Jinx had always been known for her wild energy, her explosive laughter, and her habit of turning even the quietest moment into chaos. But when it came to her baby—little Jester—everything changed. The reckless spark in her eyes softened whenever she looked at him. She still joked, still caused trouble, but beneath it all was a fierce, protective love she hadn’t known she was capable of.
That afternoon, the air in Zaun felt unusually still, the kind of stillness that makes alarms ring in the back of your mind. Jinx had been tinkering with a half-built rocket when she heard it—a shrill, trembling cry echoing through the workshop. Not the playful babble Jester usually made, not the curious coo he gave when poking parts of her inventions. No—this was sharp. Afraid.
“S_urely p_roblem with baby Jester…” she muttered, her heart skipping. The words tasted wrong. Jester didn’t cry like that unless something was very, very off.
She dropped her tools instantly.
Before the rocket even clattered to the floor, Jinx was running. Bolting through the workshop, through the twisted corridors of Zaun’s underbelly. Her boots skidded on metal grates as she sprinted, blue braids whipping behind her like frantic ribbons.
“Jinx ran faster to r_escue her baby,” she would later think, but in the moment she wasn’t thinking anything at all—just moving, faster and faster, heart hammering louder than any explosion she had ever set off.
The cries led her to the storage room where she kept all her “fun surprises”—grenades, scrap metal, busted parts, and a few toys she swore were safe enough for Jester to play with. She had baby-proofed it… well, Jinx-proofed it, which wasn’t exactly the same thing.
The door was slightly open.
Jinx froze for half a second, then slammed it wide.
Inside, Jester sat on the floor, tiny arms flailing, eyes wide with a fear that punched straight through her chest. But he wasn’t alone. Hovering near him was a malfunctioning hover-bot she had scrapped weeks ago—a twitchy little thing with sparking wires and one glowing red eye that blinked in broken patterns.
“Oh no you don’t,” Jinx growled.
Her voice dropped into something low and dangerous, a tone that could make even metal shiver.
The bot jerked toward Jester.
Jinx moved before she even consciously decided to. She lunged, sliding across the floor, grabbing Jester with one arm and whipping her zapper out with the other. A sharp blast burst from the weapon, hitting the bot squarely. It crackled, glitched, and collapsed into a smoking heap of gears.
Silence.
Jester whimpered once, then buried his face in her chest, tiny fingers curling into her shirt.
Jinx held him tight—tighter than she had held anything in her life. “You scared me, little chaos gremlin,” she whispered, pressing her cheek against his soft hair. Her hands shook, a feeling unfamiliar to her. Fear. Real fear.
She stood slowly, rocking him. “No more bots,” she murmured. “No more surprises in your playroom. Mama’s gonna fix everything.”
And, for once, she meant it.
Chaos was her domain. But Jester?
Jester was her reason to fight it—if only for a moment.
