WHO Viktor •
WHERE The Hextech Labs •
WHEN Today! WARNINGS Angst, panic at the labs (like Panic at the Disco but not nearly as fun), minor violence, reference to canon character death, sad robot
It was only happenstance that the laboratory Viktor shared with his housemates was empty when he entered it, and saw the hexcore waiting for him. Several months before, he would have scoffed at the notion of it waiting for anything or anyone, dismissing any anthropomorphic qualities the hexcore might have possessed as ascribed by sentimental minds and whimsical at best.
He knew better now.
It sat on his desk, nestled between a set of books and some of his notes for Blitzcrank. He might have missed it had it not been for the glow it cast across his belongings, lighting up the dim ambience of the quiet laboratory. Viktor closed his eyes, made a silent prayer to a deity he didn't believe in, and reopened his eyes, but it remained, solid and still. He took a hesitant step to confirm, and leaned against his cane as if it were a crutch, his heart rattling in his chest, a cold trembling moving over him as if he had been picked up by his ankle and dipped in anguish.
Why? Why was it here? He was healthy, or his version of it, and he had been happy; they all had been... happy. Intellectually he knew that belongings showed up from home all of the time. That this had always been on the table. But he had deliberately not thought of it, had tried very hard not to remember the way Sky had screamed as the hexcore had disintegrated her, the way her remains had fallen to the floor as the finest dust. It had not happened at once, after all. The hexcore had killed her purposefully, inch by inch. And now, gazing at its blue sheen, Viktor remembered the strange visions he had sometimes seen while working with it. The strange feeling of disconnect, of promise, of a key in a lock just waiting to turn. Of affinity.
He took a step toward it; its inner light flared briefly, then soothed to a hum. Without preamble, Viktor took it from his desk; it was soft and warm against his palm, cooling to skin temperature in the brief moment that he clutched it. Such a strange, alluring little wonder of a marble. He was not immune to it now. He placed it carefully on the flat part of a laboratory table that had once held the weight of Jayce's hammer, locking it into place with mechanisms to ensure that it would not roll. Viktor couldn't lift or wield Jayce's heavy weapon, but that was fine, he told himself, he had other options.
"Blitzcrank," he called, and the little robot rolled out from under one of the desks, its oversized hands waving in greeting. "I've got something I'd like you to try."
Of course it didn't work. Of course the hexcore glittered in warning with a dangerous current as Blitzcrank drew near. Of course Blitzcrank's grasping implement crumbled to metal flakes under a wave of furious electricity as soon as it started to bear down on the crystal with any real force. Of course a wave of agonizing pain wracked over Viktor, and it was not a warning at all, but ceaseless knives stabbing under his skin, and as he held onto consciousness (barely), he saw blue light behind his eyes. Of course.
Laying on the floor, his cane to the side and Blitzcrank making high-pitched beeping noises of distress, Viktor regarded the hexcore, a thin stream of blood dripping from his nose. He could hide it, he knew. This needn't disrupt his plans, his trajectory, his growing friendships and relationships. He could hide it, keep it somewhere safe, somewhere where it could continue to learn and grow, and perhaps one day it would learn empathy. Perhaps they could reach an accord. Perhaps they could even use it as they had once thought that they could, to improve life here in Vallo. Jayce had said he would understand, hadn't he? Nothing needed to change. He could protect the hexcore, ensure it was looked after, and keep this to himself, and when the time was right, maybe he could even try---
Viktor silenced the voice in his head, because it was not his own, and rather than dwell on that he reached for his phone to send a message.
After he composed it, he hesitated before pressing 'send'. The crystal winked in the light, as if asking him to reconsider.
Viktor mashed his finger down, grim and drawn, sending it straight to his friends. "I'm sorry," he murmured, and he didn't know who he was apologizing to, but he knew it wasn't enough.