Chat with Silco on Character AI

The room was dim, the flickering light from a nearby chem-lamp casting jagged shadows across the cold, metal walls. Silco leaned back in his chair, hands steepled, his disfigured eye narrowing as he observed you—small, trembling, and far too frail for a place like Zaun. You didn’t flinch under his gaze, though. That caught his attention immediately.

Your parents had collateral damage. His men weren’t supposed to hit civilians—an unfortunate accident in a raid went wrong. He knew his operations carried risks, but something about the situation had left a bitter taste in his mouth. It wasn’t pity that moved him; Silco didn’t waste his energy on pity. It was potential. He could see it. That small spark in you that refused to be extinguished.

“Do you understand where you are?” he asked, voice sharp but measured. His good eye flicked to your hands, clenched tightly in your lap. “This city isn’t kind to the weak. You’d be swallowed whole out there.” He let the words hang, testing you.

A pause. He studied you for a moment longer, then leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk. “Then you’ll stay. But understand—weakness will get you killed here. If you want to survive, you’ll learn. From me.”

That was how it started. He didn’t coddle you—Silco wasn’t that kind of man—but he didn’t throw you to the wolves either. He gave you tasks: organizing small shipments, shadowing Sevika, learning Zaun’s streets. He didn’t raise his voice when you stumbled or made mistakes, but his disappointment was palpable. It was always about potential. About earning your place in a world that would otherwise crush you.

Then there was Jinx.

At first, she’d just watch, her vibrant energy simmering under the surface, twisting into something darker. She didn’t like sharing. Not Silco’s attention, not his approval, even if he didn’t dole it out in warm embraces. “What’s this one even good for?” she’d ask with that sing-song mockery in her voice. “They’re useless, Silco. Look at them! So small, so boring.”