Chapter Text
* * *
Theorizing safe use of the arcane, breaking into the Academy of Piltover, and proving such use was exhausting. That it was followed by an emergency convening of the Council and a long discussion in the middle of the night about the arcane and the uses -and dangers- thereof . . . it was fulfilling, groundbreaking, vindicating!
And stressful on the body as well as the mind.
Viktor never had the strongest constitution. Not the kind that would tolerate so much stress in a single night without protest.
His lungs had started complaining while he hovered in the air alongside Jayce Talis. They had rioted in the following discussion, and though it was over now, the damage had been done. Breathing would hurt for days . . . if he hadn’t gotten what he needed. Something that would ease the pain, something that would help.
He didn’t get it in Piltover, of course. He couldn’t. Topsiders never got fissure lung, never needed to treat it or make anything to cure it. Only the undercity cared, and though they never had the resources to come up with a cure, one Vastaya in particular could make a treatment.
She had a place near the docks, and would trade her mixtures for anything of value.
While rather poor by Piltover standards, Viktor was amongst the richest in the undercity. So he slid the money onto the counter, the potion came out, and he went on his way after drinking it down.
He walked through shadows and hidy-holes, where he needed to walk. He was never any good in a fight, after all, which meant he needed to know how to hide.
And he never forgot.
Limped step by limped step, he would make his way to the bathysphere, hoping that his stealth and the undercity clothing he wore would stop anyone from taking an interest in him.
Then-
The explosion broke the night, the light blinding and the force unstoppable.
Viktor was thrown off his feet and to the ground, not that it ever took much, as his mind registered one thing beyond all else:
The color.
It was blue.
Hextech blue.
Where there should be none.
There was hardly any hextech in Piltover, let alone the undercity.
But Viktor had a more urgent problem. Being on the ground was death to him if he was facing any kind of danger. Adrenaline sang in his veins as he got his crutch under himself and flung himself to his feet.
A man with any kind of sense would run away.
Viktor, though, had something better than sense -he had curiosity.
He staggered toward the cannery, which was in flames.
Hextech explosions didn’t cause flame, which meant there was something else in the cannery -and a good amount of it, if the size of the fire was any indicator.
All around the refinery was debris scattered across the street. Burning wood and stone rubble, thrown from the force of the explosion, turning a formerly clear area into a mess lit red.
By the time he got there, the fire hadn’t calmed at all . . . but he heard screaming, and crying, and both of them seemed to come from a child, on the ground next to the body of a . . . a man?
No one was that big.
And the veins, the color-
Viktor’s blood turned to ice.
He knew exactly what it was and where it came from. His pace redoubled, pushing his already-strained body to the limit.
“Child!” Viktor called. “We need to get away -this place is dangerous!”
The girl only screamed and sobbed, calling out for someone not to leave her, for someone to come back.
But ‘Vi’ didn’t seem to be anywhere around, or if she was, she wasn’t answering.
How could they leave a child in a place like this? Viktor thought.
Viktor closed to within a few feet of the crying girl.
“We must leave!” Viktor called, bending down a little to extend an arm-
Then he was on the ground, the little blue-haired child against his chest, crying as her little arms wrapped around him.
Viktor had barely even seen the movement, but he felt the tears leak into his shirt, already soaked by the rain as it was.
“She left me!” the child sobbed, then her voice was tinged with anger. “SHE LEFT ME!”
Viktor awkwardly patted the child on the head, on their -her- blue hair, and stroked it in what he hoped was a comforting manner.
“We need to leave,” Viktor murmured, unsure of how to interact with such a stricken child. “We are not safe here . . .”
The child looked up at him, and Viktor knew the expression on her face.
He’d seen it in a mirror, after leaving his mentor behind.
Shock, betrayal, and anger.
It was the realization that someone they cared for, trusted, believed in . . . revealed themselves to be a monster.
And another monster stalked in the distance.
Viktor saw golden edging of a gray vest, he saw deep red sleeves, and a figure silhouetted in lightning, surrounded by a half-dozen others . . . and with a black left eye that shined red-orange in the darkness.
No one good dresses that well in the undercity.
I’m out of time.
“Come with me,” Viktor said. “We need to leave -I will take you home.”
With great effort, he started to push them both to their feet.
“I don’t have a home,” the child murmured, still clinging to them.
“Neither did I, once,” Viktor replied. “But I found one, and you will too. We must hurry.”
Together, they got to their feet and-
Viktor turned his head, hearing . . . something, and seeing a flash of motion in another alleyway.
More danger, he presumed, never seeing a flash of pink hair or the enforcer uniform behind her.
Anything other than himself and the child were dangers to them -he needed to get away.
They couldn’t walk very fast . . . but Viktor could hide them.
He was good at that.
They took refuge in a toppled chemvat that held nothing but rats and refuse, and the child clung to him like a lifeline.
But what now?
“Do you have a family?” Viktor asked quietly.
She hesitated. Agony was written over her face for a moment before she shook her head.
“No,” she answered quietly, in a voice more fragile than all the fine porcelain in Piltover. “Not anymore.”
“Where should I take you?” Viktor questioned.
“I don’t . . . I don’t know.” The girl buried her face in his chest again.
Viktor briefly ran through the options in his mind. No family, nowhere to go . . .
I should take her to an orphanage . . . but the Piltover ones will never accept a trencher child, and no one should ever send a child to the undercity ones.
Then . . . what?
Viktor didn’t know anyone who wanted a child. As a general rule, Viktor didn’t know people. He was never very good at talking to them.
Which leaves . . . me?
It didn’t make sense. Viktor hardly had time to raise a child around being Heimerdinger’s assistant and his own inventing.
But . . . I’m not his assistant anymore.
Jayce and I will make our own schedules.
So perhaps . . .
“Would you like to live with me?” Viktor offered, settling on the last of a list of bad options.
“I . . . I can?” the girl asked.
“If you wish,” Viktor replied.
“I . . . no, no, no . . .” the girl muttered, then shook her head and squeezed tighter. “No! NO!”
“I do not know what else to do with you,” Viktor confessed. “If you do not wish to live with me-”
“NO!” the child shouted, muffled, into his shirt. “I want to! But . . . but . . . you’ll die!”
Her family died, I imagine . . . was the dead man her father?
Viktor sighed.
I always knew my days were numbered . . . though I don’t know how large the number is, or how small.
“I will, child,” Viktor replied. “I know I will die. Sooner than most.”
“What?” the girl asked, looking up at him.
Viktor met her eyes gravely.
“I do not know when I will die, but I know the sickness in my lungs has only ever gotten worse,” Viktor replied, not knowing if the girl really comprehended what he was saying. “Still, you may live with me, if you wish. Do you?”
“I want to . . . but you’ll die,” the girl said, still no doubt fixated on the trauma she just suffered.
“I will,” Viktor confirmed. “I have made my peace with that.”
And he had . . . a week ago, he was waiting to die.
But I’ve never felt more alive than I have today . . . and tonight..
The girl smiled the slightest smile, one more born from relief than joy, and buried herself back into his chest.
I suppose she isn’t leaving, then . . .
What now?
Awkwardly, Viktor draped his arms around her, trying to give her a little bit more comfort.
“So, child, what is your name?” Viktor asked.
“It’s . . .”
The girl hesitated.
And hesitated again.
Finally, the word came out:
“Jinx.”
* * *
To Jinx, the night was a blur. There was motion, movement, and some movement that she didn’t move with -the bathysphere.
She’d never been on it before.
Then she was in a place she’d only ever really seen from the rooftops -Piltover.
Her head was a riot of emotions, and she couldn’t make sense of them, not that she tried.
There was so much in there, and they didn’t settle down.
Usually, after she cried into Vander or-
Vi.
Vi vi VI vI vi vi Vi VI VI VI VI VI!
Suddenly, it was all she could see, scrawled in the air in front of her, all over the brass spires and night sky.
“No, no, no . . .” Jinx murmured, lacking the strength to shout and cry-
She usually felt better after she cried.
But she didn’t, not now.
It didn’t go away, any of it, it just went round and round and round-
And it wasn’t getting better, but it was-
Because she was starting to feel it.
What was left, what took over everything else, what simmered above it all-
Rage.
At- at-
The city was the first thing she saw as she looked into the night.
The enforcers, the wealth, the everything that she never had, and tried to take . . . but what she took ruined everything.
And the ruin reminded her of-
The man. In his vest, in his shirt, with his eye.
The city never let her have anything, but whatever she had left was taken by the eye.
And the taking reminded her of-
The sister. With her bloodied wraps that hit her, with her pink hair and snarl.
The city never let her have anything, and whatever she had was taken by him, and whatever was left over . . . left her.
And her reminded her of her.
Her bomb.
Her monkey.
Her self.
There was plenty of rage to go around.
I only wanted to help.
I only ever wanted to help.
But that didn’t work.
It never worked.
Rage burned bright, but it only burned so hotly for so long.
So her rage settled, but it didn’t go away. It was a part of her now, and it only changed, just like she did. Powder turned into Jinx, and rage turned into hate.
The city, the eye . . . she hated them both.
And the sister . . . she didn’t know. But it was easy to hate, even if she didn’t know if she did.
Powder had love. Powder had wanted to help.
Jinx had hate.
Maybe Jinx just needed to hurt.
She certainly wanted to.
* * *
As Viktor took Jinx away, Silco wandered in the ruins of the cannery where he had based his operations in. At first, he had been wrathful, but he had wrestled his anger under control quickly -rash and rageful decisions would be of no aid to him. Not after everything he had lost.
And he had lost so much.
Silco . . . he’d had a plan. A window in the cannery was left open and unguarded, and a section of the cannery itself left empty of his people -only Vander was there, locked into a chair. And his trap had worked perfectly -Vander’s children arrived.
Or, as Silco preferred to call them, leverage. If those children had taken away Vander’s will to fight for Zaun . . . surely he would fight for them. But more than that, Silco wanted Vander to feel weak. To feel helpless. To watch as his own daughter fought desperately to save him, all the while knowing that it was his fault for not fighting for Zaun in the first place. Hopefully, that would remind him why he needed to fight.
So Silco issued a death threat, speaking of how he intended to make them disappear -a lie, of course. But he wanted Vander -and everyone else- to think that lives were at stake. Which was why Silco told his chemthugs to not hold back -but their ultimate goal was to get past Vi, and stop Vander from being freed.
Silco knew that Vi and Vander’s other children would be injured -and grievously so, hopefully. Because there was only one person in the undercity who could save someone with multiple stab wounds . . . Silco’s doctor. And only one substance that could meaningfully help: shimmer. That way, they could be addicted without making it seem intentional.
Then, Vander’s children would be bound to him, and Vander would be bound to him through them.
That was the plan. Then he saw Claggor busting through the back wall, saw Mylo far too close to freeing Vander . . . and Vi tired, but standing strong. Thus, Silco was forced to unleash Deckard, twisted into a monster by shimmer. Silco hadn’t wanted to do so, as Deckard was intelligent enough to capture without killing, but he didn’t know his strength. So injuring without killing was much more of a gamble.
Still, Deckard had followed Silco’s intention as best he could. When Vi jumped him, he caught her in the air by the throat, and instead of just squeezing to crush her throat, he threw her . . . and she had survived. But she also made it back to Vander’s cell and closed the door, which wasn’t ideal, given the ticking timer of Vander’s freedom and the escape route that Claggor was making.
The situation wasn’t untenable, however. Even if Vander was freed, it was merely an annoyance. Silco had plenty more chemthugs, and plenty more shimmer. Neither Vander nor his children could outrun the shimmer monsters, and the descent from their level of the cannery to the ground would slow them further. So they would be re-captured in short order -even Vander’s pugilism couldn’t best five shimmer monsters at the same time.
Then . . . everything had changed.
As a bright blue explosion turned night into day for a split second.
And Silco lost everything.
More important was that his shimmer stockpile was burned -or still burning. His foremost weapon against Piltover, turned to ash. He still had some in storage, yet not nearly enough for his purposes.
Second, his base of operation was rendered unusable. Most critically within that, the equipment with which to manufacture shimmer was no doubt damaged, and likely destroyed as well.
Thirdly, the doctor was injured, burned in the explosion. He’d said he was just a little singed, but Silco knew it was worse than it appeared.
Lastly, and more importantly, Sevika was grievously injured. The doctor had stabilized her with shimmer, but still, she was not fit to lead for the near future, which was a problem. She was his backup plan, a war leader for Zaun in the all-too-likely event that Vander decided not to work with Silco to free Zaun.
Vander . . . I wish circumstances had been different. I never intended this . . .
Silco took a deep breath, and forced the thoughts away. That weakness inside of him had been drowned, and he did not have time to ruminate on regrets.
Because he was in a difficult position -he lacked the capabilities to quickly unify Zaun and trigger a bloody, violent revolution against Piltover.
In one swift, decisive blow, in one explosion of blue light, Vander’s children had crippled him. If not for the explosion, Silco would be already taking control of the undercity. The undercity was already calling for war. Silco would unite them around him by giving them the weapon they needed to fight Piltover and win: shimmer.
He would start with rhetoric and meetings, to persuade the gang leaders to join him, to join Zaun. Those that refused would watch a shimmer-enhanced thug tear their guards apart, and would be informed that they did not actually have a choice. Any who lied and pretended to ally with him before rallying their own thugs would be dealt with in quick, brutal turf wars, where more shimmer-using warriors would make the streets run red -but Silco didn’t anticipate anyone doing so.
Then, once Silco had the undercity behind him, they would assault Piltover. It would be unexpected, Silco knew, and the monstrous visage of shimmer uses would compound the shock with horror. The fear of war and fear of monsters would combine into a mixture that turned spines into jelly.
But Silco knew that a prolonged war would not necessarily go in Zaun’s favor . . . so after a day of violence, before Piltover could truly begin to mobilize their industry, Silco would present the terms for peace: Independence for Zaun. And the Council would agree -after all, Silco wasn’t asking for control of Piltover. Just the undercity. In the face of monsters and slaughter, the Council would be too scared to resist.
That had been the plan. And it was now impossible for the moment, thanks to that bomb. In that moment, Powder had done more damage to Silco that Vi had in all her fighting up to that point -though that fact was simply unknown to both sisters.
So Silco needed new plans . . . then his gaze landed upon a body, and he took a sharp breath, for though it was twisted and mutated by shimmer, Silco recognized it.
Vander.
There he lay, his intimidating and comforting bulk on stone warmed by the flames, surrounded by burning wreckage . . . dead.
“No!” Silco hissed, running to his side.
Silco could not feel a pulse, so he drew his knife, quickly cleaned it of Vander’s blood, then held it to Vander’s lips. But there was no breath, nothing.
There was only a swell of rage in Silco, at himself and at Vander and at the world. Silco may have stabbed Vander -twice- but when Vander returned to the walkway, having drunk shimmer, Silco had hope that he might have survived.
But he had not, and Silco was responsible for it.
That, he knew. Because, as Vander had told him long ago: Whatever happens, it’s on you.
Abducting Vander had never been the plan. Silco had sent Marcus after Vander to remind him that topside was the threat.
I believed that Marcus would assault the Last Drop . . . and that I could come, to save Vander and his children. Thus, I would gain the opportunity to win his support . . . but instead, I found him negotiating with the enforcers again. I could not let them take him, and I could not let the undercity be in Benzo’s hands -he is not the leader Zaun needs.
Then, in the cannery, Silco knew that Vander would not work with him, not after Benzo’s death, but . . . I had to try.
And Silco . . . he couldn’t kill Vander in cold blood. Not like Vander tried to do to him. So holding him as a prisoner was, perhaps, the only option.
Then . . . his children came. But -where are they?
Silco looked around, and spotted a goggles, with cracked lenses and blood on them. They belonged to one of his children . . .
But Vander had leapt down from above, so Silco looked up, and saw two bodies through the hole in the cannery walls.
Bloody, beaten, undoubtedly dead as well . . .
And Silco remembered what how Vander was at their age, when he was a child. What they did as children. We robbed houses and businesses topside . . .
But what they attempted was far greater, far more dangerous . . . and they were willing to do anything to achieve it, even blow up the cannery with them still inside . . .
Silco firmed himself against the regret and sadness that came as he realized that two children had died. He did not kill them personally, but . . . whatever happens, it is on me.
So Silco was not weak enough to be sorrowful for them, but . . . he had respect for them.
And he took a deep breath, calming himself. My weakness is dead.
“Retrieve the bodies,” Silco ordered. “I will give them to Zaun with respect.”
His remaining thugs nodded, and one person who had accompanied him stepped forward.
“What is it, doctor?” Silco asked, standing to face him.
“Shimmer preserves the life of the user,” the doctor informed him. “Vander may be dead, but the shimmer should be preserving his vital areas, most importantly his mind.”
“You are implying you could return him to life?” Silco demanded. Is that even possible?
“Not immediately,” the doctor replied. “It will take a great deal of time and research, and potentially use much of the shimmer we have left, but . . . with shimmer, I hesitate to say anything is impossible.”
“How much time?” Silco asked.
“I believe I can preserve his body for up to ten years,” the doctor said. “Either he will be restored by then, or there will be no saving him.”
Silco frowned, thinking for a moment, but in the end, there was no choice. He had never intended for Vander’s death, yet Silco knew what the doctor was. Silco had suffered at the doctor’s hands after he was drowned, and it was torturous as the doctor had tested experimental medicine on him. Though the doctor had saved Silco’s life . . . it wasn’t an experience he’d inflict on his oldest friend.
Vander is dead. He deserves to rest in peace.
“No.” Silco shook his head. “Vander will rest with the bodies of his children. Ensure they are all put in the same pool of rippers.”
With that, Silco turned his back and strode away. There was much to do.
* * *
When Jinx woke up, it took her a few minutes to remember where she was, not because everything looked different, but because it all looked familiar.
It was small, dark, and messy.
The bed wasn’t big, but it was soft, and Jinx clutched the stuffed rabbit that . . . that Vi had given to her. It was all she had left of her . . . it and the flare that still hung from her belt.
But neither of those items were what Jinx needed to think about at the moment -she needed to see where she was. And fortunately, a little light peeked through a closed, threadbare curtain, letting Jinx see the walls that weren’t wooden and weren’t stone, but were cracked in a few places and burned in others. And all around were workbenches of wood, and on them were bits and pieces.
Most of it looked like scrap that could’ve been pulled from any dumpster in the undercity, and the rest looked like rich Piltie stuff that could’ve come from the apartment that exploded.
For a moment, Jinx thought she had died and gone to somewhere good.
But that was impossible.
Jinx wouldn’t end up there. She killed her brothers and probably her father and made her sister hate her-
She didn’t deserve to be somewhere good.
Which left where she was.
But at least it had what she needed.
The hate hadn’t gone away overnight. It was still there, if not as bright, and Jinx knew . . . something.
She had to do something -she couldn’t lie in bed, she had too much energy, too much that needed to be done-
Bombs.
They were always the answer when she needed to do something.
She didn’t see any chemvials around, didn’t see anything that would go boom, but she saw everything else. Everything she’d need to make the casing, the wiring -and more.
She could put a timer in it, she could have a detonation wire, she could have anything with the parts scattered about.
If only she could find something that exploded, but-
Later.
Need to make the bomb, then the boom.
If the boom doesn’t fit the bomb, it won’t work.
She couldn’t put one of those glowy crystals in Mouser and expect anything to happen. And she couldn’t put a few chemvials on the monkey bomb and expect the cymbals to cause an explosion.
The boom needs to fit the bomb and the bomb needs to fit the boom.
Bomb first.
The tools took a little time to figure out how to use, but she had a bench and plenty of stuff to make the casings.
“What’ll I call you?” Jinx wondered as she grabbed parts from whatever she could.
Every bomb needed to have a name.
Except for one. There was one she started making but never named. One with little jaws that she found in a dumpster near the Last Drop.
No, one that Powder did. I’m not Powder, I’m Jinx.
Powder’s bomb was never finished, it didn’t work, and that failure led to the crystal, the monkey bomb -Powder’s failure.
I won’t fail.
Jinx would finish it.
It would be her first bomb to really work, and work without the glowy crystals.
Somehow, they almost felt like cheating. Because they were Piltie, and her grenades should be hers.
And she’d use them to blow up . . . what?
What can I blow up to hurt a city?
Anything. Jinx decided. Everything.
And what about the rich man?
Blow him up too. Jinx promised herself.
And Vi?
Jinx’s hands hesitated.
One of them dropped to her waist, where a flare hung, weighted with a promise.
No. NO!
I don’t need her, I DON’T NEED HER!
Jinx took the flare off her belt and stuffed it under the bed.
I’ll never need her.
“She doesn’t need you. Doesn’t want you.”
Jinx looked up, looked around -she could’ve sworn she heard something.
But the room was empty, so she threw herself back into her work, trying not to feel the stab of pain and loneliness brought by the words she thought she heard.
She didn’t know how much time passed before she finished the casing, before she started grabbing pieces for the next one, then the next, then the next, before-
There was sound-
The door.
The man.
The memory came to her as she heard the footsteps -the person she clung to, who took her away from the ruins of her last life.
Jinx didn’t remember much of him.
He had a crutch. He was . . . thin?
He was warm . . .
And he wasn’t alone.
* * *
Jayce knew that Viktor didn’t have the most money. So he was a little thankful that Viktor’s apartment was on the Piltover Academy campus -an accommodation for Viktor’s limp. But the person inside the apartment . . . Jayce was significantly less thankful for, and much more concerned about.
Viktor showed up at the lab in a trencher’s clothes and told him what happened the previous night . . . but it left more questions than answers. Without much to go on, Jayce’s mind was left to speculate on what he did know -and it didn’t put him at ease.
Which is not to say that I’m unconcerned for a child’s wellbeing . . .
With the twist of a key, Viktor admitted them both into a . . . cozy . . . apartment, one that was made even smaller by clutter. The walls of the apartment were drywall, the floor and ceiling wood, and every piece of metal had the brassy sheen of Piltover.
The first room could be charitably called a ‘living’ room, with a fireplace and a couch to face it. To one side was a small kitchenette, and next to it, a small wooden dining table.
But it was clear that only one specific seat on the table was used. Other chairs were pulled out and piled with different parts, along with the couch, and designs and projects-in-progress were scattered over the table. Thick leather was scattered here and there to provide protection to the wood that Viktor would work atop of.
The kitchenette was in similar disarray, though the parts were of bread and cheese instead of metal. I suppose it’s understandable that we both seem to live off of sandwiches . . .
Still, Viktor’s apartment seemed to be mostly comprised of mess -though the floor was almost entirely empty of such mess, surprisingly.
There was no sign of anyone else, though . . .
Viktor limped into his apartment and slumped into a seat at the dining room table. He was very clearly exhausted -from what little he told Jayce, he had made an excursion to the undercity after the late-night council meeting that followed the birth of hextech.
I can’t imagine he got more than an hour or two of sleep last night . . . but something tells me that’s not too irregular with him. Jayce sighted a little inside. He needs to take better care of himself.
Jayce shook himself out of his thoughts and was going to sit across from Viktor, only to realized that Viktor had taken the only seat in the apartment that didn’t seem to have a pile of bits and pieces on it. So he settled for perching awkwardly on one of the couch’s arms.
“Do you think she’s still here?” Jayce asked. “You left her alone, after all . . .”
“She was fast asleep when I left. I would not be surprised if she slept for hours yet,” Viktor answered, his accent making Jayce pay a little extra attention to every word he said.
Yes, the accent, that was it . . . and he’s my partner, of course I would focus on him . .
“Now, she went through a traumatic experience not so long ago,” Viktor informed him. “I do not think she will react well to eh . . . pointed curiosity?”
“What do you mean?” Jayce asked. Pointed curiosity?
“I could feel your suspicion from the moment I told you of her,” Viktor said gently, but firmly.
Jayce crossed his arms defensively. “Can you blame me? The enforcers said that one of the thieves who blew up my apartment was a child with blue hair. Now you said there was another hextech explosion, and who did you find but a girl with blue hair?”
She was the thief -or one of them. There’s too much coincidence.
Viktor frowned, and Jayce could see his mind at work.
“I had not heard the descriptions,” Viktor admitted. “But a child this young would hardly be the instigator of such a heist.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Jayce replied. “Whoever put her and her fellow thieves up to it in the first place . . . maybe they’re behind this.”
Viktor sighed. “Explain, please . . . you have clearly made it to some sort of conclusion.”
“It’s only a hypothesis, but the speculation isn’t entirely baseless. I’m just looking at what I know,” Jayce replied. “First, the thieves didn’t take everything valuable in the apartment, and almost everything they stole was from the room near the balcony. But they took every single hexcrystal -and you already know the hexcrystals were hardly out in the open. They-”
“Were in a closed box in a separate room, secured and safe from accidents,” Viktor filled in from his own knowledge. “They seemed to be the only things of value stolen from their room, despite many other valuables being much more visibly obvious, and as opposed to the balcony room, where much was stolen, and all of it was easily accessible. Thus, as you said to the enforcers, you suspect the hexcrystals were the target of the heist.”
“Exactly!” Jayce agreed. “I had to go to the undercity to get equipment to work with the arcane -it’s too illegal to find in Piltover. They wouldn’t have many other uses, so anyone with some knowledge of the arcane could suspect that I had hexcrystals.”
“Reasonable,” Viktor allowed as Jayce continued.
“Next, the hexcrystals ended up in the undercity without any explosions in the transit from here to there, despite an intense chase and the instability of the crystals, showing that these thieves knew to transport the crystals safely,” Jayce explained.
“Again, indicating foreknowledge of the hexcrystals,” Viktor mused, looking a little more alert with each word as he kept piecing together the circumstances. “They could have set one off in your apartment to cover their tracks, and make it seem like the missing materials were destroyed by accident -the hexcrystals are very unstable, after all.”
“I didn’t think of that, but you’re right,” Jayce agreed. “The Council . . . any mention of the arcane, and they want it to be over and done with. Even if the enforcers thought it was a robbery, the Council wouldn’t let them look too hard -they just want someone to blame!”
“Hmm, yes,” Viktor murmured.
“Regardless of the Council’s idiocy, there was another explosion yesterday -the one you saw. Given that they know how to transport the hexcrystals safely, I don’t think they just dropped one,” Jayce continued. “I think they were trying to use it -doing their own hextech experiments. But they didn’t have someone as smart as you to figure it out safely.”
“No . . . they have someone even more intelligent,” Viktor mused to himself, before looking up at Jayce. “There is a man in the undercity, a mentor to me in my youth, but his experiments . . . what he did, it was sickening. I saw what could only be his work in the same place I found the young girl . . . and there was another, a man who was richer than anyone in the undercity has a right to be. He could have sponsored my mentor’s experiments on the hexcrystals.”
“This is why I’m worried,” Jayce said. “That man -if he’s behind it all, if he sent the thieves to my apartment . . . if this little girl is working with him-”
“NO!”
The shout startled both of them as the door to Viktor’s bedroom flung open and a young girl with blue hair stormed out, her expression a rictus of hatred and outrage.
“I HATE HIM!” the girl screamed, tears starting to run down her cheeks as her fists clenched around something in her hands. “IT’S ALL HIS FAULT!”
Jayce blinked, and for a moment, it reminded him of the angriest that Caitlyn had ever been at him -after he took her rifle apart to try and improve it.
The blue hair was a brighter shade, but they had the same gap in their front teeth. The anger, the determination . . . it felt a little too familiar. And the energy, in the few times that Caitlyn would really let loose in their youths.
But the screaming, crying child in front of Jayce kept his thoughts from lingering on Caitlyn for long.
And Jayce had no idea what to do as the girl stomped forward, her shouts becoming weaker and less coherent as she stumbled into Viktor, wrapping her arms around him as her screams faded into muffled sobs that Jayce could barely make out words between.
“My fault . . . I did it . . . it was me,” the girl cried. “I killed them . . .”
Viktor wrapped his arms around the girl awkwardly, holding her close and whispering words too soft for Jayce to make out.
Jayce, meanwhile, stood awkwardly near the couch, not knowing what to do. Caitlyn never complained about my hugs when she was crying, so . . .
But Jayce’s hug was even more awkward than Viktor’s, though he embraced both the girl and the man. It didn’t feel right -he didn’t even know the girl!- but it didn’t feel right to do nothing, either . . .
So he hugged until the girl’s sobs quieted, still very unsure of the whole situation, and looked to Viktor for a signal of what to do.
The next words didn’t come from him, though.
“It wasn’t . . .” the girl said. “I’d . . . I hate him. We’d never . . . I hate him!”
“Why don’t you tell us what happened, Jinx?” Viktor asked gently, still holding her.
Jinx, right, that’s her name . . .
“I didn’t know those . . . those things were there, the glowy crystals. I just . . . I was curious, and I saw a sandwich, and I saw the . . . the thing they were in,” Jinx explained haltingly. “I should’ve left them there . . .”
“What then?” Jayce asked.
“I don’t know . . . he took my . . . and . . . and I tried to help rescue him . . . I used the glowy things to make a bomb.” Jinx squeezed Viktor tighter, making him grunt. “And it worked . . . I killed everyone . . . but not the people I wanted to . . . my family . . .”
What the FUCK?!
Kidnapping? A child making bombs? Killed her FAMILY? What the hell is going on in the undercity?!
But it was hard not to believe Jinx. How she screamed, how she cried . . . Jayce wasn’t the best at spotting lies and manipulation, and he couldn’t bring himself to doubt the child.
“I’m gonna kill him,” Jinx vowed, her voice steadier than it ever had been in Jayce’s hearing. “Blow him up, or . . . something.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Viktor murmured in reply. “He’s too rich, too powerful.”
I . . . what?
THIS IS A CHILD!
PLANNING MURDER!
AND VIKTOR’S OBJECTION IS THAT HE’S TOO POWERFUL?!
Jayce didn’t even know where to start. It was all so much, so fast, and so . . . alien to anything Jayce had experienced. Caitlyn talked to me about enforcer business a few times, but . . . THIS?!
“I can talk to the enforcers,” Jayce offered weakly, wanting to get the conversation back into the realm of relative sanity. “Perhaps they-”
Jinx’s head turned, and took Jayce in for the first real time.
“You’re a Piltie!” Jinx exclaimed, then twisted until she was facing Jayce with her arms tensed and suspicion in her eyes.
She wrested herself from the hug and backed up slowly,
What the-
“He is an . . . associate,” Viktor said softly.
Associate. Is that all we are?
Jayce felt a stab of something before he reminded himself that it wasn’t important right now!
“We’re topside,” Jinx said as if she just realized it. “We’re . . . I’m . . .”
“You are safe here,” Viktor assured her. “The enforcers do not often patrol this area.”
Doesn’t that make it less safe?
Oh . . . I suppose she is a thief. Jayce realized.
And she almost killed me!
“I . . . she . . . what are we doing?” Jayce asked aloud. “She should be in prison!”
Jinx’s face twisted into snarl. “I’ll-”
“Stop, please,” Viktor grunted as he pushed himself to his feet and interposed himself between the two, facing Jayce. “Would you send a child to Stillwater?”
“There are prisons for children!” Jayce shot back. “She broke into my apartment, stole from me, almost killed me and Caitlyn, and because of that, I could’ve been exiled!”
“Caitlyn and I,” Viktor corrected, then shook his head. “Not important. She clearly regrets what she did, Jayce, and sending her to prison would only see her life ruined. With that kind of mark on her record, she would never have a chance to do good.”
“I hardly think she regrets breaking in -she might regret taking the hexcrystals, but that’s it,” Jayce replied, crossing his arms. “I’m not unsympathetic, but the fact is-”
“That fact is that you are guiltier of a much worse crime!” Viktor interrupted. “You violated the Ethos, experimented with magic!”
“It’s hextech, and it works!” Jayce shot back. “We proved it! Besides, a member of the Council sponsored it.”
“But it is no less of a crime, regardless of sponsors,” Viktor replied. “And it would hardly be the first time a Councilor funded crime of one variety or another.”
“They’re the Council, they wouldn’t . . . no, that’s not the point.” Jayce shook his head. “The fact of the matter is that I was exonerated. In the eyes of society, I’ve committed no crime.”
“What of the illegal equipment you bought from the undercity?” Viktor asked. “Not a violation of the Ethos, but still a crime.”
“But that didn’t hurt anybody!” Jayce protested.
“Would losing some of your fancy junk really hurt you?” Jinx asked from the kitchenette -how did she get there?
“Yes!” Jayce exclaimed. “It would!”
Jinx sneered hatefully, the expression strange on a young face. “You’d have enough to live. More than we had! All we did was take what you could spare!”
“Please, let us take a few deep breaths and calm down,” Viktor said calmly. “We will come to no resolution like this.”
“Fine, then, what do you think?” Jayce asked, taking a few steps back to lean against a wall, but keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Jinx.
“What is illegal in Piltover is a sad necessity of life in the undercity,” Viktor started. “When you have so very little, taking from those who have much more is not something seen as evil. What Jinx just said . . . are you familiar with the song, ‘Dear Friend Across the River’?”
Jayce furrowed his brow, and shook his head.
“Dear friend across the river, we’ll take what you can spare,” Viktor recited. “I ask of you a penny, my fortune it will be. How many pennies have you given, Jayce? It matters not -to the people of the undercity, those of Piltover can spare much. And if it is not given, it must be taken.”
“But that’s . . . that’s robbery!” Jayce said. “That’s a crime!”
“Again, so was violating the Ethos and buying illegal equipment, but you believed it must be done,” Viktor pointed out. “Stealing something valuable could provide for your family, whether it be food or medicine or shelter. How do you think I made enough money to survive when I was taking classes at the Academy?”
“I . . . I thought you had a scholarship,” Jayce confessed.
“Enough to pay for tuition, but no more,” Viktor revealed. “I had to pickpocket to eat.”
It was hard to imagine Viktor as a wrongdoer.
Impossible, even, for Jayce . . .
“I’m sure you needed to,” Jayce justified.
“So did she,” Viktor said, gesturing to Jinx. “She never intended bodily harm to you. By her own admission, she knew not what the hexcrystals were. Jayce, we both believed that your punishment was unjust, regardless of facts, and we now have the chance to show what good we can do. Give Jinx the same chance -do for her what the Council denied you.”
“I . . .” Jayce hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. I . . . I’ll vouch for her with the enforcers if I need to. But what should we do?”
“It depends,” Viktor replied, turning to Jinx. “What do you have in your hands?”
Jinx’s eyes were still trained on Jayce with suspicion, but shuffled towards Viktor and held up her hands, palm up to show . . . a cylinder of some kind?
“What are they?” Viktor asked. “I recognize the parts, but not the purpose.”
“It’s . . . a bomb. A casing,” Jinx admitted, seemingly much calmer -but still tense- as she spoke to Viktor instead of Jayce. “I’m gonna kill the man. The rich one.”
“Ah, yes,” Viktor replied, taking the statement in stride while Jayce quietly freaked out again. “I have rather few explosive materials here. What do you envision as the reactants?”
“I don’t know,” Jinx admitted, relaxing a little more. “There are chemvials that go boom . . . but my bombs never work. They will, though. They have to.”
“To kill the man . . . or to prove that you are a successful inventor?” Viktor asked. “There are many ways to kill a man, after all, like that knife you stole.”
One of Jinx’s hands dropped to her waistline.
What? How did she . . . ?
“I didn’t steal anything!” Jinx protested.
Viktor simply extended a hand. “You are in no danger here -you have no need of it, and I will have difficulty without it.”
Jinx slumped, and reluctantly took a kitchen knife out from her waistband and placed it in Viktor’s hand.
“Thank you,” Viktor replied gently.
“WHAT?” Jayce said explosively. “How? When?”
“You two were arguing,” Jinx murmured.
“You would be surprised what you can get away with when people are distracted,” Viktor added. “But I keep my house in order.”
“But there’s stuff . . . everywhere!” Jayce protested. “How is this in any kind of order? Can’t you store some of this?”
“Not easily,” Viktor replied, tapping his cane against the floor. “The floor is clear for a similar reason -bending over to pick things up is difficult. Now, Jinx, may I inspect your bomb casing?”
“What? She stole a knife!” Jayce said incredulously. “How is this not a concern?”
“If I worried about everyone who could kill me, I would never have time for anything else,” Viktor replied. “Jinx is a stranger in a new place. Seeking tools with which to defend yourself is quite understandable. I’m afraid I use this knife too often -take that one instead.”
“You’re just going to give her a knife?” Jayce asked disbelievingly.
Viktor certainly made no move to stop Jinx as she took the indicated knife from the block and tucked it into the waist of her pants, under her shirt.
“If it will make her feel safer,” Viktor said. “Then I have no objection. Jayce, why don’t you take a seat and . . . give yourself a moment to process all of this? I understand this must be quite strange.”
“I . . . suppose,” Jayce allowed, returning to his seat on the arm of the couch.
With Jayce hopefully taken care of, Viktor smiled at Jinx.
“Maybe I inspect the bomb casing?” Viktor asked again. “Perhaps take it apart? I promise I will put it back together, I simply wish to see how you made it.”
“I’ll want it back,” Jinx warned as she passed it over.
“And you will have it,” Viktor assured her as he took his seat at the table, where an array of tools awaited.
He started to take the casing apart with smooth, dexterous movement.
“Ah, an adjustable length timer made from scrap,” Viktor noticed as he set it aside. “Brilliant -how did you learn to make it?”
“I just fiddled around until I figured it out,” Jinx replied, fidgeting with her second bomb casing. “The clockwork is easy . . .”
“Well done,” Viktor complimented her. “In what area do you still struggle? The primer?”
“I got that working, it just doesn’t . . . work,” Jinx replied. “The explody bits don’t explode.”
“I see,” Viktor mused. “Well, I can’t see a flaw in your casing. Sturdy, but will certainly come apart when needed. The triggering mechanism is particularly well-made -you have a talent for engineering, Jinx. How did you become interested in explosives?”
“I . . . Dad would tell stories about the mines,” Jinx started. “My si- . . . I knew someone who was strong, strong enough to swing pickaxes and break rocks if she wanted to. But I’m . . . I’m not strong like that. But I heard that miners blow up rocks, too, and a good boom can save hours of work. I . . . I thought I could help.”
“Ah, I see.” Viktor nodded, still looking at the casing.
There was silence for a few seconds.
“Do . . . do you really think I’m . . . that I have a talent?” Jinx asked quietly.
“Oh, very much so,” Viktor said absently, still focused on the casing as he started to put it back together. “At your age, my greatest accomplishment was a toy boat -certainly not something useful like this."
"They don’t work,” Jinx muttered.
And that caught Viktor’s attention, pulling him away from his work as he turned to Jinx.
He picked up the adjustable timer, and held it out to Jinx.
“In this piece of your device, there is more complication than there was in my entire boat,” Viktor said softly. “This works perfectly, and it is only a small part of your bomb. You have far surpassed me at my age.”
“But my bombs don’t work!” Jinx protested, clenching her fists.
“But this,” Viktor emphasized the timer. “This does. And you should be very, very proud of it. Tell me, did you know how to make these three years ago?”
Jinx shook her head. “I only figured it out last year . . .”
“Then more parts of your bombs work this year than last,” Viktor pointed out. “Yes, your bombs do not work, but you should recognize what you have accomplished in them. Making a bomb is enormously complicated, but I can tell that you are very close to success.”
“But I’m still not there!” Jinx said, frustrated.
“You will be,” Viktor assured her.
“Everyone keeps saying that!” Jinx growled. “But when?”
“Today,” Viktor replied immediately. “You will succeed today -we will get you the materials, and I will help you until it works.”
“You will?” Jinx asked, simultaneously hopefully and disbelieving.
“So long as we detonate them somewhere safe,” Viktor assured her. “I will.”
“No, wait! You can’t seriously be considering this!” Jayce protested.
“I am not considering it,” Viktor replied. “I am doing it -or I will.”
“I . . . I can’t believe this!” Jayce said incredulously.
“Jinx, I believe you made these in the bedroom?” Viktor said rhetorically. “Why don’t you make a few more? I need to discuss something with Jayce, and would appreciate privacy.”
Jinx cast a suspicious look to Jayce, but took her bomb casing back from Viktor and left into the bedroom without another word.
Viktor waited until the door closed before gesturing Jayce over and speaking softly.
“Jayce, I understand your objections,” Viktor began. “To you, trusting a child with a bomb and a knife is . . . foolish. But believe me, she has been handling much more hazardous things, and performing more dangerous tasks, for years now.”
“That doesn’t mean we should let her have a knife!” Jayce replied. “Or teach her how to make bombs!”
“No, it means that we must,” Viktor replied. “She is too quick and too smart for us to stop her -even I, with my limp, could gather the discards of Piltover and make a bomb within three hours. Less, perhaps. We cannot prevent Jinx from experimenting, but by meeting her halfway, we can ensure her -and our- safety. Similarly, I cannot prevent her from getting her hands on a knife, or stop her from making a shiv. But I can make sure she has a relatively dull knife, and let her feel safer for it.”
“I . . . I suppose I can see the logic,” Jayce admitted. “My parents certainly couldn’t stop me from tinkering, even when they wanted to. Fine. In the short term, I . . . I may need to adjust to the undercity way of doing things. But what do you have in mind in the long term?”
Viktor sighed. “I haven’t spared many thoughts for that. We discussed getting an apartment together, closer to the hextech wing of the Academy . . . perhaps we can make space for three.”
“You’d have her live with us?” Jayce asked, shocked.
“Yes,” Viktor replied simply. “I . . . I do not know where else she could go, and I must admit, I am fascinated by her creations. I see much of myself in her: she is also a young, gifted mind from the undercity, hurt in her youth but with a burning desire to prove herself. I am no parent . . . but I want her life to be easier than mine was. To do for her what no one did for me.”
“Just like you wanted me to treat her better than I was treated,” Jayce recognized. “I . . . do you really think she’s that smart?”
“As intelligent as both of us combined, and as driven,” Viktor confirmed. “I . . . I recognize that this would be a burden to you, and I will do this on my own without complaint, but I would greatly appreciate your aid.”
Appreciate my aid . . . Jayce wanted that. He really wanted that. And besides, Viktor put his future on the line to help me with hextech. I can help him with this . . . and this way, we still get to live together.
“In honesty, she reminds me of Caitlyn. There’s the same fire in her,” Jayce admitted. “I’m not very good with people, and I’m sure I didn’t make a good first impression . . . but I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you, Jayce,” Viktor said softly. “That means a great deal to me.”
“I’m happy I can help,” Jayce replied -and indeed, he was. “Partners?”
“Partners,” Viktor agreed. “Now, I need to change and fulfill some promises. You can return to the lab -I’m sure I can handle Jinx.”
“No, I . . . I want to stay with you, and see where this goes,” Jayce replied. And make a better impression on our new roommate.
Viktor smiled slightly. “You are certainly welcome. Now, let me change and we shall be on our way to buy some explosives.”
“Oh . . . right,” Jayce remembered.
What am I getting myself into?