Chapter Text
.
.
.
It had been nothing but silence since the ventilation tunnels, and Vi had been lost, wandering them for hours now.
She didn’t know how long she’d been there. On her knees, sobbing into the dirt like that. It was too mortifying to think about. How it felt like she needed hours and hours, just trying to get her heart to calm down, for her lungs to keep working. For that hollowness, that trembling realization to swallow down her throat and settle in that wound, before she could even think of getting to her feet.
Her sight was blurry as she limped through the shafts, hand pressed to her gut. She could fight Jinx within an inch of her life, yet this was when everything decided to hurt. When every step pierced her in ways she hadn’t known was possible. A pain that wasn’t real, wasn't physical, but still so much worse.
Vi just couldn’t wrap her head around it. Where everything went so wrong, where she managed to fuck up. How she could continuously make the wrong choice, every single time, just by doing what she thought was the right one.
She didn’t understand any of it. And she was so, so tired of not understanding any of it.
By the time Vi found a sewer drain and kicked it out, she was somewhere near the Upper Lanes, deemed by the few sunrays peeking through the cracks. The last of the light before it got swallowed by fissure gases and nightfall.
The wall bit into her arm as she slid down, still rasping, trying to ground herself. She was in Zaun, but she didn’t know where to go. Her heart was hammering and she couldn’t relax, she couldn’t think past this anxiety of what to do. Especially when she already heard voices coming down the alleyway. When every fight or flight urge in her lit up, realizing she couldn’t move, or run, not with this uniform.
Panic seized her as those two lonesome figures peered her way. Because for the past two months, it’s been nothing but gangs killing each other over Silco’s scraps, punks with itchy trigger fingers, and the grim fact that Piltover would probably declare war soon. A nightmare that Vi had tried to delay, or possibly stop all together by finding Jinx, but no one ever saw it that way. No one ever fucking asked. All they saw was the blue and the badge, and that was it.
She felt tears sting her eyes again. Thinking, over and over, how did this happen?
Vi was home, finally home, and she was surrounded by enemies.
No… she was the enemy.
A whistle flitted down the alley, boots scuffing against the dirt, “Now what in the blue is going on down here?”
There was a tall one, and a short skinny one. Two chempunks with tubes up their nose, all sorts of limb-enhancements disappearing under their clothes. Someone from Smeech’s crew, probably, with the way they were dressed like ran-over toys.
The shorter one grinned as he patted his knees, singing at her, “Here piggy, pig…Whatsa matter? You hurt?”
Vi fought to stand, not giving them the time of day. “Cut the shit,” She snapped, to much of their surprise. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Woah, you really must be lost,” The tall one hummed through the pipe in his teeth, closing in on her. “First you come down here like you own this place, then you wanna talk shit to our faces like that?”
Vi sighed, not wanting to deal with this. She wasn’t going to stand here and explain shit to them. These idiots wouldn’t understand the half of it. Her eyes closed to stifle her temper, teeth bared, but it only gave them the chance to shove her back against the wall.
Rage bursted through her, quick as lightning, but Vi kept her eyes shut firm.
She forced her voice calm, seething. One warning. That’s all they get. “You better be very fucking careful about what you do next here.”
For a moment, the punks hesitated. When her eyes slipped open, and they saw nothing but fury there, flicking down to that hand gripped in her collar, “I’ve had a shit day, and I’d really hate to take it out on a couple of dumbass kids who think jumping people in alleyways is a good use of their time.”
The smoker scoffed, speaking with wispy trails, “You must not know it works down here. This is our dirt you’re on, Piltie. You don’t get to bark orders and hide behind those gates anymore. What, you alone? No backup, huh?”
Vi batted her hand, pushing him off. “I’m not a fucking Piltie. Just get out of my face, you don’t know shit.”
“Oh you’re not?” His friend hooted, cackling. He took another good look at her. “Ahh. Just a sellout then, huh? A dirty little trai—”
And that’s all it took. That one word. For Vi to whip her fist into his mouth, silencing him, and immediately getting the consequence to it. Something metal smashing into her, rattling her bones, feeling like the same chemtech bullshit Sevika had.
It’s a fight that blinds her, that makes her feel feral and disgusting. A fight that ends with her bleeding from her nose, brainless and gone in the eyes.
Because maybe this just fucking proves it. That she never was that good at it. Talking people down from the shit choices they were always so desperate to make.
Blood leaked down her throat and it tasted like a bitter reminder. That it was her job. Her one fucking job to keep Caitlyn in line, to keep Piltover from gunning up, while she used the strike squad to avoid goddamn martial law and fucking armies from storming this place. All for what her sister did. The monster she created.
And Vi couldn’t even do that right.
A waste. Everything she did, sticking around topside—sticking around Caitlyn, for so long, just wasted. Vi shed the uniform from her shoulders, balled it up, and tossed it by a dumpster. She was tired of looking at it, tired of feeling it on her skin. It had suffocated her since the moment she put it on. It never fucking fit right anyways.
She crumpled down again, on her knees, and finally spat into the dirt. All this, and Vi still had nowhere to go.
So, down into the deep she went… Wading through caverns and backalleys, bare to her bandages, hands gripped against brick walls and tarnished metal. Walking and walking, until the air thickened and the sunlight drained. Until there was nothing left but cold hard rock, and crows nestled for warmth in the caves above.
Down in the lower Lanes was where all the shadows came out, taking all kinds of forms and colors. Flickering from sight, clouded by neon signs and hazy chemlamps.
They always used to scare Vi when she was a kid. Nightmares and memories that still had her fist curled and ready, waiting for something. Anything. A familiar face, a furious resentment. Some shadowy fear from her past, finally smelling blood, ready to catch her weak and alone.
But nothing came. It was all stragglers down here, kids mostly, orphans. Home.
At least, what was left of it.
It took a few days for Loris to find her. He was the only one who came back.
Vi was already broke, kicked out of Jericho’s, and curled up in the alley when he walked up on her. She recognized his boots, she didn’t have to look up. She didn’t want to.
She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of finding her like this. Thrown away. Abandoned. Wearing stolen clothes and embarrassed by the woman she thought she loved.
Loris didn’t say anything. He just bit the cork out of a bottle, held it out, and stuck by her side ever since.
Vi tried barking at him, but he went on saying that he quit the squad. That he asked too many questions about what happened down there in the tunnels, where Vi went and why Caitlyn didn’t come back with her.
Caitlyn never gave a straight answer. So he turned in his badge and left, since he only really joined because he trusted Vi, not so much the rest of them.
Which Vi didn’t believe and grumbled at, but eventually accepted. Mostly because she couldn’t really afford to be turning away help now. Not when she was living on the streets, bitter and hungry, and hiding her face from anyone who peered too close.
Loris noted the cuts on her face, the dark bruise under her eye, and advised that if she’s going to get her shit kicked in, they might as well get paid for it.
He did a reasonable job of selling Vi to the Ringmaster, a small Yordle with barely two teeth left in his head. He liked to talk at Loris, not necessarily with him. Vi was mostly unresponsive, sitting there with her chin against her fist, refusing to speak a word if it wasn't about when she could finally get in the damn ring. There was too much small talk, too much bullshit and numbers and so-forth. And apparently, the Yordle couldn't finish his fucking fish-steak before opening his mouth either.
“Well, that’s it, isn’t it? All my fighters have a…thing,” Smeech emphasized that word, smacking his lips, as if it were some non-negotiable. The secret to his success. He glanced down at dirty clothing and ripped sleeves, unimpressed with most things about Vi. "And so far, sorry to say lass, I ain't seein' it. So, what’s yours?”
“My thing?” A hand fell on her shoulder, and Vi cut back her tone. She breathed in, once. Since it was clear Loris wasn't going to save her from having to upsell herself, which felt like the world's cruelest joke. “So long as you get me in that ring, one of us is leaving on a stretcher. How’s that for an act?”
Smeech chuckled, running his tongue along his teeth. “And what good are you on a stretcher after one fight, Pink?”
Pink.
Her finger twitched. No one called her that, not since Stillwater. A nickname they always liked to throw around before someone got dragged away bleeding. Vi always took a few teeth with her as a warning.
“…a strange and incurable bloodlust,” said the old X516 prison records. Marked with several red-ink question marks.
“I've taken a few hits before,” Vi gritted. "I think I know how to do it."
Loris glanced from her armrest, stepping closer. “She doesn’t lose,” He translated.
The plate clattered, the fish-steak now stuffed in his belly. Smeech threw his hands up, licking the sauce off his claws. “Well, my fighters have a thing,” He stated again, unaware that if he said that word one more time, Vi would show him what a thing really could look like. All five knuckles of it. “Come back with that and a name, and we’ll think about gettin' you started. Alright, Pinky?”
They never told Vi who she was fighting. More dramatic that way, she supposed. They wanted their rookies coming in blind, scared shitless before they even hit the ring. All she knew was where to be and when to be there.
Vi found a room to stay in, eventually, but only because that’s all it really was. A sink, a space for a cot. The toilet was to be determined. It was only slightly better than the street, or Loris’ floor, because now she had to pay to keep it.
There was a knock on the door as Vi finished up in the mirror. Loris didn’t say anything when the door flung open, but even through all those hard lines, he couldn’t hide the bittersweet surprise in his expression. When he saw the hair, the black stains on her neck and fingertips.
His selective muteness was always a talent, and Vi’s favorite thing about him in moments like these, because the last thing she needed right now was to hear any kind of shit about it.
Whatever. If no one in this world wanted her to be who she was, then fuck it. She'll dye her hair oil black and erase all of it. She'll hide everything identifiable about her, every color, every scar, every line of ink that had so confidently marked who she was.
It wasn't like she could even show her face down here anymore. Not after the strike team, and not after wearing that badge.
Hell, maybe she should put it on again. Just to really give them a reason to lay it on her. Maybe that would absolve something, or at least give them a damn good show.
But Loris just nodded, slowly. Nearly-impressed. "That’ll do it."
The pits were fucking disgusting, and filled with animals.
All the fighters were eager to see the new face, the new runt they get to punch and earn a buck. The backrooms were just caves with buzzing lights and dirt floors, one way in, one way out. The crowd thundered above and Loris whistled ten minutes before showtime. Vi tightened her bandages on the walk out, ignoring all the grimy faces of brawlers and shimmer-heads, barking at her like a frenzied pack of dogs.
Loris cocked an eyebrow as Vi shoved past, pushing her way through the crowd. "Let’s get this shit over with."
“Well folks, there he is! The butterflyweight champion of the Piltover Boxing League, Gustove “The Scowler” Jowlerrrr!”
Vi was blinded by lights, but scoffed at who she saw come out of the doors. Because no way that fucking idiot was still alive.
The Scowler didn’t recognize her, the enemy that stood across the ring, not underneath the makeup and spinning lights. He was too busy beating his chest to catch the very familiar fist under his jaw, and Vi could feel her blood sing when his eyes went wide. When he knew. When his head hit the floor and he realized there was no escaping this girl and the rage chained within her.
Cheers blasted the arena before the bell could even ring out. Hundreds of bets flying out of nowhere, ripped to shreds, useless. All in one second. Loris could only slip a smirk at the Ringmaster's horror.
The announcer bellowed over the roar of the pitfighter, now laying hit after hit into the champion below, “And the winner goes to, what’s this? A new face on these streets? Is it a dog, or a demon? Is it a beast? No, no! It’s the Two-Headed Hound of the Undergrounddd!!"
The routine shifted into place after that. Her win got her easy access to all the fights and clubs, and the more bodies laid, the more Vi could feel things making sense again.
This was the one part of town where there was no talking, no chit-chat, no promises. And best of all, no fucking politics. There was only things she was good at. Fists, and fury, and the bitter acceptance of being down and out.
It was cathartic, intoxicating. It felt like breathing fresh air and Vi couldn’t stop inhaling. Feeling her knuckles go numb was the best drug she’s ever tasted, and that was before she found the gold waiting for her after every match. The roar of bloodthirsty fans in the crowd, howling her name.
She had no idea what to spend it on. This town was waiting to be hers, and she had no idea where to even go to around here, what she ever really wanted.
It wasn’t until now that Vi realized she never really grew up in the Lanes. She always prided herself on it, being a little brat around these parts, knowing all the shortcuts and alleyways. But it was nothing compared to those wet, winding caves and shivering steel bars Vi had ingrained into her brain. Stillwater, despite everything, was where Vi really grew up.
It was where she had her first crush. The night she bled for the first time between her legs. Her first kiss, her first fuck.
It was where Vi killed someone for the first time.
Just...one of Silco's cellblocks and a bad night. She'd been picking them off one by one, living as a karmic nightmare in those cells, and they lured her out with the one thing they knew would catch her.
A promise of Powder.
For some reason, Vi never bothered with this memory. The way they threw a bag of nose-candy at her feet and laughed. The bleeding red that then smeared the walls.
No one in that room survived that night. Not a single man, and not the girl that Vi was.
It felt so long ago. Now suddenly she was out. And…old. She never got to hang out in any of the bars that wasn’t the Last Drop, and that was only after Vander had declared it was alright for them to sit at the bar. She never got to explore all the places that waved her away when she peeked her head inside, the ones that told her to come back when she had a pair of tits on her.
It was pitch black in Pandemonium, a nightclub hidden under the cliffs, and Vi felt right at home once she wandered in. It was good, this place felt right. Somewhere she could blend into the dark, where no one could see her. Where she couldn’t make out any faces, or any of that, just flickering strobes and punk rock that numbed her ears.
It was somewhere she didn’t have to think about what Caitlyn was doing, or where Jinx was, or the fact that neither of them gave a single fuck about her like she did them.
It did the job. Vi didn’t want to feel her heart twisting in and clawing itself, trying to find a reason to care about something. She didn’t want to close her eyes and feel her insides. All that did was make her want to curl up in bed, hope to never wake again.
The paint-thinner they called drinks here did a perfect job of sterilizing those spiraling thoughts, those infernal desires. She could just be. She could do what she wanted, she was free.
That’s all Vi ever really wanted. For her, for Powder. For everyone in this club, on these streets. Before she was even sent away to that cage, behind those bars, never to see light again.
She wanted to make things better for people.
But it seemed that no one gave a shit about anyone that wasn't themselves these days.
And it wasn’t fucking fair.
Everyone else could change. Everyone else could break their promises. Everyone else could completely erase who they were, become this worst version of themselves. So why couldn’t she?
Why couldn’t she, why couldn’t she?
Why couldn't Vi lose herself the same way? Why couldn't she become this pit of hatred and rage, and take it out on everyone else? Make it their fucking problem? Why couldn't she ever break like everyone else around her got to?
Why. That seemed to be the only thing this all boiled down to. Because Vi still didn't understand anything after all this time, nothing made sense. Nothing about what Vander taught, or Jinx cried, or Caitlyn commanded made sense. None of it. It was all bullshit.
So, Vi was nothing but this space now, without any sort of star. This bleeding, vast pit of nothing. Spreading and spreading, over bodies and flashing lights, stumbling blindly for one little spark of warmth. A sign of life. To catch her when she fell, guide her when she looked up.
.
.
.
That was the first time she saw Caitlyn. There in the crowd.
She looked like how she did when Vi first met her. Before her mother died, before Jinx. Back when Vi knew who she was.
Suddenly her heart soared, and that was all she could see. A twinkle of blue, a flash of gapped teeth. That smile, and that long-forgotten hum of laughter… Bubbling up and roaring over the music, the screaming metal, the bleeding rasp in her ears— I don't love you anymore, I don't love you anymore, I don't love you anymore.
That’s when her face slowly started to melt, and flash and fade, into a scraggly beard and brown eyes, and some deformed tongue heading for her mouth. Her fist caught it before Vi could stop herself. Shoving him off, jabbing her middle finger in his face and spitting at his shoes.
The fucking nerve of him to ruin that. That… That…
It changed everything about those nights. When Vi had the weight of those victorious little cogs in her pocket, and nothing left to do with her life but go and blow it all.
She held onto them. The cogs meant something now. They were lucky, hopeful. A frenzied reward for a fight hard-earned.
It meant that she could find her again. There in the crowd. It meant that she could see her.
Just for a few seconds. A few…stupid moments of mindless indulgence. Of what could’ve been. If they were happy. If Vi hadn’t fucked everything up, without even knowing how.
She couldn’t tell you why her feet always led her back there. Every single night. To that club, that crowd. But her heart knew. It raced against her cage, it ached and said please, but she couldn’t find a way to say no.
Maybe if she blacked out hard enough, she could imagine more. More than her smile, or the way she swayed around her, arms held high and those hips begging to be pulled in.
Maybe for once, they could talk. Really talk. Vi could take another shot, get absolutely wasted and finally, finally get Caitlyn to admit what she really wanted from her.
Because apparently, Vi never really knew.
None of this comes to mind until one night, when Loris had enough of her shoving people and starting shit, and parked her ass back by the bar.
Fine. She had enough phantoms in the crowd, she couldn’t stand any more of it tonight. It always started off so innocent, the drinks and the dancing, but it always ended with such cruel reminders. With Vi hating herself for doing what she was doing, while Caitlyn was laid up in bed with who-fucking-knows.
A few words passed by her ear, but Vi didn’t really hear them until something tapped her arm. It was some girl, and her friend maybe, trying to get her attention.
Vi couldn’t really see either of them, she was too drowned by the liquor and the lights. Her vision was gone, blurred. A lot of color, doubles or triples of something with dark hair and heavy perfume.
“I saw your match!” the girl was yelling over the music, pressing towards her ear. “You were really good!”
It took a second for her brain to catch up, but eventually Vi nodded. Slightly understanding. When she noted the way this girl leaned her chest against the bar, angled those eyes up at her. Hoping for something. An invitation, some kind of sign.
Her eyebrows pinched, lost, because Vi never even thought about it. Being with someone else. It never crossed her mind. Not even once.
“…Yeah?” She ruffled her hair, her smile slipping now, tipsy. “You liked it?”
The girl blushed and nodded, and Vi realized then that she could do it. She could cut into her that way.
She could steal this girl away. Kiss her the way Caitlyn did, bite her lip before she lied. She could fuck this girl senseless until all Vi could hear was her begging for forgiveness.
She could do it. She could feel something dark curling within her, urging her forward. Wanting to lash out, to be fucking selfish for once. To prove that she had some kind of spine, somewhere, somehow, in all this mess. That she was capable of hurting someone who didn’t deserve it, just like the rest of them did.
But all the scents and the smiles and the hair was too much. Too overwhelming, too real when she leaned in— and before Vi knew it her last two shots had emptied onto their dresses; The floor swimming as her insides wrenched with pain, sickening pain, before she even knew what that sting in her nose was.
She coughed and spat over the girly shrieks, stumbling against bodies, and all she felt was hands, hands, hands, shoving her outside. Ridding of her. Until her boot caught on the curb and she tripped backwards, smacking hard into the pavement and moaning into the dirt.
Her gut seized the rest of what was left, souring her cheeks, throbbing her head. But none of this compared to the moment Vi realized how gone she truly was. When her mind cleared, and the cold realization hit about how she couldn’t even think about doing Caitlyn wrong like that.
She just couldn’t stomach it. Having any other girl that close to her; it sickened her just thinking about it. She couldn’t stand their eyelashes, their faces, their lips. She couldn’t bear the thought of having some stranger beneath her, hands touching her all over, her cheeks, her face and arms, as if they knew a single fucking thing about her.
No, she couldn’t handle that. She’d never be able to handle that.
Maybe that was what hurt most. Knowing that if Caitlyn were here right now, asking for forgiveness, Vi would.
She would, she would. In a heartbeat, she would.
When Vi returned home that night, she was already holding onto tears that refused to fall. That’s all she told herself on the walk home.
She wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t cry.
She refused to allow those tears Caitlyn had turned her head to. Because if they didn’t mean shit to her, then they didn’t mean shit to anyone.
There was no one else left. No one at all.
Vi had days scratched off into that wall, but they just kept going, and going. The door kicked shut and her chest was hammering, she couldn’t breathe. She paced around her room with burning fists, because she could feel herself falling apart. She could feel everything unraveling within her, bandage by bandage, and she couldn’t stop it.
And then it hit her, like a punch to the gut. Standing there in that room. How much she missed her cell.
She missed the safety of it, the rules and routine, of knowing what she was allowed to do. At least in there she had Powder. Even if it was just her dreams, or visions of them reuniting again. At least she had that.
Vi missed wanting her freedom. She missed it so much, because she didn’t know what to do with it now.
This was all so terrifying and she hated herself for even thinking this way, for missing that fucked-up, evil place. For making her so weak, so desperate for someone to hit the bars and tell her what to do.
It broke something inside her, right then. Because Vi knew now that she couldn’t be trusted to make any of these decisions on her own anymore. Look at what happens. She always, always chose wrong.
She smashed the mirror that night. Her blood hummed but her knuckles didn’t feel it, she wanted to feel it. For once, she wanted the pain that came with glass in her skin, but she was too wasted for it to carry on into any synapse in her brain.
Her hands trembled gripping the basin, and every bone in her body gave in at once, sinking her to the floor. She panted and sobbed, because she didn't know what to do with all this grief, all this leftover love for people who didn't want it.
It was eating her alive. Like this writhing nest sitting there inside her. She didn’t know how to stand up. She didn’t know how to fight for herself. Everything has always been for them. For the kids, for Vander. For Caitlyn.
For her person.
Vi didn’t know how to give up on her sister; how she could possibly stop loving someone she swore to her father that she would protect.
She didn’t know how to hate Caitlyn the way her body screamed at her to, because Vi knew what she did in those ventilation tunnels wasn’t really about her.
And her heart sank, because she didn’t even know where Ekko was; if he was alive or just another kid who died out here. With no face, no name. Nothing to remember him by.
She’s been alone down here for weeks and her chest turned hollow thinking about how this could be it. The rest of her life. Trapped in this room with herself, and this monster of grief sitting in the corner.
Maybe all those monsters that Vi used to scare Powder with was all she had left now. All she deserved.
She wondered if she really was any different from them. If maybe this was all she was supposed to be, in the end. Broken hands, and broken glass.
The monster you created.
Eventually the fights just become another means to an end. She could only be cocky for so long before it just gets boring.
Winning was easy enough. Vi could lay her fists into some nobody, pummel them until she couldn’t see, and then go blow all those bets that same night.
That was the key to it, she learned. Happiness.
Getting showered in coins was the high. Spending it was the peak. And the drinks that flowed soon after was the warm, slippery downer. Crashing, crashing like waves against the crowd, against the shadowy mass of bodies.
She could feel Pandemonium thumping from down the block, the shrieks of guitar rattling her skull, hurting her teeth. The moshpits were like a reset point. The way her brain turned to mush when she banged her head against the music, raging and screaming and blacking out until there was nothing left, nothing left at all.
She could slip away like this. She could turn her head up to the smoky grey and inhale so much toxic waste that she could be free.
Nobody needed her anymore. And Vi didn’t need anybody either.
Most of these nights, Vi didn’t really know how she got home. She didn’t remember the walk or any decision being made, other than that hand on her bicep, which had to be Loris dragging her up the stairs, because he seemed to be the only person capable of withstanding her— when his share was decent enough.
Those were the best nights. When Vi made it back just conscious enough to hit the bed face-first. When the room spun and her thoughts had no beginning, no end. When she was too tired to see Jinx’s shadow in the corner, or Caitlyn laying down next to her, the same way they did in her bedroom. When Vi had looked at her, really looked at her, and thought maybe she could love this girl one day.
Her eyes closed and darkness washed over her like the tide, like waves of relief. It felt so warm. The way her heart thumped slower, and slower, like she was nothing but this...shadow slipping away when daylight came.
She could feel the silence in the room when her heart stopped. When there was no blood pumping, no steady beat to remind her she was still alive.
For the first time in weeks, Vi allowed herself to smile. She didn’t know death could feel like this, so soft and hazy. Almost like falling asleep. It was what she imagined peace might feel like. Happiness.
Oh, she could die like this. The thought enters and fades, as dangerous as any knife or blade. She could die happy like this.
.
.
.
When Vi awoke again the next morning, it didn’t feel like life. It didn’t feel like a god-given second chance, or any kind of relief that her heart had kept going.
Nothing inside her ever allowed her to give up, to give in. She knew that. It was burned inside her skin, manifested with fire. Vi should have known.
But the hope was there anyway.
It was another morning that slowly turned into an evening. Most of it was spent just staring at the ceiling, her eyes lidded as she watched the neon colors melt and fade across the wall. The hum of the undercity trickling under her door, through the crack in her window.
When evening faded into night, that was when Loris always came, banging on her door to make sure she was still alive. They had a fight scheduled tonight, so he came armed with some nasty potion that was supposed to flush her system, along with some takeout. The deep-fried smell coming from the bag made her nostrils flare, but Vi had enough experience to at least aim the puke towards the sink.
Loris sat down with her. Another night of lazy cleanup and filling the sink with ice so she could bury her head into the watery depths, try and spark some life back into her brain.
Vi whipped from the sink gasping, hands on her shirt, her arm, grounding her as she fell on the floor.
That’s all Loris really offered when things got like this. Maybe a few words here and there, when Vi was low enough to cling to him—but mostly he was hands. On her shoulders, under her arm. The back of her neck, squeezing gently as he guided her back into the night, back into the concrete playground, for another starless night and a fight preordained.
Vi had a habit of downing a few before coming into the pits now. She already had a headache, so squinting under the spinning lights and radio feedback wasn't anything new. There were too many bodies, too many greasy men and broke losers. She wasn’t here to make friends.
She got ready in the backrooms, ignoring Reggie and Clyde as they argued over who took the punching bag Vi had hanging in her room.
Her mouth was dry, and it had taken a few slow attempts for her to balance her foot on the bench, try to get her boots on. The announcer’s screechy voice upstairs was like a knife in her skull, and Vi was really starting to fucking hate it here.
Loris whistled at her to hurry up, jerking his chin out the door. It was two minutes before the fight and Vi was too busy digging around the lockers, trying to find some liquid courage she'd hidden somewhere then forgot about.
She found it wedged in a corner and sighed with relief. The whiskey didn’t burn anymore. Not like how it used to. Her throat had grown so calloused that it was accustomed to it, the harsh liquor flowing like water down into her gut.
She shivered as the bottle capped, and she could feel Loris staring at her from down the hall. Vi wiped the burn from her lips, cracked her neck, and stumbled off past him.
“You’re getting sloppy,” He warned, but they were words that didn't matter now. They entered the dark, cheers rumbling the walls and sending loose dirt down on their heads.
Vi didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. Not when both of them knew the reason why. He’d seen them on the squad, he knew. He knew what Vi was trying to do every night in those bars. And it made her chest grow tight, thinking about what Loris probably thought of her now.
They had each other's backs out there in the field. He'd protected her with his shield, shielded her with his body. He followed her into that goddamn uniform because he thought she could be somebody.
Now all he did was snatch bottles away from her and drag her limp body out of the alleyway nearly every single night.
What a waste. She was a waste of a person. It felt cruel to even keep him around sometimes, to let him deal with it. Her. All of her bullshit, all of her worthlessness. All this stupid, loathsome self-pity she couldn’t dig herself out of.
Vi seethed on her way to the ring, realizing now that she couldn't stand what she's become. The liquor didn't even make her happy anymore, it was just there to make everything else quiet.
That's all she wanted now, with all the shadows in this place tickling her fucking ear. She didn't want to hear it anymore. She didn't want to see every person she's ever lost in the corners of her eyes.
All Vi wanted to hear was that bell, ringing for blood.
"Alright, alright folks! Now who's ready to see our Unkillable Demon Machine? Give it up for our Two-Headed Hound of the Undergrounddd!!”
That was the first time Vi tasted defeat in the ring. She had one too many, she lost her footing, or saw some move before it hit. That's all it took. One slip up and suddenly she's trapped on the floor, seeing nothing but flesh and red.
Something dark churned within her. When Vi found herself hungry for more of it. More of their fists, their jealousy, their rage. Beating into her, over and over, like they couldn't stand the sight of her face.
Vi knew she could kill them. That she could pry their jaws open and split their skulls, but that was the easy shit.
This was different than what her blood thirsted for, what Vi always knew about herself. There was something intoxicating about it, taking hit after hit, just to see how far she could go. How many fists and stubby fingers she could eat before it felt like her brain was bleeding out, shutting off.
Until they were too tired to keep going, and going, to crush their fingerbones and endure this fight, while Vi never tapped out, never gave in.
Because that's what these guys didn't get. None of them could ever make her feel like it was enough. Like there wasn't one more hit she could take, that she didn’t deserve.
It even made her smile sometimes, through bloody teeth and swollen gums. Because they never realized that until the bell was rung.
As time passed, Vi realized then that she never really won most fights. She was too impatient, couldn't block for shit. But if there was one thing Vander taught her ass, it was how to stand back up.
That's all it is, kiddo.
No matter how much she hated herself, no matter what her body begged her to do. Vi would always stand up, flash her teeth, and make these guys fucking earn it.
.
.
.
Notes:
songs inspired for part one: |♡ full playlist ♡
the color violet - tory lanez
playground - bea miller
angel - massive attack
cocktail molotov - zand
hydrochloride - ghostemane
rage - rico nasty
Chapter 2: products of our environment
Notes:
six months alone is a long time, so welcome to the land of what if’s 🖤
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
.
.
.
Time moved slowly, and Vi couldn’t tell the days apart.
Home wasn’t like how she remembered. The bits and pieces of it, what she’s dreamed about for so long. How it was too deep to see the stars overhead, too many shadowy caverns and sharp crevasses, fogged over by clouds of grey.
The days were getting longer, darker, detaching themselves from any sense of reality. The sumps were freezing mostly this time of year, but sometimes the fissure gases that spurt up out of the city vents gifted a bit of warmth—a decent enough trade off for the few years they took off their life.
It was a different kind of chill than Stillwater. Sometimes, then, Vi thought she could hear the ocean. Even down in solitary, where she knew it was impossible. The waves crashing against the rocks, the spray of salty mist floating from miles above, dusting her eyelids as she slept.
It felt like how Powder used to touch her when they were kids. Tiny, ghostlike fingers tracing her eyelashes when she slept, whispering her name to wake.
Most nights, then, that was the only thing that willed her to.
The salt lingered under her eyelashes when Vi dragged herself awake. Her lips cracked and dry, but not from misty waves or memories. Just smeared grease, unwashed sweat. Tear-streaks stained across her nose, down her cheeks, lost between her lips.
The slumbers clutched to her now. A heaviness around her feet, tight and suffocating like irons, dragging her down, further, deeper into the watery depths…
Waking was exhausting. When every sore muscle, every tendon and pain bursted like fire, burning across her skin. Her vision swam and swayed towards the corners of her room, for glimpses of blue hair, of blue eyes and soft touches—but it slips from her.
The day was gone, the sun already set. The room was dark and empty of time. The thought of willing her mind awake, for her bones to work...
It’s easy, how unbearable things become.
Loris had given up on patching her wounds... He didn’t come around as much anymore. Not with her shitty attitude and the way her stitches didn’t last a day.
He’d grown tired of it. Her. The way her head hit the floor night after night, the way she didn’t even try anymore. He never said it, never had the heart to.
But it was there. In his bearded frown, the tired lines beneath his eyes.
Whatever decision he made about her, Vi couldn’t blame him.
He’d gotten her the job, having worked under Smeech for a time before. He’d given her a chance at some stability, some dignity. To try and build herself back up from nothing— and all Vi had done was watch it all waste away.
She just couldn’t keep up. She couldn’t go on as if everything was okay. She couldn’t show up to these fights anymore if she wasn’t half-wasted, out of her mind, ready and willing for the gods to throw a bet and decide if she lived another day.
She didn’t want to be faced with any more decisions. She didn’t want the searing terror that came any time she was burdened with a choice.
All Vi wanted was to curl up in her room, close her eyes. Try to dream of the cold comfort of her cell, leagues below the sea.
The memories of Loris blurred, with the tide of the days, washing over in warm, hazy fragments. They’d spent a few good nights together when Vi was charming enough to get him drunk. Both of them singing down the street, stumbling down staircases, spinning around light poles hard enough to puke off the curbside. Loris was a heavyweight, that was for damn sure. And Vi always loved a challenge.
It wasn’t until he was gone that Vi realized she never really knew that much about him.
She knew his scent, his half-kept smiles. She knew his name, his hands, his kindly exasperation with her. The deeply masculine tone of his voice, and the way it softened just for her.
But she never really knew him.
Vi never thought about what it would feel like. Waiting for a knock on the door that would never come. How it felt to wander the streets, circling around the pitfights and clubs, aimless and lost, with the thought that no one here knew anything about her.
It sunk in her deeply, unexpectedly; the isolation. Because it seemed that Vi still had a talent of disappointing everyone she knew. Someway, somehow. Always and eventually.
It felt better to imagine Loris had a family somewhere. A wife, a few kids. Someone who needed him more than Vi did. Who deserved the kind of support he gave her, yet never bothered to return. Who didn’t hang on him, night after night, like this tall dirty crutch she couldn’t let go of.
In a way, it felt like relief. His absence. A weight off her shoulders. Like somehow, Loris had trained her for this.
The way he would look at her sometimes made it too hard. After the wounds started to paint pictures across her skin, and he spent more nights stitching her up than anything else.
She would never admit the words, but sometimes she would see Vander in him. Only for a second if so, but…long enough to turn her hollow. To rob her of breath, or any fleeting joy she might’ve felt with him.
It made their friendship feel like a betrayal. Like she was caught, somehow. When the wetness touched her eyes and she couldn’t bear to look away.
She swore he could tell some nights. The way he gazed at her, the way he said nothing. It felt so familiar. Those big brown eyes and that frown, carrying the same disappointment all the fathers had down here— when they looked at the kid they loved and raised, and realized what a piece of shit they turned into.
She needed him gone. She needed that feeling far, far away from her.
Vi could only be cruel so long before he got the message.
.
.
.
The distractions were nice at first. The drinks, the partying and noise of the pitfights. It had drowned out enough of the bullshit, the rage. All of the words Vi could never bear to say.
But it had grown tired, just like everything else. She didn’t want to talk anymore. She didn’t want to argue. She was so over fighting back against everything.
Every swing she dodged, every instinct she had telling her to stand up, get to her feet… It just didn’t feel worth it. Vander’s voice was so weak whenever she passed out, it was exhausting even trying to find it during the fights.
Now all Vi wanted was to be rid of it. She didn't want to pretend like she had anymore reasons to keep going. She just wanted the god-awful silence that came with this part of her life.
The nightlife refused to rest however, with all the laughing kids and stray dogs howling over the streets. Clancy’s wasn’t anything special; another hole dug into the ground, another guy behind a counter listening to radio, switching through all the news stations of the upper Lanes, under the same dusty green lanterns as the rest of the town.
The door chimed like clockwork. Like a shadow, Vi disappeared behind the shelves, drawn towards all the backrooms and stairs that lead nowhere. The only friend she had now was the pitch-black basement full of barrels and casks, aged with various states of decay.
The bottles were stuffed in damp hay, old newspapers. The storeowner didn't really have anything that wasn't domestic, brown ales and stiff bourbons. Sometimes he would splurge on some out-of-town stuff he knew Vi liked, and was willing to pay for back when she was hot shit, but not so much now. Not when both of them knew she only had a few cogs in her pocket. Well, to her whole name, really.
Vi tried to ignore how slightly pathetic it was, walking to the counter— losing so many bets with these matches, she couldn’t even afford the semi-decent liquor she liked.
Whatever. The cheap shit would taste exactly how she expected anyways: another bitter reminder that nothing good ever stayed.
The walks home became ritualistic, a bloodspell that kept her moving, kept her alive. Her feet drawing circle after circle, from this place to that, a rune that stretched the whole city.
But it wasn’t just the silence, the isolation, that drove daggers into her ears that night—it was something far more real.
A wail.
One that ricocheted across rooftops, rattling her ribs and piercing her heart— a scream so devastating that it had Vi whipping around and around, trying to find why it sounded so familiar.
Then she realized. It was the same sound that stirred her very soul the night she lost Vander. Her brothers. When she saw the evil man that stood over Powder, carrying that blade, and felt herself dragged the opposite way.
Everything happened within seconds. The drunken blur of neon lights, the flickering chemlamps stinging her eyes, all sorts of strangers rushing past. Her feet followed the rush of adrenaline, the panic swelling her chest, and Vi found herself in a crowd filling one of the alleyways—
“That’s my baby!”
Suddenly her feet go rigid, stuck there in shackles as others fly past. An onslaught of voices, cries, muddling her ear—
“Oh my god—”
“Back up! Give her some space!”
“Fuck… fuck. It’s another one …”
It was just a glimpse, but it was enough. For the acid in her gut to churn, to threaten her. When Vi saw the bloody clothes, the little fingers. The tiny body that laid there, unmoving.
Another little girl… ripped to shreds…
Through the whirlwind, Vi gathered what she could. The recent deaths haunting the Lanes, whispers of a killer—stalking children like prey, vanishing into the night and leaving nothing but small, bloody bodies behind. Some even mentioned sightings of a beast. Something with claws and teeth, hiding in the shadows, deep within the mines.
Omens like this weren’t unheard of. Not to them. There was always monsters lurking in the depths of this place, things exposed and deformed with enough grey and toxic waste.
The sumps took a toll on everything, everyone. Didn’t matter who you were. What you believed. There were no sides down here. Just shitty luck at how far down the fissures you were born. Piltover was responsible for a lot of fuckery when it came to Zaun, but this…
Even this kind of pain was beyond them.
This was just…the price of living.
With a shaky inhale, Vi slid away from the bodies, the noise. Desperate for somewhere quieter. She washed all this down with a sip. Burning away the fear, the guilt coating her throat, when the cries over her shoulder began to warble and fade. The sounds of a heart being utterly, completely broken.
The sound of a mother, giving up.
Her fist curled around the neck of the bottle, threatening to crack, and it took everything for Vi not to look back. The blood in her eyes throbbed instead, shrouded with memories of Silco’s factory, her own stupid voice—
One dead kid? There’s hundreds more where he came from. You just never had to see it.
See it, see it.
Even now, after everything she did with Jayce, the horror and regret he had killing that kid— the fate that Vi tried to save Caitlyn from. They still never had to see it. Not like this.
When it was behind every corner, down every alley. Whether under the sun, or beneath craggy rock and slivers of moon.
Somehow, someway. It was always the innocent who paid.
The night ended at Jericho’s for a round or two, some small-talk and radio, and Vi fighting for a way to calm her heart. The drunker she got, the better it felt to know they were real sometimes.
Monsters.
Mostly they were myths or tales, but down here, it felt good to know there was a reason for all the fear and madness that seemed to steep this place. If anything, this just proved it. Monsters were easy.
That was what Vi thought, at least. Before she realized most monsters were human.
The revelation hits her like a lightning bolt, white-hot and shocking—followed by laughter crackling along the sky.
She was halfway home when another smash landed on her back, crushing her to the ground. She didn’t remember standing up, cashing out. Her body moved on instinct, nails digging into the concrete, but too many colors swam behind her eyelids. Her mouth watered instantly at the pain, fighting the bile curling up her throat.
Fuck, she’s too…
“One more! C’mon she’s a fighter!”
She tried to focus on the faces once they lingered closer, but she couldn’t stop the fear, the betrayal, when she recognized Reggie’s toothless wheeze, Clyde’s ugly sideburns. Fucking Jarven’s two-faced smile.
They were all faces she knew, faces she’s bloodied. All pitfighters. Her own people…
The confusion hurt her more than the lead pipe.
“I’d say this isn’t anything personal but…” sighed Jarven. "Why lie?"
He kicked her while she was down, rolling her over onto her back. Vi rasped at them, flicking her eyes back and forth, between them all, “Don’t tell me I hurt your feelings, Jar.”
He sneered at her, grabbing a fistful of her bangs, “See, now it’s that right there that got you right here.” He crouched low, down to her eyes where he bore his own, “You might’ve gotten away with that shitty attitude before, but the boss doesn't take too kindly to sellouts. Said he wanted to give you his regards."
Vi nearly scoffed. Thinking about it now, she did have a fight scheduled tonight—but truthfully, had gotten more into the habit of skipping them when she couldn’t be bothered. Oversleeping, bad time-management; whatever you wanted to call it.
Vi just didn’t really assume anyone would fucking care whether she was there, or won or not.
Apparently, Smeech did. Very much so. Enough to think she was throwing them on purpose.
“You think I give enough of a shit to cheat these fights?” She desperately asked. A few knives gleamed as she stumbled to her feet, and Vi couldn’t help the excited burst in her belly. She’d been so wrapped up in fairy fights, she almost forgot what a real one felt like.
Good.
The blood in her fist warmed, hungry to prove it still had a little kick in her. The kind that didn’t have a bell to ring, a limit to push. No one to claw herself off of them when she just couldn’t stop.
But even seeing the drunken sway in Vi’s feet, they didn’t dive in blind. These brawlers knew exactly who she was. What she was. They’ve eaten her knuckles before, tasted her blood. None of them stumbled into this fight on a whim. They were patient, armed, working as shadows over her shoulder, behind her back.
The alley they were in was secluded, quiet. Vi always wandered this route home from the fights, took all the same shortcuts. They must’ve been following her for a while now.
The whole setup was almost flattering. Impressive. More than she would’ve credited Smeech for, anyway.
“Wow,” Vi commented, her sunken eyes following their feet. All six of them. It hurt to smile, but still gave it her best shot. “All this for little old me?”
She supposed this was deserved for running with that stupid rat knowing what he was. She knew what he did when he wasn’t gambling away his profits.
“Please, don’t go strokin’ yourself like that. You’re washed up. Everybody knows,” Clyde said.
He kicked her bottle aside and Reggie swiped it up. He unscrewed the cap, gave it a whiff and a cough.
The whiskey leaked out, slowly, dribbling into the cobblestones. Vi laughed, once, painfully to herself—as if that was supposed to hurt her feelings.
Her eyes slid closed, just for one second. All Vi remembered after that was swashes of blurriness, of blunted pain and racing thoughts.
The odds are shit, kiddo. But you’ve beaten worse.
Get up, get up. Move your feet. Dodge this one, eat the next.
He’s weak on his left side. That one’s slow on the rebound. Behind you, behind you—
Before she knew it her knee was kicked in and suddenly time moved in frames, raw exposed frames of teeth and blood and a blade buried into her thigh. Vi didn’t look, refused to. It’s not real. It can’t hurt if it’s not real.
Darkness spotted her vision, smearing around like paint and graffiti, and Vi couldn’t move her leg— just the weight of the world as her head tumbled to the ground.
Through the haze, Jarven barked at the two down bodies, screaming at them, calling them useless, pathetic. His own hand pressed to his gut, teeth bared and hobbled in pain.
The voice was sudden, spat against her ear, "He expects you to be there tomorrow, ready to make some fucking money. That clear?"
It was then Vi knew something had to be wrong with her. Because as much she’s begged and pleaded for someone to snap at her, to give her direction, to tell her what to do—
Hearing that lights her up like nothing else.
The rage consumes her, blinds her, peeling her lips back as she claws back to her feet. The howling wind covering the sound of her footfalls as she ran and ran to cut that fist across his cheek.
His jaw cracked as it hit the pavement. Vi smiled at the sound of it, bloody and crazed, before her knees collapsed the same exact way.
A few blissful moments of panting and silence, of stars and spotlights, and the proud grin of a long-gone friend.
Maybe Vi couldn’t right her wrongs, but she could still right those hooks.
.
.
.
It wasn’t unusual for Vi, throughout her life, to dream of her sister.
She hadn’t for weeks now; her brain too used to shutting off, blacking out. Trying to evolve past the need for memories, wishes, any hopes or desires.
But sometimes, they slipped through the cracks. When her head touched the mattress and the simple blurriness of being alive started to look like Powder, sitting up in the rafters of her ceiling. Dark swathes of blue pigtails, of quick footsteps and giggles echoing through her ear.
But sometimes, and more often, the visions looked like Jinx.
Those were the worst nights. When Vi would pull herself from the dark, sticky depths of a dream and freeze at the violet eyes, staring right at her. Hidden there behind the door, the shadows of her subconscious. The guilt that flooded her system as Vi realized, with terrifying velocity, how much she fear she had for her own sister.
This Jinx now was different. She moved around her room lazily, kicking around empty bottles, playing with the makeup around her sink. The same mousy curiosity in her steps, the tilt of her shoulders, that Vi recognized when they were kids.
She’s never seen her so lifelike. Her vision swam around the room, throbbing behind her eyes. Vi tried leaning up, but barely could through the smear of her migraine, the blood caked in her makeup.
But then, everything stopped. Once Jinx turned from the mirror, and Vi saw those fingers holding her smudgy black eyeliner.
No hallucination could do that. No hallucination was that real.
Jinx attempted a smile, a bit weak and unsure. Almost as if she couldn’t believe Vi was there, live in the flesh.
“Lookin’ good, sis…”
Vi didn’t remember standing, moving. Just Jinx’s back smashing into the wall. Gnarled fingers dug around her neck and Vi couldn’t stop the panic bubbling within her, the furious rasping as she tried to wake her body up. To get her instincts back, her fear, anything for her to fight, fight, fight—
She knew the day would come where Jinx would finish what she started. When she would find Vi weak and alone, and take her chance to slither up from the shadows. The muscle of her arm locked on instinct and Vi cocked her fist back—
But this Jinx didn’t fight back. She just stared at her, wounded and terrified. Struggling to breathe, to speak. Vi cut that off instantly, “I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth.”
“It’s…It’s…” Her wheezes pushed out breathless, quiet. Painful. “…Vander…s… a-alive…”
It still set Vi aflame the thought, the nerve of Jinx to come here after everything she did, after finding her this way— but it was the sound of that name that knocked the wind out of her. That had her grip weakening without realizing, before pressing in tighter— “We both know that’s bullshit,” Vi spat, sending her fist into the wall. “I’m not falling for one of your tricks!”
Jinx was gasping now, and every dark urge that’s sat in Vi’s belly for months wanted to squeeze tighter. Make her squirm, make her hurt, the same way Jinx has always, always forced her to.
For a moment she indulged that pit inside her. Watching Jinx writhe and struggle against her. But she couldn’t look past that one shimmered tear slipping down her cheek, those nails biting into her fist, begging her to stop.
Vi just couldn’t trust it. She wasn’t sure how to anymore.
All she could see was Powder. The blue hair, the button nose. The cheeks she used to hold when things got scary. But it was the same face that’s tricked her before. When the innocence fades and the mask drops, and that evil smirk slides up her lips. When there’s nothing but radioactive eyes and a barrel pressed into her gut, seconds from pulling the trigger.
When she proves, yet again, there was nothing left but Jinx now.
No, no.
Vi was done being tricked. She was done begging for people she never really had to come back to her.
Jinx’s boots hit the floor in defeat, as Vi shoved away from her. Her back turned as that voice rasped out, “He needs our help. I can prove it…”
Vi held in a breath, staring off at the floor, the concrete wall. All the scratches scattered across the brick.
Vander.
Her heart pulsed, splintered and grew. Hearing that one word, that name, she could never bring herself to say. Not when she couldn’t even really picture him anymore.
All she saw when she closed her eyes was some twisted, haunted fusion of him and Loris. The guilt already there, gnawing at her stomach, as it fueled her next words:
“Get out of my apartment, Jinx.”
But all she did was scoff while standing up, rubbing her throat. A few extra moments Jinx used to catch her breath, finally glance about the room. The silence said everything.
“I would say nice digs but…” She chuckled, drifting off.
Vi went back to her cot, lying down and turning from her. Her eyes stuck on the walls, the days and days counted off. “If you came here to finish me off, then just do it already.”
“Jeez, sis,” Jinx drawled, pressing her lips shut. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have dragged your ass up those dumb stairs...”
She waited for some snarky remark, a shitty comeback. Nothing came. She stared off Vi’s back then, noting the old bandages, the paint smeared across her shoulders. All the black ink, the plumes of smoke that so closely resembled her own…
All of it hidden, now. Gone.
“Look,” She mustered then, looking away. “I didn’t come to…hash it out, y’know. I came because…he’s out there, looking for us— Vander—”
“Don't say his name,” Vi demanded. Pleaded. Her voice was barely a whisper, “Just go.”
It wasn’t hope that squeezed her eyes, not wanting this to be a lie. It was because she would never be able to forgive her if it was. She would never be able to call Jinx her sister again if she came here, and lied about Vander just to bait her somewhere, to get what she wanted. Using the only thing she knew would tip Vi over the edge, after playing around in all the broken pieces.
Jinx seethed at her, “I’m not lying about this!”
“What does it matter if you’re lying, Jinx! You believe whatever you wanna believe anyways!” Vi yelled, every word coming out more desperate, more frustrated than the last. “Doesn’t matter what I tell you, right? What do I know? I was locked in a box for seven years, why would I know shit about anything?”
“Exactly,” Jinx hissed. “You weren’t here, that’s what you don’t get! And I know…what Marcus did but— you just don’t understand anything about what happened, what I’ve had to do—”
The cut on her lip pulled, and Vi sat up to whirl on her, “How can I? How can I when every time I get close, when I try, you shove a stupid gun in my face?”
The words bubbled up, more and more, spilling out as Jinx gaped at her.
“How can I get close to you when— when—” It all gets stuck in her throat, clogging her up, “—when you hurt me every time I do? I mean, I don’t get you! Why? Why do that?”
Vi burned for an answer. Any kind of explanation for herself. But Jinx just stared off at the floor, unresponsive. Her eyes dull. Bored. It made Vi want to scream at her again. To get in her face and force the truth, any kind of truth from her.
But Jinx just shrugged, eventually. As if that’s all there was. “So you would know how it feels.”
It didn’t hit right away. The confession, Jinx could barely utter. But Vi could feel her heart crack, piece by piece, with every passing second. Thinking about all the times she tried to hug her, touch her, show any kind of love— only to be pushed away like she had thorns in her skin.
Her head shook, again and again, refusing the wetness in her eyes. She wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t cry.
Not here, not now.
Not in front of her.
“Get out.”
Jinx realized her mistake instantly, squeezing her eyes, like this was all coming out wrong, “Vi— That’s not— Shit. Just listen, okay? I’m here because of Vander—” She sputtered, “I saw him, he’s just… H-He’s different—”
A bottle flew and shattered against the wall, and Jinx’s eyes went wide, “Just leave, Jinx!” Vi caved, slipping back down onto the cot, more bottles scattering from around her feet. She sneered under the darkness of her hair, wiping her eyes. “I am so done…running into bullets for you.”
Jinx swallowed, her fingers twitchy, restless again. “I’m not asking you to do this for me. And,” She sucked in a breath, one of confidence, “I’m not going until we talk about this.”
“Now you wanna talk? Now?” Vi snapped, staring up at her, “Now you want me to listen to you? Just like that, after everything you’ve done? Give me one good reason, one—why I should believe anything you have to say!”
Jinx fought for something, anything to say, and Vi hated how young she looked. How desperate, how lost those eyes were—when they weren’t even Powder’s anymore. She hated how her fists curled, wanting to reach out for them.
“It’s important, Vi...” She insisted, frowning. “It’s Dad.”
Her head shook, against herself, and Vi resisted every urge in her to say it. That fiery itch on her tongue, the one that wanted to snarl, Which one?
The one that died for us? Or the one responsible for it?
—but nothing comes. She could never let it come. Because Vi knew it wasn’t fair. She knew that Powder was so young, that she had no choice. But it didn’t stop how much it hurt to think about.
And Jinx could see it, under the smear of her eyes. Every word, every lash. Stifled down like knives in her throat, swallowed, burning beneath her skin.
Wrong answer.
“Get out of here, Jinx.”
Before I say something I regret.
There were those shimmery eyes again. So big, so childlike. So hauntingly familiar. The same ones that sat on her knees, staring up at her, weeping with tears— while Vi’s hand dug into her cheeks.
Violet, please…
Vi couldn’t bear the sight of them. And she couldn’t bear to believe them again.
She didn’t want to withstand any more of this— it all felt too cruel, too heartbreaking, and if Jinx wasn’t going to leave her shithole apartment then Vi would.
It was the only decision she’s made in weeks that felt right. Because right now, it was the only thing keeping her from putting hands on her sister again.
Vi left breathlessly into the nightfall, and suddenly it was all she could think about, all she could see—
Vander, Vander, Vander.
She tried to push him out of her mind, to see past the blurry, throbbing visions of him on the street. But she was panting, limping on the hot wound of her gash, all pain and hope and fire wracking her body.
She couldn’t think. All Vi could do was feel, and all she felt was fury at her sister.
The nerve of Jinx to come to her like that, to put those thoughts in her head after everything she’s done— Vi wanted to kill her. She wanted to kill everyone she ever knew, anyone who looked at her the wrong way. She wanted to set fire to a match and watch it all burn.
So you would know how it feels.
Tears stung her eyes as she shoved down the sidewalk, thinking over and over, How long?
How long would Jinx keep doing this to her? How long would Jinx keep punishing her, blaming her until she was satisfied? Until her own sister was as miserable and broken as she was?
How long would Vi let her?
Vi tore her way through the city, blinded with hate, heart pounding and fists quivering with rage. She ended up at the only spot in town she knew would satiate the bloodlust. The wind howling behind her as the doors knocked open, slamming against the walls.
The fighters were already waiting for her when she arrived, along with Smeech sitting high up on his ringmaster’s stand— as if it were some throne for him to gaze down from.
It seemed Jarvan had already given his toothless spiel, while Reggie and Clyde sunk further into the crowd.
“What, is this you finishing me off, Pinky?” Smeech bellowed.
“Well, you sent your regards. I just wanted to make you got mine,” Vi jerked her chin out, right to where all three of those assholes hid there behind him. A bunch of rats behind the rat king. “If you felt the need to chat about how I was performing, you could've at least bought me a drink first— warmed me up a little.”
Smeech chuckled, as he always did with her. “What’s the fun in that? And you should know by now, it ain’t words that make the big bucks here. So why would I have any tolerance for lame stock?”
Her jaw locked, fighting back the fuck you on her tongue. “Hot words. Why don’t you come down and check that yourself then?”
Smeech droned, bored with her. “Oh right, sure. But what’s the point of paying for muscle if I can’t use it?”
Fine. If Vi needed to prove something, then she would. If she needed to take on every single body in this place, every enemy she’s ever downed, every amateur she let walk all over her— She’d show them all, right now.
The only reason Vi ever lost was because she chose to.
She approached the ring, the familiar second-home of sweaty floors and swaying spotlights. That flighty itch in her had worn off since she had woken up with Jinx, but she could feel it ramping up again. Numbing the gash in her leg, all the bruises on her chest and wounds on her face.
If Vi had to fight for some fucking respect in this life, then she’d make one hell of a show for it. And much to Smeech’s gritty satisfaction, Vi did.
She took on anyone who dared step in the ring, anyone who dared try and win the biggest bet the pits had seen since she even started. Until all the faces blurred into one, until she lost count and any feeling in her hands. Until every disgusting, heartbreaking feeling inside of her that Jinx drudged up was drowned out again—by the only thing she was good at, fists and fury, and that shellshock ringing in her ears.
For the first time in weeks, Vi finally felt like she was worth something again.
She was on her seventh or eighth body when the exhaustion started to hit, the adrenaline draining from her feet, her legs. When no one else stepped up, no one else dared. When her title was won again. Her boots stumbling across the ring, squinting under the spotlights, and the bloodlust in her teeth went right towards Smeech—and the rest of his court.
Vi waved a few fingers, smiling wetly. That all you got?
But if there was one lesson Vi learned about celebrating a victory: Don’t challenge a Chembaron with a wink, and make sure all of their fighters were down first, so one of them didn’t tackle you clean off the ring.
They had to shave off a section of her hair to stitch it up. When her skull split hard enough on the concrete that she had to be hauled to one of the clinics, leaving the janitor to mop up the blood.
When Vi woke up, she was somewhere foreign to her, unfamiliar. This wasn't like all the other times she crossed too many wires, where she could remember dark pieces of walking home, dropping on her floor. This awakening only fed into the panic, the fear, when she saw all the buzzing basement lights, the cramped walls, how many men surrounded her.
Everything was blurred, swaying in and out of sight. Faces, strangers. A mess of bandages, needles, bloody gauze piled beside her.
Her throat was on fire, too painful to swallow through. She forced the words out even though they shredded her, the question she almost didn’t dare ask. Once she saw Smeech there, sitting at her bedside, smoking patiently from a shimmer pipe.
"Thought you were gonna finish me off,” She croaked. Her lips twitching with a grin, before the effort got to be too much.
Why didn’t you?
Smeech hummed in appreciation, amused by her. He sat up, crossed his mechanical leg over the other, "I could’ve, don’t get me wrong. But then again, I said the same thing once, so. Guess we're both shit liars, huh?"
He nodded at a few boys, all of whom left the basement, one by one. Vi didn’t trust them, any of them— but something about watching them leave her made her fingers twitch, her instincts pick up.
Smeech took off his hat as the door shut, casually brushing off some dust from the rim. Some attempt at sincerity, it seemed. Not that Vi knew whether to believe it.
"Look Pink, you got me. It was fun for a while, I’ll admit. Watching you make little fools outta the fists I paid good money for. But now...god, it just hurts,” He confessed, frowning down on her. “All this…wasted potential of yours.”
Vi would laugh, if the sound didn’t tear something open inside. He didn’t even know the half of it.
“You wanted my attention, well you got it. I see you, okay?” Smeech went on, as if he were some huffy, overworked parent. “You can take a hit, you're hungry for it. And as for loyalty, well. I think with that little stunt you pulled, you owe me one, right?”
The words drifted, as though he was waiting for some response. A spark in her eye, a simple acknowledgment—
Something that would doom Vi instantly, if she did.
Smeech bristled, the more Vi avoided his eyes. The way they glazed over now, dull. Lifeless. Bored.
The Yordle sat forward, invading her space with scraggly teeth and bitter insistence, “I gave you everything you could want. Money, freedom, a place to lay your head,” He scoffed. “What, you think Loris just had a pair of keys laying around?”
The name was enough to bring her back, ground her, flicking her gaze over.
“You might not believe me, but I can see it now. The only thing you’re missin'.” He shook his head, leaning back with a chuckle, “A purpose.”
Here we go. Vi nearly rolled her eyes, but kept them on him out of spite, watching, waiting—
“I know that look. You think of me as your enemy. Like I’m fuckin’ with you. I’m not,” He insisted, raising his little paws up, as earnestly as he could. “You really wanna lose your shit? You wanna hurt things that deserve it? I got it all right here, waitin’ for you.”
His voice carried to her ear, whispering low, “Just don’t…bite the hand…that feeds you.”
When Vi still said nothing, he leaned in close. Too close. “Trust me, Pink. I’ve heard all about what you were in Stillwater. I’ve seen all of what you can do now…with the right push,” He chuckled, glancing up to those stitches. “I'll give you something to put your fists into. Fuck the pitfights, fuck the games. You want a good reason, I’ll find you one. That’s all you need, right? Someone to…let you off your leash?”
Her teeth ground and ground, but Vi couldn’t will anything to say. Her throat closed without warning, swallowing anything in her defense, anything to tell him that wasn’t her.
But she couldn’t. With angry tears swarming her eyes, she couldn’t open her mouth and lie that any of this wasn’t true.
Smeech saw this. He knew. He grinned at her, wide and knowing, because he knew right then he had won.
For so long Vi wanted to scream at Jinx for working under Silco. She could call every single person who betrayed Vander a traitor, but she never could with her.
Maybe, with this, Vi could understand it now. How easy it was to fall into. How no matter what Powder might've done or what cogs she scrounged up, it was impossible to not be faced with this. Some kind of kingpin, or Chembaron or shitty little streetgang, promising to keep her safe from the world.
Was this really all there was?
Something touched Vi’s cheek, and she closed her eyes to it. The small, tender claw that traced the bruise of her cheekbone, up towards those few lines of ink. The tattoo she regretted so heavily now, because it was the name she could never hide.
The name she was so desperate to have, all those years ago, when she was nothing but just a number.
"You're mine now,” came that voice again, murmured gently into her ear. “…You understand?"
For the first time in a long time, Vi felt the bars closing in on her again. Every choice, every decision, all those freedoms she couldn’t bear—slipping from her.
For the first time in a long time, Vi felt locked away and safe again, leagues beneath the sea.
.
.
.
Her room was bare by the time Vi returned. Not that she really expected Jinx to stay, but…
For some reason, and probably always, the hope was there.
But, there was relief, too. So much of it. She didn’t have the energy to deal with her, whatever lies or…mistruths she believed.
All Vi wanted was to lay down, close her eyes. Hope whatever concussion or brain damage she had was bad enough to make it so she never woke again.
It would solve everything…
But she couldn’t. No matter how much she thought about it, wished it, dreamed it— day after fucking day—
Vi just never could. And it was times like these that she really hated herself for it. Because now she pushed it too far, and she couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t drink on these pills or shut her brain off.
She was stuck here now, again. Alive, awake. Trapped in this room with every version of herself she despised.
The pieces of her mirror still laid scattered across the floor, kicked aside, forgotten. Vi clenched the basin, wanting nothing more but to collapse. To let her knees sink to the floor, to close her eyes and forget this day. To forget Smeech’s whispered words, and that claw on her cheek.
She didn’t want to think about Jinx standing here, in the same position as her, after months of silence— smiling into the same mirror Vi could hardly bear to look at now.
She inhaled deeply, once. Her lips trembling, pulling. Bracing for it. Her reflection. All distorted lights, jagged pieces of bleeding skin and smeared black. The hollowness under her eyes, what little was left behind them.
There were stitches protruding from her skull, pink patches peeking through the black slick. She could see her skin throbbing, bloody and crusted over, shaved away on the uncut side.
She pushed the strands back, what was left of them, that always fell over her left cheek and eye. The side of her that bore no blemishes, no scars. Nothing to scare away those that dared meet her gaze.
The side she refused to let anyone see; but seemed to be a luxury she couldn’t afford anymore.
If Jinx found her here, in the depths of this place, then it was true there was no hiding from anyone. No matter how far down she dug herself. It wasn’t enough to smear makeup and abandon her name, it wasn’t enough to claw at the tattoo scrawled across her cheek.
Vi just didn’t want to look this way anymore. She didn’t want her heart to drop every time she caught herself in the mirror.
It wasn’t enough.
The buzzer clenched in her fist, her knuckles bloodless and white against the basin. A thousand thoughts flooding her mind, the turmoil in her eyes.
She wanted to believe that getting rid of it all would be easier. Maybe then that would change something, or at least force her to face herself.
But her fingers trembled, thinking this way, because it was the same hair that her mother used to touch. To card through her fingers, to snip away at and style whenever Vi wanted to be close to her.
The haircut that somehow became part of who she was, without realizing. A keepsake of her parents, her real parents, and all those left behind.
But maybe it was time to give up on this side of her. What she was. Maybe this way, Vi could turn into something truly unrecognizable and detach herself, and then she wouldn't be faced with the temptation of strangling her sister with her bare hands.
“Vander’s… alive…”
Alive, alive.
Even thinking the word made her sick. The gruesome visions of him that Vi couldn’t rid of, couldn't stop seeing behind her eyes when she was terrified and trapped in that cell. His body lying there in the rubble, the heat of the fire and how…broken he looked. The way his skin bloated and his veins burst, pulsing and ravaged by shimmer.
The way Vi couldn’t move under that stone wall at first. The weight crushing her ribs, her back, the fear consuming every lit-up nerve in her body. How all she wanted was to scream but there wasn’t enough air in her lungs—
Oh.
That one, paralyzing moment of seeing Milo, Claggor’s bloody goggles. Everyone around her gone, gone, within seconds—and being so sure that she was next.
She watched Vander die. She watched anything that was left inside him drain out of his eyes, right before she promised him to look after Powder.
“He’s alive.”
Fuck. You.
Why do that? Why track her down and come all this way just to twist the knife of that night even further?
Why? Even after all this time, chasing Jinx across the Lanes just to be with her, trying to stop her from what she was becoming, being shot at, pushed aside and blamed, again and again—Vi should know what she wanted by now. She should know how she thinks, how to handle her and yet...she just can't.
She never has. And she knew, she knew that was the only reason Jinx really hated her.
Maybe this was her way of proving it. That Vi never really knew her, or what she was capable of. That they really didn't belong together anymore. All because she failed so miserably at understanding her own sister.
In every universe, in every timeline, no matter how much love she poured into them—it would always be the same.
Powder fell down a well. She’s gone.
There’s nothing left but Jinx now.
If that was the case…then maybe that meant there was nothing left of Violet either.
Maybe it was time for Vi to let her go, too.
Her eyes slip closed, without another thought. The buzzer whirred, and piece by piece, dark bloody hair fell into the sink…
.
.
.
Notes:
don’t worry, (visions of) caitlyn will return soon…
songs inspired for part two: |♡ full playlist ♡
change (in the house of flies) - deftones
ptolemaea - ethel cain
i wanna be adored - king woman
hit the floor - denzel curry
i see darkness in you - red mecca
Pastai on Chapter 1 Mon 09 Dec 2024 08:50AM UTC
Comment Actions
Emrys666 on Chapter 1 Mon 09 Dec 2024 04:46PM UTC
Comment Actions
LovelyLilacLisa on Chapter 1 Mon 09 Dec 2024 05:48PM UTC
Comment Actions
Epimethus on Chapter 1 Tue 10 Dec 2024 01:16PM UTC
Comment Actions
PORO_cITVI on Chapter 1 Thu 09 Jan 2025 01:48PM UTC
Comment Actions
xXAlchemist97Xx on Chapter 1 Wed 18 Jun 2025 01:51PM UTC
Comment Actions
terpsichori on Chapter 1 Mon 01 Sep 2025 03:26PM UTC
Last Edited Mon 01 Sep 2025 03:29PM UTC
Comment Actions
GfSyg on Chapter 2 Wed 19 Mar 2025 12:40AM UTC
Comment Actions
anexus on Chapter 2 Thu 20 Mar 2025 08:42AM UTC
Comment Actions
thatmediocrewriting on Chapter 2 Sun 23 Mar 2025 06:00PM UTC
Last Edited Sun 23 Mar 2025 06:00PM UTC
Comment Actions
Epimethus on Chapter 2 Tue 25 Mar 2025 11:07PM UTC
Comment Actions
daviles97 on Chapter 2 Fri 28 Mar 2025 01:58AM UTC
Comment Actions
garfieldantics on Chapter 2 Sun 13 Apr 2025 12:07AM UTC
Comment Actions
Marcia_rogerts on Chapter 2 Mon 19 May 2025 01:59PM UTC
Comment Actions
Grzegorz on Chapter 2 Fri 18 Jul 2025 10:46AM UTC
Comment Actions
General_cupcake on Chapter 2 Tue 05 Aug 2025 10:38PM UTC
Last Edited Tue 05 Aug 2025 10:39PM UTC
Comment Actions
thescriptorium on Chapter 2 Tue 12 Aug 2025 09:05PM UTC
Comment Actions
General_cupcake on Chapter 2 Tue 12 Aug 2025 09:27PM UTC
Last Edited Tue 12 Aug 2025 09:27PM UTC
Comment Actions