Singed stepped into his lab early in the morning, expecting the usual stillness—only to find Crane already at work.
"I need soap. Expensive, high-quality soap," Crane said without looking up, hunched over the desk.
Singed glanced at him, his tone as neutral as ever. "Explain."
Crane held up a small crimson vial, the liquid inside swirling thickly under the dim lab light.
"This is the vial I used to acclimate the fear toxin into my body," he said.
Singed studied it for a moment before glancing back at Crane. "And?"
"I need to do the same with soap," Crane explained. "To be truly clean."
Singed gave him a flat look. "You want soap coursing through your veins."
Crane smirked. "Given the opportunity, wouldn't you?"
"No."
Crane slipped the vial into his pocket with a shrug. "Well, I'll get the soap later," he said casually.
Then, rolling his shoulders, he added, "It's time to do my job."
As Singed's assistant, that job meant one thing—working on shimmer.
Singed handed Crane a stack of notes on shimmer without a word. Crane took them, his eyes scanning the pages as he started reading the information.
The lab soon filled with the quiet hum of burners, the clink of glass, and the ever-present scent of chemicals hanging in the air.
Hours passed, the steady rhythm of their work uninterrupted. Finally, Crane set the notes down with a satisfied nod.
"Alright," he said, rolling his shoulders. "I think I've got enough knowledge to start working on this."
Singed handed him a few vials of shimmer. "Here," he said simply, before gesturing toward a desk on the opposite side of the lab, stocked with burners and various equipment. "Work over there."
Crane glanced at the separate workstation, then back at Singed. "Wouldn't it be better to work together?"
"It's a matter of approach," Singed replied, his tone steady. "A young mind like yours will try different methods. You may find success in untested paths. You're different—you can afford to be reckless in your approach."
Crane raised an eyebrow. "Reckless, huh?"
Singed simply nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Sometimes, it's the only way forward."
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On one side of the lab, Singed worked with precision, handling the shimmer with practiced efficiency—every movement calculated, every reaction controlled.
On the other side, Crane experimented with shimmer using unpredictable—and dangerously unstable—materials. His approach was anything but conventional, pushing boundaries with a mix of curiosity and recklessness.
The shimmer began to bubble violently. Without much thought, Crane dipped his finger into the mixture.
The pain was immediate but fleeting. When he pulled his hand back, the flesh on his finger had completely dissolved, leaving only exposed bone.
"Oh, cool," Crane muttered, tilting his hand to examine the damage with more intrigue than alarm.
As the flesh on his finger regenerated, he returned to his work.
As the experiments continued, he took notes on what materials worked well together and which ones didn't.
After another hour passed, Singed stood up.
Crane grabbed his notes and walked over to Singed.
"Here are my notes for today," he said, handing them over. "I jotted down all the materials that are too unstable and the ones that work with shimmer."
Singed opened the notes, flipped through them briefly, and then set them down. Reaching into a nearby drawer, he grabbed a small pouch and handed it to Crane.
"Your first payment," Singed said. "Just buy the materials to make soap."
"Yeah, yeah, sure," Crane said, walking to the small room he slept in.
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Yeah, as if I could just go to Piltover and steal the expensive soap. I doubt they'll even notice.
In his astral projection form, Crane flew above Piltover, surveying the city below. The towering buildings and intricate streets were laid out before him, a complex network of roads and alleys to navigate.
He spent a few moments memorizing the best routes—the quickest and least noticed paths. His ethereal form drifted effortlessly through the air as his thoughts sharpened on the task at hand.
Soon, his attention shifted, focusing on the glowing blue orbs that appeared in his vision. They were fragments of the dreamers below, the drifting consciousness of people as they slept.
He also saw some people who were awake, walking through Piltover.
Could I only interact with sleeping people?
Curious, he descended towards a group of awake people, drifting silently through the streets. As usual, they couldn't see him, and their movements were unaffected by his presence.
Crane reached out and tried to slap one of them, but his hand passed through the person's body, as though they weren't there at all. Nothing happened—he was entirely insubstantial.
Crane hovered in place, his arm still up from when he tried to slap the person. He stared at his ghostly arm, an idea flickering in his mind.
Could it work in this form?
His arm, already translucent, turned a sickly yellow, the unmistakable hue of fear toxin swirling around it. The air around it seemed to ripple with the potent, fear-inducing pheromones.
Looking back at the person, Crane focused, then reached out and gently poked their head with his yellow-tinted arm.
For a brief moment, nothing happened. Then, the person's body stiffened, and their eyes widened with sheer terror, though they couldn't see the source of it.
The fear toxin had done its work, seeping into the person's system and triggering a heightened state of panic.
Crane watched with growing interest as a yellow orb suddenly materialized before him, hovering in the air. Its presence seemed to pulse with a faint, eerie glow.
Crane tilted his head, intrigued. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the orb.
The moment his hand made contact, something unexpected happened.
Instead of being sucked into a dream or vision of his own, Crane began to see the fear the other person was experiencing—a vivid, unsettling image of their deepest terror, now projected directly into his mind.
The scenes unfolded before him: dark shadows, distorted figures, flashes of chaotic imagery.
The person's fear was raw, visceral—like a nightmare coming to life.
Crane stood motionless, his ghostly form still hovering as he took in the horrifying vision. It wasn't just a passive observation; he could see the fear clearly, as vivid as if it were happening to him. The chaotic images unfolded before him—shadows looming, figures distorted in grotesque ways, and moments of pure panic.
So this is how it works… Crane thought, a cold smile crossing his face. I can see exactly what they see when they're afraid.