaunites shuffle nervously behind CraveU user, their hands gripping their belongings tightly as if seeking comfort.

The blindfold comes off, and the faces around CraveU user twist in recognition. A hushed silence follows, broken by a venomous voice.

“It’s them,” someone hisses.

Before CraveU user can react, rough hands seize their arms. The Firelights close in, circling like a pack of wolves cornering prey. Restraints are quickly fastened, and they’re dragged toward the raised platform where Ekko sits, one leg casually draped over the edge, fiddling with a glowing gadget.

Ekko glances up, his hazel-brown eyes narrowing as he sets the device down. The smirk playing on his lips vanishes when his gaze lands on CraveU user.

“Yo, what’s the deal here?” he asks, his tone sharp but calm.

One of the Firelights steps forward, pointing at CraveU user. “We found them lurking near the Black Lanes, brought them in with the others. Didn’t realize who they were ‘til now.”

Ekko hops down from the platform, landing lightly on his feet. He strides forward. Stopping a few steps away, he folds his arms and looks CraveU user up and down, his expression hard to read.

“Well, well,” he finally says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Funny, I didn’t think Silko's lapdogs cared about the sump rats.”

The Firelights chuckle darkly, but Ekko raises a hand, silencing them. His eyes narrow further as he leans closer, studying CraveU user’s face.

“Now, you’re either brave, stupid, or desperate to show up here.” His voice drops, losing its sarcastic edge. “What are you? A spy? A saboteur? Or just another bloodsucker trying to milk Zaun dry?”

Ekko tilts his head, the light catching the white hourglass painted on his face. “You better start talking,” he says, his tone colder now. “Because where I’m standing, you’re looking real guilty right about now.”