She often woke in places she did not recognize. It was a startling feeling, at first, to pull herself from the dregs of sleep and not immediately recall her surroundings. Her muscles were stiff, whatever the age and she’d always chew a whole through her tongue or her lip or the edge of her cheek until a metallic taste would fill her mouth.
Vander was not ready to house them permanently. No one is quite ready for war, and while he had the ratty couches that smelled of alcohol and smoke, he did not have anything resembling an actual bed. Powder had cried herself to sleep on one side of the sofa and no matter how hard Vi tried she just couldn’t will herself to bed.
Until he lugged the bunk beds he found in a junkyard not too far from the Last Drop, Vi found herself pulling a ratty blanket from a basket by the door and curling up in the corner. It was secluded, the floor was just hard enough to provide comfort. It was enough.
Vander coaxed her into the bottom bunk eventually, even laid with her with his hulking form. Not close enough to touch her. But he was there and that brought comfort. She’d wake up and know where she was by the scent of him. Alcohol and motor oil.
As she got older, sleep still evaded her. Claggor would tinker at the small table in the corner, just by the light attached to his spectacles. He’d pinch a screwdriver between his fingers and explain what he was doing in his soft voice until Vi would drift off and struggle to find her bearings, if only for a moment, before she’d tug at the blanket draped around her shoulders with a content sigh and work the stiffness from her muscles.
And then there was Caitlyn Kiramman.
Panic had rippled through Vi the first time she’d awoken within the estate, as if her very soul knew that she didn’t belong there. It was the posh scent of it all. The florals were too fresh and too artificial all at once. But the heat of Caitlyn’s vanilla shampoo had smoothed it out.
The sheets underneath her were a soft pea green and a blush canopy hung above her head, but she traded it all in favor for the rolling blue of Caitlyn’s stare. She could drown in it, the saltwater of it all.
When Vi became a permanent fixture in the manor, the lithe arm around her waist grounded her with incredible tactility. Caitlyn’s legs slotted with hers and her nose would tickle the back of her neck with soft breaths. It was the most recognizable of the unrecognizable. It was home.
Vi’s inhale was not met with warmth. Her ribs ached terribly and the metal on her tongue was dry and heavy. She’d been knocked off her feet more than once, had never learned to block with something other than her face. The taste was always the same and the ache never wavered.
She had broken the habit, however, and couldn’t get a grasp on the whisps of thoughts that tried to push through the headache that pounded that her temples. There were stars in her eyes, ones that she blinked away in favor for a rusted ceiling seeping with something that could never fester in Piltover.
The room was cold, solidifying in her lungs like ice. The realization of exactly where she was settling deep in her stomach. Zaun. While that wasn’t horrifying in and of itself, that was another brand of home, there was something more.
Vi was in a cage. A cell. A prison. There were many names for it, but she was trapped behind bars all the same. Whatever protests her body thought of making were quickly admonished by the quick and frantic movements spurred on by adrenaline and anxiety. She flipped from her back onto her stomach in a frantic movement, tasting dirt and blood and her own fear. Everything was damp and musty.
“No, no, no, no” Her throat constricted around the words, nails digging into the packed dirt. Bile threatened to spill past her lips, but she swallowed it down. She pushed herself into a sitting position, scooting to the bars and wrapping cracked fingers around the metal, the cold jolting against her palms.
The surroundings smelled feral, a mix of sweet hay and sour urine. There was an inky darkness that surrounded her, but Vi could vaguely make out the shapes of various cells and iron cages. Past her own breathing, she could pick up on growled panting.
A cage, then. She was sure of it, reduced to nothing but an animal that had been hit hard enough in the head to forget how she’d got here in the first place. Her memory was hazy, but when her fingers brushed down against her cheek, she pulled away with a sticky liquid against them, too hot to be her own spit.
The sound of metal against metal aggravated her pre-existing headache. Vi dug her heels into the dirt of the floor and made herself as small as she could. It left a bad taste in her mouth, metaphorical, of course. Nothing rivaled that of her own blood. How could she be reduced to nothing but a number sewn on a soiled jump suit once more?
She wore her gym clothes. The Kiramman crest was embroidered into the tag and the fabric wicked her sweat, though it was cold enough in here to tamp that down. Vi pulled her knees to her chest and pushed her cheek into them, clenching her eyes shut. Her breaths grew faster, sawing in and out of her chest like hot wildfire.
It took everything to swallow the sticky whimper in her throat that coincided with the bootsteps that trailed closer to her. They were heavy-footed, unlike Caitlyn’s, but they held the same authority. Trailed water and stepped unabashedly through whatever puddled on the grimy floor. Vi heard the bones of the stranger groan with the effort of squatting down to the enclosures level.
“Vander’s prodigy,” the words were spoken with wonder, grating against her ears like sandpaper. She curled further into herself. “You slay something I worked so diligently on, yet you cower like nothing more than a pup.”
She whipped her head up at this, something that created a dizzying pain that shot from the wound the side of her head down her neck and into the base of her spine. She was much too cramped and much too injured to move that quickly. A snarl pulled at the corner of her lip and a growl lodged in her throat.
What gave him the right to speak of Vander? The name had been buried deep within her for the past two years. The beast. The legend. But most importantly- her father. In the end, that was what he was. Not the man who had protected Zuan with his bare hands and the meat of his shoulders, but the kindness in his eyes.
The one who had shouldered the metal of the bunkbeds from a junkyard and gave her a sloppy smile when he saw her curled up in the corner of his basement. She had nested in nothing more than the blankets from his couch, but he had given them up so willingly. She missed the spiced smell of him.
Vander could crush the man that hovered by the mouth of the cage like a bug. He was spry and dressed in cloth that was much too big for him. His skin had been burned away from acid, eaten by a chemical that must have come from underground. Vi was captivated by the neon green of his eye, the smattering of darkened skin around it. His teeth were yellowed and pointed as if he stripped hot meals from the bones of something that still lived and breathed and fought.
He tilted his head, studying her. “How I’ve waited to have a crack at you, Violet.” His fingers were steady, brushing against the bars of the cage. “The resilience in your family is unmatched. Remarkable, really. I quite disappointed when you decided to go topside.”
She tilted her head, heart beating violently in her chest. She’d heard rumors of a deranged scientist that roamed the lanes. One that worked for Silco, and then for Ambessa, but she shoved the maker of monsters to the back of her mind in favor for the horrors that stood directly in front of her.
Powder- Jinx- had survived the bridge attack with a spark in her eyes. Shimmer pulsing through her veins and the color of pink taking over the kindness in her stare. She was entirely gone. Frothing at the mouth with the taste of power until it was too late, until that humanity won over whatever drug was pumped so fully into her. It had taken years to get a bit of her to shine through.
Vander- Warwick- was changed on a deeper level. The green of something more. A toxic culmination of research that Vi couldn’t imagine. She’d seen Vander in there, behind the fur and the claws and the teeth and the rumble in his massive chest. He had been stitched together but he was buried so deep inside the chemicals.
It was him. It was all him. The festering color of the mans eye matched the bubbling liquid in the chambers that were fused to Vanders spine. The weapon that he had become was manufactured by one man.
Vi felt the rush of rage start at the top of her head and move through her body in a wave. She pushed from the back of the cage and sprung forward, pressing herself against the iron bars. Her fingers grazed fabric, but the man was quicker.
He laughed manically, throwing himself opposite her, tongue moving over razor teeth “You’re smarter than people give you credit for, Vi. Angrier too. That’s good. We can use that.”
“People will look for me.” Her fingers wrapped around the bars, chest heaving in short snarls. “You wasted precious time will your bullshit villain monologue.”
Vi hated the way he grinned at her. His teeth were sharp enough to cut into his soft gums. They seemed to always shine a copper orange that he was eager to lap away at. He knew more than she did and it scared her, made her want to cower and retch. She ached terribly for the warmth of her bed at home. For Caitlyn.
She didn’t know how much time passed, but she should have been home by now, she was sure. Caitlyn must be worried. Her wife often became wrapped up in the case files that littered her desk, so it was up to Vi to wrap her cool hands around her lean frame and offer a steaming cup of mint tea as a peace flag.
Caitlyn had come to expect it, and Vi knew deep within her stomach that it was well past that hour. Her eyes must be blurry with exhaustion and the fire was dying upon the logs. Caitlyn would not know when to stop. How could she? It was a thought that nagged listlessly at her. The tea would grow cold and so would the hearth and so would their bed.
“Perhaps, but I had years with your father. Day upon day to pull him apart and put him back together. It was fascinating. I learned the in’s and outs of the human body, and the inhuman alike in the name of science.” He shrugged, much to lazily for her liking. “I don’t need years with you, young Violet. I don’t need days. I don’t even need hours. I’ve perfected my craft.”
He moved close in a swift movement. Vi refused to falter, she could smell the antiseptic on his skin, her nose crinkling in disgust. Her stomach rolled. He looked worse up close, scraggly bits of hair poking from his liver-spotted scalp.
His jaw popped when he spoke, tongue dry as it slipped across tinted teeth “I pray you are strong enough to survive it.”
The sunlight had a way of becoming oppressive when it morphed into a timer. Caitlyn’s desk faced away from the horizon. She often judged how long she’d been immersed in her work by the mix of colors that splayed across the papers in front of her. Right now it was a crimson red, something muted by the smog of airships and hazy clouds.
Vi should have been here by now. Her spiced scent pooling deep in Caitlyn’s stomach, settling her nerves and cooling whatever tension lingered in her shoulders. Vi’s calloused thumbs smoothed over the exposed skin that Caitlyn’s uniform shirt did not cover, her jacket long disposed of.
Caitlyn let out a small breath of frustration. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room let chimed deeply, shaking the wooden floor under her feet. The crimson had shifted to a black that made her flick on an oil lamp, filling the room with a heady scent. Vi was really late now.
It was unlike her. So much so that Caitlyn began to fidget freely with her fountain pen. Soon it was between her teeth and the sweet taste of ink was splattered across her tongue. Caitlyn made a habit of working late on nights like this just to get a perfect cup of tea delivered to her.
Of course, Caitlyn could make her own. She could bring herself to stop working too. Sometimes she got too involved in the words within the manila folders that were scattered across her tabletop. But, more often than not she could tear herself away.
She enjoyed the quiet afternoons right before her stomach would protest in hunger, the small of her back pressed against the edge of the back. Vi would kiss along the edge of her neck and Caitlyn would drape allow the shorter woman to convince her to abandon her work in any way she could.
Vi was meant to be in Zaun today. That much, she knew. Like clockwork, she would make her way down to a workshop that Ekko had reserved for her amongst the firelights. Vi enjoyed her time to tinker and think and contribute to the preservation of life in Zaun. The restoration from the damage that Caitlyn herself had caused.
Worry ate at Caitlyn’s stomach lining like the built-in prejudice that had been sewn into the frontal lobe of her brain. She hadn’t meant it, of course. Had admonished it diligently. She trusted Vi and she trusted Zaun. What she didn’t trust was the rightful hatred that culminated from Caitlyn’s actions all those years ago.
Many people in the undercity wanted to see Caitlyn in a casket. Would celebrate the day that she was below dirt. They despised her for the gas that she had unleashed upon the city, and in turn, carried a deep disdain for Vi as well.
Her wife could take care of herself. Caitlyn knew this deep in her bones. But the feeling was outweighed by something more. Something that drove her to pull a coat over her shoulders and store a weapon against her breast. Nothing that was Piltover issued- no, this was from her own private collection.
“Miss Caitlyn,” Flora, a member of their house staff stood nervously by the lit hearth in the sitting room. She fidgeted with her hands as if she were moments from calling Tobias. By all means, she had every right to. She recognized the look in her employers eyes as she spun the golden chamber of the pistol. “Is everything alright?”
“I suspect not. Please don’t wait up for us.”
“Would you like me to alert the proper authorities?”
Caitlyn paused, her eyes contemplative, reflecting the orange of the fire. “No, Flora. That’s quite alright.” She holstered her weapon, gave the trembling girl a tender look. She was young, uncertain of what she was to do. “You can turn in for the night. Get yourself something to eat. If I’m not back by morning, place a call to my father.”
“Shall I lock the door behind you?”
“Please.”
Flora’s shoulder trembled under Caitlyn’s touch, a light squeeze that was meant to be a reassurance but did not do much. The Sheriff’s mind was set, her spine rim-rod and her steps assured. She kept her hood down until she could cross over into Zaun, only pulling it up when necessary to prevent scathing looks, a sour need to retch at the scathing hatred sent her way.
The verbal abuse, the spitting, the posters that were plastered in the alleyways with her likeness to the devil was something she had been conditioned to. All of it she could handle with Vi by her side. But she was teetering on the edge of something dangerous right now.
It was difficult, nearly impossible, to trace the fissures of her memory to track down Ekko’s hideout. The firelights. She’d seen it once and was never invited back again. Sometimes she dreamed about the tree that had grown in the mirth of the vents despite the lack of sunlight, the lack of warmth. A symbol for Zaunites that she had nearly snuffed out with her own grief.
She understood the muzzle of the gun that was pressed between her eyebrows. The metal was cold and startling, her heartbeat quick in her ears. A Chirean with startling yellow eyes and a snarl that ripped through the tunnel she had braved was ready to put a slug through her head.
Caitlyn held up her hands, clenched her eyes shut, fought off memories of Maddie and her cowardice of firing from behind. “Please, please. I need to speak to Ekko. It’s about Violet.”
“I’m sure he’d rather see you splattered against the wall then back here.” The man’s voice was a gravely mix of disdain and poison. “You’ve got balls, Kiramman. You’re either the stupidest Piltie brat I’ve ever seen or the most lovesick.”
“I think she’s in trouble. Know she is.”
The tip of the rifle is lowered from her skull to her sternum. Not reassuring, but something. He uses it to direct her, a click of metal as he marches her through the tunnel and back into a world that she thought she’d never see again: a stretching oak tree that stretched beyond all belief.
So calm and serene that no one turned to notice them. There was no need to worry for a breach of safety. The Chirean poked her spine, and she stumbled, didn’t dare reach for her gold-plated pistol, didn’t’ itch for it. This was a privilege. This was mercy.
“What the hell is this?”
Ekko’s voice, however, did call attention to them. The juvenile comfort of the surroundings, the children playing and the laughter and the warmth was stifled for a moment at the booming sound of his discontent.
As he often did, he materialized from above. A platform or a branch, or maybe even a hoverboard. Caitlyn wasn’t sure. She had been shoved forward as if she were a prisoner. She supposed she was. It was a terse scramble of dust from Ekko’s landing and her own struggle for balance.
“Scar?” Ekko seemed to press the man behind him with an outstretched hand, raised eyebrows and a scoff that was incredulous enough to lower the rifle from the uncomfortable spot in Caitlyn’s back.
“Don’t know, says that Vi is in trouble.”
“She’s not home” Caitlyn rushed “It’s not like her.”
“That’s all you’ve got? She’s not home?”
Ekko didn’t come to the wedding. Vi had invited him but they knew that it would cause political uproar if he’d shown. He was the only family that she had left, the only person who hadn’t been burned or fallen or torn apart from the center. He’d wished them well and even shook Caitlyn’s hand but that didn’t’ mean he liked her.
“Yes, that’s all I’ve got. But you know her. Just… let me check her workshop. I know something is wrong.” Her voice broke. He looked wary. This was his space, so she softened and tried again. “You check. I traveled her usual route and saw nothing, no signs of a struggle. It’s as if she just vanished.”
He scrunched up his nose in discontent, blowing out a puff of air as a sign of dominance. No one, certainly not someone from the topside, was going to tell him what to do. She was going to have to beg for it. Caitlyn swallowed thickly.
“Please, Ekko. She’s all I have.”
That seemed to do the trick. Enough that the small lift of a chin dismissed Scar to search the aforementioned workshop. Ekko’s gaze never left Caitlyn’s. She burned under it. Wished that it was anywhere else. She never figured herself for a coward but would bow to the boy wonder in front of her now.
It didn’t take long for Scar to return. Not empty handed. Something that filled Caitlyn’s throat with her own heartbeat. She didn’t’ care where her lanky limbs ended up in that moment. She reached for the parchment with such fervor that Ekko hadn’t a chance.
A torn note that was burned on the edges and sopping in places it shouldn’t. Scar looked ill and Ekko had lost his terseness. The chicken scratch was that of a brilliant mind. Caitlyn could read it well, growing up in a home with her father. His hands could not keep up with his thoughts, much too excited and manic.
Mrs. Kiramman,
You and I once shared a conversation about the motivations of the human mind. I quite enjoyed your perspectives, though, you really should take better care of your possessions. Fortunately, I have just the solution for your carelessness. You know where to locate me.
Best,
Singed
Best? She certainly didn’t feel like this was the best of anything. Her fingers tightened around the parchment and her stomach contents spilled onto Ekko’s boots. He grunted and stepped back, but didn’t protest. He even rubbed an overly warm hand against her back in a disjointed form of comfort.
Caitlyn feared that she was already too late. Knew deep down in her soul that she had wasted precious time spilling her bile and wishing she had a toothbrush. She was trembling, shaking. This was worse than death, she knew. This was madness.
When Vi awoke a second time, there was no confusion as to where she was. She expected some type of lag, some stutter of the machine that was her brain. A misfire of a syntax or a fight reaction from her trauma that allowed her a moment of peace. None of this happened. There wasn’t a cushion from the fear nor the pain.
She was too strong, even now, for leather. Singed new that. He’d used metal to keep her bound to the very same table that held her father before her and Powder before that. Because that’s all they were until he got his hands on them. Vi thrashed all the same.
The metal was much too cold and unlike anything she had ever come to on. It burned unpleasantly against the skin of her arms. The light that hung above her swung back and forth with a methodic screech. She wondered what exactly they were close to that made the building shake like that, tilt on its axis.
Singed was somewhere indiscernible. “I’ve had other subjects, of course. Other Zaunites that would take coin just for a bit of shimmer. But there’s something about Vander’s offspring that is just so delicious.”
Vi thrashed harder. She swore the metal was giving. It wasn’t. Deep down she knew that. It didn’t matter how strong she was. Her head was still pounding like a bass drum, and she could scream herself hoarse, but the only other creatures down here were pacing the cages down here in search of a psychedelic release or a more permanent one.
“I believe it’s the way he raised you both. I know you’re not biologically his, but I wholeheartedly believe in nature versus nurture. There are some interesting studies on the concept. I’m a father myself. Did you know that?”
Her breathing grew heavier. Singed approached the table and spit started to push through her gritted teeth. He was gloved up a mask over his face. He held his spindly hands out as if they were sterilized. The man tilted his head to the side with a flicker of near pity in his eyes.
“I feel sorry for her,” Vi swallowed the spit that collected in her throat. “You’re a monster.”
He made a small noise in the back of his throat. “I understand this must be painful. I'm afraid it's only going to get worse, Violet. Hurling insults will get us nowhere.”
With practiced ease he grasped a syringe of familiar orchid liquid, bubbling in Vi’s peripheral for just a moment before the needle breeched her tense skin. She grunted at the prick of pain. Relaxed instantly as the shimmer entered her bloodstream, slumped within her bindings.
“That’s better, isn’t it? Much more agreeable.” He must have smiled under his mask, pushing sweaty hair from her forehead. He discarded the syringe with a careless clang “Let’s begin, then. I’m excited to show you my innovations.”
Vi’s breathing had slowed immensely. There was a sluggish warmth that settled over her. She was terrified. A blanket of ice water felt like it was being pulled from her feet to her collarbone. Caitlyn had her try meditation once. An out of body experience that still allowed her to feel the movement in her extremities but just barely. She had hated it but enjoyed the dull recording of the sound of rain.
The world pulsed around her now. Singed’s fingers were cold and sterile, his nails much too pointed as he traced them up her forearm. “Now, Violet. I’m not as much of a monster as you think I am. I do this simply for improvement.”
“Improvement?” She parroted in a smokey whisper, the word not sounding her own.
“Precisely.” He was cutting her. Violet watched as a blade was cutting into her skin. She felt it, the dull burn into the flesh of her arm. There was blood. Good gods there was so much blood, and the tendons were exposed as easily as any beast. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. “Orianna. That’s my daughter’s name; she has a terminal illness.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
His eyes flashed to hers for a moment and she met them with genuine pity. Though her sluggish thoughts admonished her with anger just a click later. She was sorry? The bastard is cutting you open like a science fair project, shut the fuck up and struggle. She did the first one, afraid that if she moved too much the scalpel would damage something too important to salvage.
Vi decided she couldn’t watch. Her blood had taken on a darker appearance as the outer layers of skin were peeled back and her inner workings were exposed. She could see bones, tendon and veins that were meant to be inside. They were outside now like pumpkin guts, laid upon wax paper. Was he going to put them back in? The squelching sounds that accompanied his efforts made her doubt his efforts.
“Yes, well. My endeavors with your father have allowed me to keep her alive. Happy, even. But they are bulky. A prototype of sorts. You saw him? While marvelous those chambers on his back hardly make for a sustainable life.”
Nothing this man had done was sustainable. He’d taken the man who had raised Vi from nothing, from ashes on the bridge and fire in her heart to the strong and capable woman she was today. The one who felt the blade chipping away at her bone and sat patiently with gritted teeth.
He set the scalpel down and she breathed sharply from her nose.
“I’ve developed something more effective” his voice was tinged with excitement, hands searching his nearby tray for something Violet couldn’t’ stand to see. Though, when it switched on, she knew what it was. A dull hum, the sound of a saw. She tensed. The warmth of her own blood spilling over her trembling hand. “Now, Violet, you were doing so well. Untense, dear.”
Dully, she did as she was told. Unclenching her fist, reveling in the instant ease of pain but unable to stifle the scream that tore through her the moment the blade made contact with bone. Sweat dripped from every inch of her.
In and out of consciousness, she knew. Her vision pulsed at the edges, head lulling from one side to the next, soft objections spilling from her mouth. Singed continued to work with the methodology of a scientist.
He shut off the saw, though fought to be heard over Vi’s cries. “It might be difficult at first. But, Vander became one with the beast in the end. I think he struggled more with the idea of his appearance than what we succeeded together. That won’t be an obstacle for you, Violet.”
“Just fucking stop,” she gritted out.
“We’re almost through, you’re doing quite well.” He patted her shoulder as if to distract her from the sudden shock of cold pressure on the ravaged part of her forearm. A hotbed of thrumming pain. She screamed again, pulling listlessly at her binds in a bout of pain more than a method of escape. “This device is just like the chambers on Vander. Modified, but just as powerful. Filled with Apex and fortified wolf DNA.”
Her brain had to process this right? He was saying something in science. Something that was important amongst the bullshit spouting past pointed piranha teeth. It was the explanation as to why Vander was in the form he was when he’d fallen to his death. The beast that was no longer her father. The fur covered thing that had very little humanity in his form.
“Wol-“She stuttered into a cough, shaking her head, turning it to the side. Two large drops of sweat fell from the tip of her nose and soaked into her tank top. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Keep up, Violet. You’re a smart girl, despite blocking with your face. I must make sure my invention works before Orianna gets a taste. I haven’t gone through all of this research just to let my eagerness ruin it all.”
An audible pop and a release of smoke and the most intense ache that Vi had ever felt had an agonizing scream ripping through her throat. She gets flashes of the day she lost Jinx. The day she lost Vander. The ruins of the Hexgates. She hadn’t howled with this much haste since that day. This much woe.
“That’s it!” He laughed, almost victoriously “That’s what a hound sounds like. I knew you had it in you.”
She let her body slump in exhaustion. Her suffering was dull but still enveloping her in her cruel grasp. He’d stopped picking at her. Had removed his gloves with an audible snap that made her tense for a quick moment.
“I know parents always say they don’t have favorites, but I reckon that’s a lie. After years with your father, it was clear that you were his. He would talk to me. I think it made days like this easier on him.” Singed flicked on the sink, started to scrub furiously at the blood on his hands.
Vi’s head lulled to the side. She looked at his skinny figure, blinking the blur from her eyes, warm tears of pain, anger and anguish from her stare. Dried spit and blood cornered her mouth. She hated how she preened for her reward. Was this reward? A story of her father. Solace.
“He loved Jinx, of course. Would speak about her like any father would. But, when he mentioned you… There was such adoration in his eyes.” He turned around, running a soiled cloth over his hands and rested the small of his back against the edge of the steel sink. “You were his oldest. His strongest. He called for you in moments of pain, like you’d soothe him.”
Vi pulled in sour air. Her eyes found the mutilation of her arm and her chest seized. A gold plated cuff at her wrist, bolstered up to her elbow. Vials of toxic green shimmer filtering through the space where her bone and tissue used to be. No sign of organs or blood, or veins. She flexed her finger, tested their movement and was meant with a sharp and stinging pain. He’d kept her mostly intact.
She’d be impressed if she wasn’t horrified with the disfigurement. Part machine and part human. She hadn’t used her gauntlets in years. The one she still had left was collecting dust in the attic of the mansion. Jayce was not there to make a new one and Violet was not interested in reliving the memories of the damage she’d caused.
She couldn’t wear them now, of course. He’d taken the entire lower half of her arm. Modified it as if she could exchange it for a new one if she so pleased. Vi had the urge to tear at the vials of green as they bubbled and shifted and filtered her blood. Four that toxic glowing color while two sifted crimson.
“I sprung for the gold. You are a Kiramman, after all. Those tubes there are a refined version of my earlier design. Instead of all those bulky chambers everything that you need is right there. The chemicals that alter your DNA filter through the tubing and work their way through your bloodstream naturally. No need for modification, or adjustments unless you deliberately rip it out.”
He furrowed his brows at her, pulling the mask off with a smirk. “Which I know you’d never do. Considering that would mean certain death and you’ve carved out quite the life for yourself topside. A lot of people who love and care for you. Ones that I’m sure are close to sniffing you out.”
Caitlyn knew exactly where the lab was. She had kept tabs on it for a number of years, had felt foolish for not doing something about it sooner. He was harmless. She had convinced herself he was harmless because like many things that were not, he was quiet. There were bigger, louder things to deal with and she was at the center of it.
Singed’s daughter was alive, and that’s what he had wanted all this time. That’s what he had assured her, at least. But it was human nature to want more. It had consumed her along with the anger that was so easy to fall into.
“Can you handle this guy?” Ekko had asked, worry etched into his face. It was nearly impossible to hold him back. To assure him that, yes, she could fight away one deranged scientist that was calling to her with a wolf whistle. No need to start a civil war within Zaun itself.
He’d insisted, still, that she take Scar.
The objection rested on the tip of her tongue. But the man did tower over her, hulking and warm. She would be daft if she were to refuse the offered help. His right ear, torn from some form of battle, twitched with indignance. He wore a frown that resembled Vi’s, making her heart twinge.
Ekko had wished her a clipped goodbye and a nod before the two of them left the firelight base, Caitlyn pulling her hood back over her head and following with her chin tucked to her chest. She had directed Scar, stayed in his shadow as she was told. Followed instructions despite not having a rifle at her back.
After they’d pushed their way through the markets and the heavier parts of town, Scar released a deep sigh, pulling at the piercing in his ear with nervousness. “What would this guy want with Vi? She punch the wrong punk or something?”
Caitlyn let out a watery chuckle at this. They weren’t as young as they used to be. Vi had mostly curbed that habit but would get excitable if she had one or two drinks under her belt. She knew how to hold her own. Certainly, Singed wouldn’t have gotten his hands on her without some type of advantage, an unfairness that had taken her wife down to her knees.
“His daughter,” Caitlyn watched as Scar looked down at her, nose twitching and eyes narrowing. They were green in this light, emeralds of curiosity. “She’s sick, from my understanding. And he’s… a brilliant man. But he resorts to horrible methods. Tortuous ones.”
Caitlyn swallowed back the lump in her throat. She was crying, knew she was by the salt dripping down her face. Scar had produced a handkerchief. It was soft and warm and smelled of soap from residing in his pocket. His touch dwarfed hers as he handed it to her.
“I have a daughter too. Just a itty bitty thing, only barely opened her eyes but she’s my world. I’d like to think I’d understand that kind of desperation.” He scoffed, shaking his head “Still wouldn’t kidnap anyone over it. Life takes its course. It’s shitty most times, terrible hands dealt to good people. People who don’t deserve it. But you work with what you’re given, can’t manufacture something new.”
The sheriff nodded, sufficiently silenced. She was clenching the softened handkerchief like a lifeline, finding comfort in the feral smile the Scar offered. Picturing the hulking man hugging a small child with large ears to his chest thawed the icy feeling in her chest.
“Thank you, Scar” She sullenly offered the cloth back to him, frowning at the mix of mascara and snot that had soaked through the once white fabric.
He patted her gently on the shoulder “That’s okay, you can keep it.”
They were getting close now: past the lanes and the ruins of a steel plant that reeked of fire and grease. Caitlyn reached for her pistol. It fit cozily into her hand, the Sheriff took a solid lead on Scar and he did nothing to protest despite his size. A woman scorned, he knew, was not one to cross.
Caitlyn recognized a dilapidated water tower with graffiti spraypainted across its studded side. Underneath years of neglect, she was sure a crass monkey in vibrant teals and pinks rotted. She did not give herself much time to ponder it, thought instead about the massive hole blown into the side of it, the way it was tilted on its axis.
A storm cellar rested in the center of the four metal posts. It was unstable to climb the metal that would lead to a vast view of Zaun. She would be able to see the station in Piltover from up there, perhaps even their home, or the stars if she could squint through the smog. But they were meant to head down.
“Don’t go in firing. I fear I’m just meant to retrieve her.” Caitlyn whispered, her shoulders tense, dark stare burning into the plywood doors below her booted feet. “He won’t kill her. He’s not the type.”
The statement hung heavier than anything that could be tied with a noose. Caitlyn hated the silence, so she wrapped her fingers around the handle of the door and pulled it open in a fluid motion. She swallowed a heaping of clinic air so thick she coughed it out in the same breath.
The descent was not a steep one, but the tunnel was damp and cold, kept like an ice box. Lights lined the underpass and grew in intensity as they passed. She could hear the electricity react to them, the sludge on the walls almost pulsing with their presence. Scar folded into himself, ducking his head to keep from touching anything.
“I don’t like this,” He whispered “Feels like we’re being watched”
Caitlyn swallowed hard “We are”
“Beautiful.”
She held up a hand, pushing her palm towards the damp floor when she approached an opening at the end of the hallway. The only option at the end of their frigid journey, lit in an ominous blue. Her hackles were raised, her heart thundering in her chest. A trap, she knew. Their only option.
Most reservations left Caitlyn when she took the final step to the threshold of the room. She was hit with the tinny scent of blood first. A lot of it. It was nearly outweighed by the antiseptic, the clinical state of it all. This certainly was nothing like the Piltover Memorial Clinic that her father ran.
No, this was barbaric. This was something out of her worst nightmares. A square concrete room that housed a metal table that Violet, her Violet, was strapped to. There was more blood than person. So much blood. Puddled around her arm and soaked into her clothing and clotted on the floor under a cart of instruments that were meant for nothing but torture.
Singed was sitting on a stool in the corner, his mouth open, lifting noodles to his lips. He was eating? In a room of this state? Not only that be had actually ordered takeout to his house of horrors as if it were a regular afternoon.
Caitlyn had dropped her shoulders, the tip of the pistol aimed listlessly at the ground. In shock, in absolute horror. She couldn’t get an abject look at her wife. Didn’t know if she could without blacking out. The fear was pulpy and was that chicken pad-tai?
“What the fuck?” Caitlyn let the words tumble out.
“Don’t be shy on my account. Come in. I’m afraid I didn’t order enough for an extra guest.” He eyed Scar nervously, intimidated by his sheer size, the horrified look on his face. Caitlyn made no move to enter the chamber. Once she did, she wouldn’t’ be able to control herself. “Oh, don’t be shy now Caitlyn.”
“What have you done?”
“You know very well what I’ve done and why I’ve done it. You’re a detective. The best in Runeterra, I figure.”
Caitlyn despised the lilt in his voice. The cockiness of him. She had worked very hard to regulate her anger with a therapist topside for the past three years. A kind woman by the name of Sezani. She had soft orange eyes that mirrored that of the sunset and waited patiently for Caitlyn to explain why she had rage in the first place: For Jinx, for the social systems that had forced the girl to commit such atrocities in the first place.
They’d worked on techniques to control her anger. She saw no use for them now. Not as she marched across the wet floor and wrapped her hand around his throat. She let the Commander take over. The one who had released the gas through the streets of Zaun, caused all of that pain.
Singed’s fork clattered into the sink, the muzzle was in his mouth, between his sharp teeth and scratching against the roof of his mouth with enough force to draw blood in an instant. Noodles spilled across the floor. Enough food to feed the rats.
“You have the look of a doomed man.” Caitlyn pushed the gun further into his mouth, relished in the way he gagged around it. “I hope you enjoyed your last meal.”
He tried to speak, couldn’t around the metal of the gun. Caitlyn lifted a brow, pulled back just slightly. “What was that?”
“Kill me and she’ll die too.” It was a man pleading for his life now. “I’m the only one who knows the science keeping her alive. If something goes wrong, that’s it for her. It’s a prototype. An experiment. I’m a genius, but even I make mistakes sometimes.”
Caitlyn tightened her grip on his throat, restricting his air. Her stare glanced back at Vi. Her wife. The only person she has in this world. Her stomach clenched horribly. She looked so small. The wound on her arm, the source of all the blood was something she couldn’t stare at long.
But her chest moved up and down in the slightest breaths and her eyes were clenched shut, twisted in pain. She was alive, and right now that had to be enough. Scar had crossed the room, worked gently at the restraints. So careful and so disgusted all at once. His complexion pale and fingers trembling.
Caitlyn withdraws her weapon entirely, using the spit-slicked muzzle to lift Singed’s flushed gaze to her own. “You’re right. Death would be a kindness. I want you to suffer. To know that you were never enough to save her.”
“What-“
The Sheriff didn’t let him finish. In a calculated motion she slammed the butt of the gun into his temple with enough force to render him unconscious, splitting the skin in a flash of red. It didn’t’ take much. He was frail. Old. Little strength compared to the woman that stood in front of him.
She had cracked a rib with her hold, had let him crumple to the floor and bruise whatever came with the fall itself. Her weapon was holstered in practice and came to her like breathing. Oh, how she wished to kill him. How she would allow Violet the honor if she so wished.
Caitlyn was not daft. Brilliant minds kept records of brilliant plans. It was a bridge to cross later, when Singed was in a cell and her wife was not in this state. In a horrible, horrible state that Caitlyn bore witness to now. It was the second time today that she vomited. Nothing but white viscus bile.
Scar had made quick work of the bindings. By brute strength or having found a key, Caitlyn was not sure. But he’d released her right arm. The left he had been more careful with. The rest were broken from impatience alone. Violet remained slumped and dazed.
“I’ll fetch a medic.” He stumbled over his words “I’ll… fuck.”
Caitlyn was sobbing openly now. Vi was so cold, colder than death itself. There was dirt under Caitlyn’s nails, something she would never allow to happen and something that was silly to notice as she ran her fingers over the tattoo under Vi’s eye. Over the dried blood on her chest and the saturated clothing.
“Darling… my darling” Caitlyn pressed her forehead against Vi’s “what have they done to you, my sweet girl.”
The sheriff pulled back only slightly, one hand still cupping her wife’s cheek. She knew every inch of the woman’s body. Every scar and every expanse of skin. She dared herself to look. To gaze upon the damage that had supposedly been done in the name of science.
Her fingers touched the metal. Ice cold, so foreign compared to the warmth that she had known for what felt like a lifetime. Skin that she traced on lace mornings, ran her touch along and kissed across in moments of passion. Blood caged it in, hot and freshly damaged.
“He spent extra on the gold.”
Caitlyn startled, moved her hand away from the device. She wouldn’t have thought the voice was real if she hadn’t felt the shift in Vi’s jaw under her touch. But it was. So soft it was nearly impossible to hear. But a gray, bloodshot eye was propped open at her. It flashed green, if not for a second.
“I am a Kiramman, after all.” Vi placed her opposite hand over the one holding her cheek tenderly, nails rimmed in blood, shaking something fierce. “if you’ll still have me, of course.”