The next day, I limped into my workstation, still sore, still tired, but always surviving, always striving, no matter which timeline. As I walked in, the guards didn't say much as I settled into my station, but their glances weren't exactly friendly. Having disrupted the workflow, they had a bad view of me.
But I wasn't here to please them.
I heard the sound of a tray of scraps move beside me—the little girl from yesterday was still by my side. She was already busy sorting through the scraps and old gear. I noticed she was smiling, if only for a little.
She may not have had a voice, but she sure did know how to make a statement.
As she quickly turned her head to me, squinting her eyes, she was impatient, wanting to know what to do next.
For someone in forced labor, being this eager to work was truly a unique sight.
She deserved so much better then to be at a place like this.
I helped her separate the bolts from the gears.
I needed to move fast.
"Hey!" I called out to the nearest guard, making my voice just loud enough to carry without sounding disrespectful. "I need a favor."
The guard snorted, crossing his arms. "A favor? From me? That's rich, tinkerer. What do you want?"
"I need to see some of the miners. The equipment they're using isn't up to standard. If it gets worse, you're gonna lose more than just resources. If your big boss hears about a delay in production because of laziness… Well, I'm guessing you don't want that."
The guard raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Why can't you just fix it here?"
"I need to see how they're using it in person. The tools might not be the problem—it could be the way they're being handled. Let me inspect the miners. A quick check during lunch break. That's all I'm asking."
The guard scratched his chin, weighing my words. He didn't care about the workers, but he cared about keeping his job. If the foreman thought he wasn't doing enough to maintain efficiency and reported to Silco in person, it'd be his neck on the line.
"Fine," he said finally. "But make it quick. Or a beating won't be the next punishment."
I nodded, keeping my relief hidden. "Got it. Just doing my job."
During the lunch break, the miners gathered in the cavern, their weary faces illuminated by the dull glow of the overhead lights. The Brat stayed close. She was beside me, arms crossed, and for a moment, it looked like she had a smug look on her face.
While I walked among the workers, pretending to check their tools and posture, I finally found my target.
Scar.
He stood at the edge of the group, his tall, broad frame unmistakable. The blue of his leathery skin seemed even more vivid under the harsh lights, and his sharp features were as stoic as I remembered. He didn't acknowledge me directly, but I knew he knew my face from two days ago during the public punishment.
I approached him slowly—not faster, not slower than the others I approached before. I didn't want to look like I knew him; it'd make it obvious I was planning something.
"Helmet," I said, holding out my hand.
Scar hesitated for a moment before handing it over. His ears twitched slightly, but he said nothing as I pretended to inspect the worn piece of gear.
While my hands worked, I slipped a small, folded piece of paper into the lining.
"Meet me," the note read, followed by a rough sketch of the location—an abandoned maintenance tunnel I'd scoped out earlier. It was secluded enough to avoid prying eyes but still accessible during the lunch break.
I handed the helmet back, nodding once. "Looks fine."
Scar didn't respond. He simply took the helmet and returned to his station.
While I did my inspection, I took four mining drills. The miners looked confused because they knew the drills worked perfectly. Yet I used the excuse of bad maintenance or a daily fix that needed to be done.
The rest of the lunch break dragged on, but eventually, the guards herded the miners back to work or back to their lunch break.
After a while, I made my way to the maintenance tunnel, my heart pounding in my chest. If Scar didn't show, this whole plan was dead before it even began.
He may not be my friend, may not be the Scar from my timeline, but he was a slave doing forced labor. If there was any sign of rebellion or freedom, who wouldn't want it?
The possibility of him coming was high, and that fact was proven as Scar arrived.
He came just as I was starting to think he wouldn't. His broad frame filled the narrow entrance, and his piercing bright green eyes locked onto mine.
"You've got my attention," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Start talking."
I took a deep breath.
"We need to get out of here," I said. "All of us. And I can't do it without you."
Scar crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But guts won't get us past the guards. And why in Runeterra would I trust somebody like you?"
"It's not just trust. It's the possibility of escaping this hellhole. You've been locked in here for… I don't know how long. Will you live the rest of your days in this dump?"
"You have no backing, no weapons, no allies. What do you have to get us out of here?"
"I have you."
For a moment, Scar was stunned.
"That's where you come in. You know the mines better than anyone, even without the light. I know the tech and the overall plan. Together, we can figure this out. But I need your help, Scar. You're the only one I trust."
For a long moment, he said nothing, his sharp features etched with doubt.
"Tell me, how long have you been in here?"
"Why should I tell—"
"How long?" I said forcefully this time.
"… Seven years. A goddamn bloody seven years," he finally said, not pleased to be backed into a corner.
"For seven years, you and countless others have bled, sweat, cried, and died. Countless lives. New miners and workers come in daily. It's an endless cycle. You and I have been enslaved by a tyrant. It has to end.
"There will be a day—a better tomorrow—when the fresh air of the outside will enter our lungs, where the sun will once again touch our skin, and we will bathe in its light. Where fate can no longer toy with our lives. Do you know why?
"It's because today, we choose. We make the hard decisions to seek a better tomorrow.
"I know deep down inside me that I've made that choice. But what about you? What about the others? Will you choose the impossible odds for that future? Will you join me?"
He didn't say anything. Why would he?
"Tomorrow, if you're not back here, then I guess I know your answer. Let's see who wins—fate or your choice. We don't have all the time in the world, so don't waste it."
The next second, I walked past him.No longer limping as I did the day before.
I'd see what his answer was.
One second passed.
I took a step forward.
Another second passed.
I took another step forward.
A third second.
And finally, a fourth second.
"Fair enough. You're insane, but a choice is better than no choice," he said.
A small smile tugged at my lips.
"Name's Ekko. Yours?" I said, pretending I didn't already know it.
"Scar," he replied.