Chapter Text
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Feet pounding on the floor.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Heartbeats roaring.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Guttural screams and groans—a choir of doom, swelling in volume with each step closer to their prey.
Jayce looks at Viktor, breath ragged, desperately gulping down as much air as possible. Viktor is worse for wear, the jog towards any sort of building they could use for protection causing pain to flare through his leg. They couldn’t even find a building—only a few abandoned shipping containers in the middle of a field off the highway. The sound of the blaring car alarm which got them into this mess in the first place blares in the distance.
“Use me as leverage, I’m pushing you up,” Jayce rasps out, already kneeling on the floor next to the metal crate, interlocking his hands to create a foothold.
Viktor is so out of breath he can’t reply, he just moves. Jayce pushes him up the side of the container, and he clambers the rest of the way up, spine aching almost unbearably.
He immediately reaches a hand down, bracing himself against the edge, ready to pull Jayce up along with him.
But Jayce doesn’t move, his eyes are trained on the horde of undead closing in on them. A hundred meters? Fifty?
“Jayce, come on!” He yells, fingers splaying out.
The infected are too close to pull Jayce up in time. They both realize this. “Grab my damn hand Jayce! ” Viktor yells regardless.
Instead of complying, Jayce shoves their rifle into Viktor’s open palm. “Five bullets, keep them off me,” he pants, looking up to Viktor as if praying towards a god. It was the only ammo they had.
And it’s like a switch has been flicked in Viktor’s mind. Escape wasn’t an option anymore. The adrenaline kicks into overdrive.
Jayce is shoving off his backpack while Viktor throws down a baseball bat. “Don’t you fucking die on me!” He yells as Jayce grabs the bat and makes a run for it.
Not a moment later, the first of the horde make it to the shipping container—slamming their entire bodies against the metal, hands outstretched to claw at Viktor. As long as he stood in the middle of the container, he was safe.
Without his bag weighing him down, Jayce is able to gain a good amount of distance between himself and the infected chasing after him. Even so, he grips the baseball bat hard enough to lose circulation. All it takes is one slip-up, one trip, and he would be dead.
He looks behind him, the horde chasing after him smaller now because half of them are on Viktor. Despite this, they are once again gaining on him. Jayce hopes that after running enough distance, the horde will be spread out enough that he can take them out one by one with his bat.
BANG!
The shot rings out through the open field. Jayce watches as bits and pieces of brain explode from the infected closest to him, the headless body falling limp to the floor. His heart flutters as he turns to see Viktor, standing tall on the crate, looking down the scope of the rifle. God, he was lucky to have him.
BANG!
Viktor pulls the trigger again, watching another runner fall to the floor behind Jayce. He tuts, not a headshot that time, as he pushes and pulls the lever of the gun to reload. His ears are ringing from the sound, drowning out the screaming creatures below, however his mind is clear. If he knew one thing, it was how to shoot. And so he shot—nuzzling his cheek against the rifle as if it were a pillow.
BANG!
The first of the undead had caught up to Jayce, only a few yards behind. He stops in his tracks, too tired to run, planting his feet and readying his bat. He counts in his head the seconds it takes for the infected to arrive, chest heaving in desperate amounts of air.
One… two… CRACK!
He swings the bat directly at the runner’s head, throwing the thing off balance and onto the floor. All it takes is a good stomp for the thing’s brains to spill. He huffs, looking up to see how far away the next ones are. There are only three more on him, but they’re quite close to each other. Dealing with three at once with only a bat would be a death wish—Jayce looks back to Viktor.
Viktor, who is dangling off the side of the container.
It had happened so fast, one moment Viktor was lining up the shot and the next his bad leg was dragged out from under him—his whole body falling back and slamming down onto the metal as he was pulled forward towards the edge. His foot was stuck in the loop of his discarded backpack, and the infected had managed to get a hold of a loose strap dangling off the side of the container.
The rifle had dropped from his hands during the fall, head swimming and ears ringing from the impact of his head against the unforgiving metal. He blindly reaches out for his cane as he’s being dragged off, feet over the edge, all the while desperately trying to shake his foot free. He feels the metal screws of his back brace grind against the container.
Undead hands grip at his ankles now, pulling off one of his boots as they try to claw him down further.
The moment Viktor feels the familiar worn wood of his cane, he sits up on the edge of the container, unsheathes the hidden compartment, and stabs down directly through the head of the infected tugging on his bag. The thing goes limp, falling away alongside the backpack—freeing his foot. He draws back his sword, immediately aiming for one of the ones with a hold on his feet. He stabs down once again, the end of his sword going directly through one of their eyes. Then he stabs again, and again, until blood splatters cover his face and the threats lie dead on the floor.
The only thought running through his mind as he scrambles back to his feet is Jayce needs me.
Jayce had managed to kill one more runner, leaving only two left for him to deal with. He swings at one of them, the body falling to the floor but still moving. Before he has time to finish it off, the last infected catches him off guard and lunges onto him, knocking him backward into the grass.
He’s able to lodge the bat between them, desperately trying to shove the undead away as it gnaws its teeth and claws at Jayce’s face. In his peripheral, he sees the infected he couldn’t finish off slowly dragging itself towards the struggle.
“Fuck!”
He clenches his teeth, pushing the infected on top of him against the bat while also trying to shift back and away from the other one crawling towards them. He feels sweat, or maybe blood, run down his temple. The undead screams in his face, the stench of death all he can smell.
He thinks about his mom. Cait. Viktor. His arms begin to buckle.
BANG!
He feels the rush of the bullet as the infected’s head explodes, covering him in viscera. He only has a second to comprehend before he pushes the body off, scrambling up and away from the last undead. With a yell, he raises the bat over his head and smashes it down, caving the thing’s skull in.
He’s stuck in that moment, chest heaving, covered in blood, the end of the bat still lodged in brains. And then he remembers Viktor.
“V!” He’s yelling, running back towards the shipping container, stumbling over himself.
By the time he’s back, Viktor has managed to finish off the rest of the undead surrounding the crate. He sits on the edge, feet dangling off, a boot gone, gripping his cane in one hand with the rifle laid across his lap.
“Are you—“
“I’m fine, Jayce. No bites. You..?”
“I’m also fine. Fuck Vik.” He runs a hand through his hair.
Then Viktor smacks him atop the head with his cane, the sword component sheathed away again.
“Never pull something like that again. Understood?” He scolds, “We handled it this time, but who knows what could go wrong next time.”
“But we did handle it, you had my back,” Jayce looks up at him, eyes glinting with the setting sun, and Viktor just scoffs. I’ll always have your back.
“Help me down. We should get back to base quickly before more undead arrive.”
Viktor hands Jayce his rifle and cane before hopping off the crate and into Jayce’s hands. He gently guides Viktor down, and as soon as he’s on his feet Viktor winces in pain. His bad leg buckles in, and all of a sudden he’s collapsing forward onto Jayce—who scrambles to catch him.
“Viktor?” The panic is clear in his voice.
He hisses out a pained noise, bracing himself against Jayce’s forearms. Nails dig into the bare skin. “I fucking hate running,” he grits through his teeth, shaking slightly. Not only his leg, but his entire back burns with pain.
Jayce rubs his thumb back and forth against Viktor’s arm until his breathing evens out. With a sigh, Viktor slowly pulls away and grabs his cane.
“I had offered to carry you, you know,” Jayce mumbles. “I can carry you back if you want—“
“I can handle myself,” Viktor states simply. “I would not be here if I couldn’t.”
“Of course, Viktor, but there’s also no reason to push yourself if it can be avoided. I’m more than happy to help if I can.”
Viktor tilts his head, rolling the thought around in his mind. Jayce exhales and moves to collect their discarded belongings.
“Just don’t bump into any more cars next time, eh?” Viktor jokes. The car alarm is still blaring in the distance, almost mocking them.
“That car battery should have been long dead!” Jayce groans, and Viktor chuckles.
Jayce offers Viktor his backpack, and their hands brush as he takes it from him. “Thanks for saving me. And not dying,” Jayce almost whispers.
“Thanks for not dying before I could save you,” Viktor smiles, shrugging his bag over his shoulder.
Side by side they begin walking down the highway once more. The research they looted sits snugly in their bags, however insignificant the finds may be. In the far distance, the military base looms.
It was curiosity that led Viktor down the dim abandoned halls of Piltover Inc.’s main building. His cane clicked against the yellowing tile, eyes scanning over nameplates with his shitty flashlight as he walked.
He supposed he was looking for an answer. A blame. Either would do.
J.T.
The letters repeat in his head constantly—a mantra to remember. As if those initials haven’t been haunting him for the past year.
Viktor walks steadfastly forward, maneuvering around toppled furniture and debris. And then he feels it—a faint breeze running past his face. Odd, considering every single door he’s past has been either shut, locked, or barricaded from the other side. Hell, Viktor spent hours breaking through the front door’s security lock because of the lack of electricity.
He continues forward until he sees it—the last door of the hall, cracked open and swaying gently. It only takes a few more steps, a few more clicks of his cane, before he sees the nameplate.
Jayce Talis.
The initials finally had a name. Hopefully, this Jayce had left behind some good information.
With a gentle push, the door opens almost by itself—carried by the wind. Viktor was expecting maybe an open window of some sort, or some sort of ventilation system causing the breeze.
Not a giant gaping hole in the wall. Rubble covered the entire room, rebar sticking out of the concrete walls. Streaks of black-gray ash line the room, bursting out and away from the hole itself. Some sort of explosion, most definitely.
Even more surprising than the hole, is the silhouette of a man standing at the edge of the flooring. The light of the full moon outside hugs the outline of his body, his back facing Viktor. Abandoned notes and research papers scuttle lightly in the breeze of the night.
And Viktor freezes.
Over the past year, Viktor has seen death. He has seen it in the shimmer virus and how it kills and infects–cancerous masses and purple skin. Has seen how the undead kill to satiate their hunger. He’s seen it in himself when he puts those mindless bodies out of their misery.
He’s seen death in people, too. In the mass panic after the virus spread. Major cities bombed in an attempt to “cleanse”. Survivor encampments turning on their own people. Raiders. Betrayals. Murders. Suicides.
Even Viktor himself was not above killing to survive.
So in this new life of theirs, death was a common thing. Anyone in Viktor’s position would have let this man kill himself peacefully without interfering.
But something pulls at Viktor. An almost overwhelming feeling of wrongness overcomes him. He needed to save this man, lest his rapidly pounding heart burst out of his chest. So he steps forward and says the first thing on his mind, accent sharp and voice rough from weeks of disuse.
“Am I interrupting?”
The man stumbles back—catching himself from falling into the dark night. Not a moment later his face snaps back to look at Viktor, eyes wildly scanning the stranger. After not being deemed an immediate threat, the man’s shoulders fall.
“What the hell is your problem?” He spits, taking a step away from the ledge to fully face Viktor. Viktor only walks closer, cane clicking lightly as he approaches.
“What is your problem, Jayce?” Viktor replies, throwing out the name in hopes of correctly identifying the man.
His hypothesis seems to be correct with the way Jayce’s face morphs from annoyance to shock.
“It was on the nameplate,” Viktor adds, a small smirk on his face as he points a thumb back at the doorway.
Jayce sighs, bringing a hand up to his head to massage his temples. “I swear if this is an elaborate scheme by Mel…” He groans loudly before slapping his hand down. “So what? What are you doing in the birthplace of the virus that’s doomed the world?”
“This isn’t the birthplace.” Viktor states simply. Jayce does a double take, a mix of shock and relief on his face. Viktor raises a brow at the reaction. Just what role did Jayce play in this outbreak? Certainly he was involved, considering his initials on those notes…
Viktor had to be cautious.
“It’s quite obvious considering the severe lack of blood and undead in the area,” Viktor coughs. “But if you must know, I want answers. Surely the largest pharmaceutical company in the country has some research. A paper trail of how things got this bad. Chemical compounds, adjacent tests, anything.”
Jayce’s eyes go hazy, head tilting back to the gaping hole in the wall. “There’s nothing left here.” He almost whispers it. “I’ve scoured every inch of the building. I worked here before the outbreak, for fuck’s sake. All of the research is just… gone.” Jayce clutches his wrist, hand closing around a makeshift black ribbon bracelet.
Viktor only tilts his head, watching Jayce worry the ribbon between his thumb and forefinger.
“I was working on a cure,” he whispers, then huffs out a weak laugh. Viktor’s eyebrow shoots up.
“I’m a virologist,” he blurts out immediately, mind beginning to race. Fuck caution, this was more important than that. Jayce’s head lifts from the floor, finally making proper eye contact with Viktor. The moonlight makes the amber of his eyes as bright as the sun. “I want to see your work. Not only could I help with your progress, but I also have plausible theories on how the virus works—possibly even how it was built!” The words stumble out almost faster than he can control.
Jayce stares at him, pupils dilating, heart beating faster at the first glimmer of hope he’s seen in months.
“I don’t even know your name.”
Viktor smiles, the mole on his upper lip moving up with the motion. “It’s Viktor.”
In the darkness of his apartment, Viktor stares down at his right leg, free from his brace, foot propped up against the edge of the mattress.
Staring back at him is an arch of indented teeth lined neatly at his ankle, bloody scabs left in their place. The skin underneath the bite mark has turned a deep shade of purple.
The feeling of dread is replaced by a coughing fit that leaves Viktor heaving and shaking.
He’s running out of time.