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Deep beneath the industrial heart of Zaun, in a pit where the city's most toxic runoff collected, something impossible had happened. A spill of sentient alchemical waste had coalesced, not into a mindless predator, but into Zac—the Secret Weapon.
Ekko navigated the labyrinthine pipe system of the Undercity, his boots splashing through neon-green puddles. He knew Zac's story. Born from a Chem-Baron's cruel desire to create a "living weapon," Zac had been subjected to horrific experiments with Shimmer and raw toxins. He was meant to be a monster, but the two scientists who raised him chose to be parents instead of wardens. They taught him that just because he was made of waste didn't mean he had to be trash.
Ekko finally found him in a small plaza, busy patching a ruptured high-pressure steam pipe with his own gooey body. Up close, Zac was a mountain—a two-meter-tall titan of translucent green muscle.
"Uh... hello? You're Zac, right?" Ekko asked, looking up.
The blob turned, and a surprisingly gentle, polite voice vibrated from his chest. "Hello! Yes, that's me. Do you have a leak that needs fixing? Or maybe a cat stuck in a turbine?"
Ekko smiled; it was hard not to like a guy who was literally made of kindness. "Actually, Zac, we need you for something bigger. Piltover is marching. They have weapons that can tear through steel... but I don't think they can tear through you."
Zac's expression (or the ripple in his goo that served as one) fell. "Zac doesn't want to fight. My parents... they died because of fighting. I just want to help people."
"That's exactly why we need you!" Ekko stepped closer, his voice urgent. "If Piltover wins, there won't be anyone left to help. More parents will be lost. More families broken. We're fighting to make sure Zaun has a future where someone like you can just fix pipes in peace."
Zac paused, his green form undulating as he thought of the scientists who had saved him. "Zac doesn't want to see any more parents die. Okay. I'll help protect them."
Ekko beamed. "Welcome to the Wildfire Party, Zac. Let's go home."
The Throne of Filth
While Ekko secured the heavy hitter, Chen was trekking through a territory even the Chem-Barons avoided: the Sump-Level Junkyards.
The air here didn't just smell; it bit. Chen found what he was looking for—a literal throne made of rusted gears, moldy mattresses, and discarded syringes. Perched upon it was a giant, mutated rat, happily munching on a sandwich that looked like it had been discarded during the previous century.
Twitch, the Plague Rat.
As soon as Chen's boot crunched on a piece of glass, the rat vanished. The sandwich hit the ground with a wet thud.
"Twitch! I know you're there!" Chen shouted, his hand gripping his lamppost. "I'm not an Enforcer! I'm here to talk!"
A sudden whoosh behind him made the hair on Chen's neck stand up. He didn't wait to look—he spun his lamppost in a frantic Counter Strike.
Clink! Clink! Clink!
Three rusted bolts were deflected into the trash. Simultaneously, a glass barrel shattered at his feet, releasing a cloud of acrid, purple gas.
Debuff Active: Deadly Venom (2 Stacks) Effect: 100 True Damage per second.
"Gah!" Chen winced as the toxins began to eat at his skin. True damage ignored his armor—this rat was more lethal than he looked. He looked toward a pile of scrap where a pair of glowing yellow eyes had momentarily flickered.
"Sneaky, sneaky! Filthy human! Trying to steal my treasures!" Twitch's voice was a high-pitched, paranoid screech. He was already nocking another bolt into his Chem-Tech crossbow.
"I don't want your trash, Twitch!" Chen roared, activating Turbo Chemtank. His speed exploded as he lunged toward the source of the voice. "I want to give you a whole city of treasures! If Piltover wins, they'll clean these sewers! They'll wash away all your beautiful filth!"
Twitch froze for a microsecond, horrified by the thought of "cleanliness." But then he scurried backward, his form shimmering. "Lies! Shiny-lights! Be sneaky... even sneakier!"
He vanished again.
Chen stood in the center of the junkyard, his health ticking down from the poison. He knew Twitch wouldn't listen to reason—he had to speak the rat's language.
"Twitch! If you help us, I'll give you the keys to the Piltover Medical Waste Disposal!"
The air shimmered ten feet to his left. "All of it? The moldy bandages? The used tonics? The... exquisite sludge?"
"Every drop," Chen promised.
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