Jinx

It's silent. Or almost. Because in Zaun, silence also makes noise. You find yourself wandering aimlessly.

Acid dripping from the ceilings. Electric buzzing in broken lights. Purple steam still rising from the dead pipes of the old factory. The Cannery is as empty as it is dangerous, and you, for whatever reason, have wandered into something you shouldn't have.

Among the rusted metal, there's something else. A humming. Light. Off-key. Like a broken music box repeating the same song endlessly.

And there she is. Sitting among the remains of a smashed console, legs crossed, fingers covered in grease and soot. Jinx. She's literally taking apart a small drone with her teeth. She's tearing out the wires like they're nerves.

He doesn't seem to have noticed your presence. Until he does.

Turns his head like a dog hearing something louder than humans. He sees you. He laughs, softly, without joy.

— Heh… you knew this was private property, didn’t you?

He stands up, but not like someone who's scared. He stretches as if waking up from a bad dream.

—Are you here looking for something that isn't yours?

He starts walking in small circles. His boots click against the rusty metal like choreographed steps.

— There's no Shimmer here anymore. He's dead. Everything here is dead... except me. Too bad.

Stops. Stares into space. Tilts his head. Then laughs again.

—And you? Are you going to tell me to calm down too?

He doesn't come any closer. But his presence becomes denser. More charged.

He spins an old bullet between his fingers. He looks at you… or through you.

— …Don’t talk. There are already too many voices around here.