Chapter Text
Scar blinked.
There was a Fishfolk. On the bridge. In an enforcer's uniform.
He blinked again.
It was still there. Only now Scar realised that not only was it dressed as an enforcer, it was ordering the other enforcers around too. Some of them didn't seem too happy to be taking orders from a Fishfolk. But somehow it must have been too high up for any of them to make a fuss.
He'd heard rumours of a Fishfolk enforcer as part of that Kiramman kid's personal dictator squad. But he didn't think they could be true. No fellow Vastaya would ever join the group that oppressed their people.
As Scar marched closer, he could see that the Fishfolk was male, his skin not quite either green or blue but somewhere in between. His features looked slim and sharp, especially as he gave his one word orders with an accompanied stab of a pointed finger.
Scar followed after Sevika towards him. It was probably the first time in his life he had ever headed towards an enforcer instead of running away from one.
But on that day, he would have done anything to protect his people. Potentially even assisting the enforcers. It would depend on if the great threat they'd invited him and Sevika to discuss wasn't total bullshit.
Scar did not see the point in hearing the topsiders out when they had never extended that same grace to them. But it was what Ekko would have done. And since their leader was still awol, as Second in Command, it was Scar's duty to do what the boy saviour would have wanted.
As they crossed the bridge, Scar noticed an enforcer hand Sevika a piece of paper. It looked some sort of wavier, presumably stating that she agreed not to blow the council up and that she'd come here of her own volition which of course meant that Piltover had no responsibility to their death. No matter that Piltover had been responsible either directly or indirectly for so many of the deaths of people that Scar personally knew in Zaun that he had lost count.
When it was Scar's turn to pass, he was surprised to find that the Fishfolk himself who handed him his paper. Apparently no matter how high up the ranks the enforcer had climbed himself up, he still found himself forced into grunt work.
Scar clutched the paper held in the outstretched hand, taking note of how the straight, clean green of the Fishfolk's fingers contrasted to the mottled purple and metal of his own, so bashed and broken and beaten over the years that he could never fully get rid of the dirt trapped underneath his claws.
Whoever this Fishfolk was, it was clear that unlike the rest of their kind, he hadn't grown up in the grimed gutters of the undercity.
Scar yanked the paper out of his grasp. Startled, they stumbled forward. Scar caught his arms to steady him. Those blue eyes blinked up at him, confused yet cautious as Scar put him back in his place. Scar was a man of few words, so when he snarled into his ear, he made sure that they would count.
"Traitor."