The Taste of Metal

by graceancunin

Summary:

Working as a bounty hunter has its ups and downs, but kidnapping a Piltovan scientist should have been easy—until bad ideas and misplaced morals threw you and Viktor into the center of a deadly plot you couldn't afford to ignore. Having no choice but to go topside with Viktor, things got as heated as they got dangerous.

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

It had become painfully obvious that even if money suddenly started growing on trees, there were no trees in Zaun. No amount of miracle would help you solve your problem, and the thought caused you to grit your teeth and bounce your leg nervously.

You were sat on a crate in a hallway at the back of the bar, trying your best to ignore the condescending sneers some of Renata's goons were throwing at you as they came to and from her office.

As the most renowned fixer in the undercity, most illegal, unethical, or remotely shady business matters generally ended up on Renata's desk. She ran this city-wide enterprise from a room at the back of a disreputable bar in the Lanes, a bar in which you'd been waiting for almost an hour to talk to her. She'd sent word in the afternoon that she had some work for you, and here you were a mere three hours later. You didn't have the luxury to make yourself desirable, to wait a little so she might fatten up the score to convince you to take the job. You had to admit you were lucky she'd continue working with you after what happened.

"She'll see you now," Renata's bodyguard told you coldly as he opened the door to her office, a warm light pouring out of the room into the poorly lit hallway.

As you came in, the all-too-familiar smell of shimmer made your spine tingle—not in a good way. Renata sat behind her desk, wiping her hands with a rag. Was that blood? Never mind. She wore a black vest over a white shirt, the colors mirroring the white streak in her dark hair.

"Y/n, you came quick. Good," Renata told you, throwing the rag away and picking up her beautifully decorated inhaler. "Oh, right, you're okay with it now, right?"

You were over a year sober now, and seeing someone puff shimmer didn't trigger the horrible feeling in your stomach the way it used to. You nodded.

"Not many people kick the habit. You're a tough kid," Renata added before inhaling deeply.

Almost dying helps, you thought.

The bodyguard sat on the couch close to the door and lit a cigarette.

"You said you had work for me," you finally said.

"I do."

Her voice was still thick from the shimmer she'd just inhaled.

"Snatch job, fast, easy," she explained, scribbling something on a piece of paper and pushing it towards the end of the desk, close to where you stood.

The amount of money written on there was almost insulting. You couldn't contain the huff from your nose. You clenched your jaw to keep yourself from saying anything you might regret.

"What am I snatching?" you asked, aware that you needed money more than you did clinging to your ill-placed pride.

"Who," Renata replied matter-of-factly.

"I'm not kidnapping someone for that amount. I don't run a charity," you said, your mouth faster than your brain, as per usual.

Renata chuckled.

"You don't run shit. You take the work I give you, and you pay your debt. That's all you do. And if you think the pay's too low or the job's not to your liking, you can always use that pretty face of yours and sell yourself on the street. I don't care how you pay me back. But you won't make this kind of money scrubbing floors or cleaning kitchens. This is the best money you can make now, given your…condition," she said, her eyes settling on your right hand.

Well, what was left of it. A prosthetic replaced the missing thumb, index, middle fingers, and a bit of your palm. You exhaled, forced to recognize that Renata was entirely right, and you'd once again let old habits resurface.

"Yeah, sorry."

"I like a temper on a woman," Renata complimented. "I still respect you from back then; shit, you were the best gunman I had for a few years. Trust me, this is an easy job, and I need it done quickly."

"Tell me more," you asked.

"Piltovan scientist meant to arrive on the weekly ferry from Kumangra. Our client wants to make him a proposal, needs him escorted to the meeting point."

"Escorted," you repeated, dubious the word truly applied to what the job entailed.

"Well, you're a persuasive woman," Renata added with a gesture of the hand, pointing at the gun strapped to your right thigh.

"What do they want with him?"

"Not your concern. Your part ends when you deliver the guy to the drop point: the brothel on 7th street."

"Weird, but all right. You got a picture?"

"You won't need one. The scientist should be easy to spot: walks with a cane, dressed in the academy's uniform."

A bitter smile formed on your face. That's what it had come to: the once-famed mercenary, now reduced to snatching old cripples from the docks.

"Old dude like that has to travel with a guard or something," you noted.

"Not old. And no, he usually goes to Kumangra for scientific research, from what I understand. This time, he's gone alone."

You crossed your arms across your chest and took a deep breath before giving your answer.

"You know I don't do things…the way I used to. I need your word that nothing will happen to him once I deliver him to whoever wants him," you asked Renata with a hint of worry.

She laughed loudly, toying with her inhaler.

"Now that, sweetie, is something you can't afford. The job is simple, and you need the cash. The next payment is in two weeks."

You'd sworn you'd never cause anyone's death again; you'd vowed you'd stick to robberies, intimidation, and petty crimes where no one would lose a life. But given how money had come to rule your existence, maybe calling it silly was a little out of place.

"Mercenary with a conscience," Renata added. "Funny shit, that."

Her bodyguard, who'd remained silent until then, chuckled from the couch behind you.

"Yeah, I'm a funny girl," you replied, picking up the paper from the desk and giving Renata a nod to signal you'd take the job.

 

 

---

 

 

You spent the next two days preparing, trying to account for anything that might go wrong during the job. First, you tried finding out what you could about the target, but you didn't unearth much since the academy's records were entirely out of your reach. No one in your trusted circles seemed to know about a crippled scientist from Piltover. Then, you carefully considered each step of your plan, which was simple, but preparation was still key.

Now, as the sun showed its bright orange hue on the horizon, you were posted near the pier where the overnight ferry from Kumangra had just docked. Your eyes scanned the passengers, patiently waiting to land on someone matching the brief description Renata had given you. As you nervously fiddled with your metal fingers, the target finally appeared. You observed for a while longer, recognizing the white vest of the academy's uniform under the man's brown coat, seeing the limp and the cane used to help with it.

You pushed yourself off the wall you were leaning against, arming your gun and hiding it under your coat, throwing your hood over your head. You made your way towards the flow of passengers, keeping your head down and your hands in your pockets, walking casually. You glanced at the scientist until you passed him, taking in as much information as you could in the second you were almost shoulder-to-shoulder with him. He looked much younger than you'd imagined and seemed incredibly tired—good, you thought. Easier.

Now, you had to move quickly. You picked up the pace as you walked straight towards the ferryman, clutching the coin purse in your pocket. He looked absent-minded as he watched the last passengers depart from the ferry, so much so that your voice startled him.

"Nice morning, isn't it?" you said quietly.

He looked you up and down, and an unpleasant pout formed on his face.

"It's barely morning; these night shifts are gonna kill me. What do you want?"

You gently took his hand in yours so as not to alarm him and dropped the purse into his palm.

"The cripple never boarded the ferry in Kumangra, got it? If anyone comes asking about him, you've never seen him in your life, and he's not on the register, I trust you'll do what's necessary."

"What do you think y—"

"Aliana is doing great in school; it would be a shame if anything got in the way of her good grades. Say, like a broken leg, for instance. She'd have to stay home, with no one to watch her…" you threatened, cutting the ferryman off.

His eyes widened with fear, and he pinched his lips as if he'd actually gone mute from the calm intimidation you'd laid on him. Once again, experience proved that researching ahead was the only way to do a clean, efficient job. You smiled slightly at the ferryman before turning your heels and heading back towards the target.

You easily caught up to him since he walked slowly. You couldn't help the nervous tic of running your fingers against the barrel of your gun, a fiddly habit you must have picked up a few years back and have unconsciously been doing ever since.

You adjusted your pace to match the scientist's, clenching your teeth when you realized he was headed straight towards the customs entry into the Upper City. Two enforcers were posted right in front of it. You had to divert his path quickly if you didn't want this mission to go south as soon as it had started.

Just then, a book dropped from his large bag, causing him to stop and pick it up with difficulty. Before the thought had time to fully form, you ran towards him, leaping at the sudden opportunity.

"I've been looking everywhere for you! I even asked the ferryman!" you yelled, figuring it would be better for the two women standing not too far from him to assume you were the scientist's friend rather than risk alarming anyone with what you were about to do.

He turned towards you before his hand reached the book, which you picked up in one swift motion before throwing it back in his bag. Then, you hugged him, sticking your gun to his ribs and feeling his whole body freeze against you, possibly because of the surprise, undoubtedly because of the imminent danger.

"Not a word, come with me," you whispered into his ear, nudging the muzzle into the fabric of his vest to make your point clear. "How was the trip? Overnight is a bitch, isn't it? Let's go," you added more casually and louder, satisfied that the two women nearby seemed to quit their staring and return to their conversation.

Getting to the drop point would take no more than ten minutes. If lucky, you'd have this whole thing wrapped up in less than half an hour. You entered a narrow alley, pinned the scientist against the wall, and looked left and right to ensure you were alone. There was nothing but steaming vents and overflowing dumpsters to be seen. You were in the Zaunite part of the docks quarter, all right.

"Can we get on with the mugging now? I'm already late for a conference," he finally said, his tone nonchalant.

He had a thick accent, which you found oddly pleasing.

"Any weapons on you, anything dangerous?" you asked, letting your eyes scan him from head to toe.

He looked frail, even with a thick coat on. The only risk was for him to call out for help, really. But you weren’t too fond of beating on the disabled; you definitely weren’t about to start today.

"Obviously not. Listen, take everything but this—" the scientist started, rummaging in his bag, "book, and this vial here."

He dropped his bag to the floor, a coin purse clearly visible through the gaping opening. You were amazed at how casually he handled being held at gunpoint and actually impressed with the attitude he was giving.

You took a few steps to the side, retrieving the patched-up jacket you'd stashed behind the dumpster on the way to the docks. You threw the jacket at the scientist.

"You got some balls for a topsider, I'll give you that," you joked, though your famously thin patience was already starting to fray. "Put that on, pick up your stuff, let's go."

He chuckled, but hesitated.

"I'm not following you anywhere, like I said, I must go—"

Before he could finish, you closed the distance and pointed your gun at the leg he seemed to put his weight on. All laughter left your face.

"You like the cane, or do you want a wheelchair?" you asked calmly.

He sighed, letting silence settle between you for a moment.

"Do it," he said confidently, fueling your anger a little more.

Your eyes met his, and for the first time, you noticed the golden color of his eyes—the light that seemed to inhabit them. Your past self wouldn't have hesitated to shoot him then and there. Two years ago, when you were high on shimmer half the time, you'd have blown his kneecap without a second thought. But your sobriety and newfound morals caused you to exorcise your anger by shooting a round into the brick wall next to the scientist's face.

The makeshift silencer muffled the shot enough that it didn't cause hearing loss—though it made him flinch fiercely.

When he met your eyes again, it seemed he'd finally understood you weren't to be argued with. A barely noticeable shake in his hands betrayed his nervousness as he changed jackets and picked up his bag.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, seriousness finally settling in his tone.

"To meet some friends. They have a proposition for you; they want to talk, that's all. Once it's done, you can go back to your books and vials," you lied.

You shoved the terrible feeling of guilt down and waved your gun, signaling him to walk in front. So far, so good.

 

 

---

 

 

"House rules apply for everyone, darling," the hostess at the brothel entrance told you.

You reluctantly left your gun with her, annoyed that you remembered how differently things used to go back when your reputation was still intact. That same woman, who seemed to have been working here as long as you could remember, had let you in armed to the teeth when you had to conduct business in the past.

"And you, honey, what you got in that big bag of yours? You can leave it with me," she cooed at the scientist, and you wondered if she was curious about the bag's contents or about what he had under his clothes.

You snatched the bag from his hands and dropped it loudly on the counter.

"They wait for you in booth four," the hostess added.

Without a word, you nudged the scientist's shoulder, guiding him in front of you, feeling a pang of guilt as he stumbled with his cane.

"Now what?" he asked quietly.

"Now you remember I don't need my gun to handle you. Booth four."

He turned his head, looking through the sheer curtains of another booth, inside of which people were definitely not wearing any clothes. A woman's moan resonated through the opening, causing the scientist to quickly turn his head forward. You noticed his shoulders raise and the back of his neck turn red. A huff left your nose.

The scientist looked hesitant before finally entering booth four.

You parted the pink and green curtains to reveal two men sitting on a bright pink velvet couch: one comically tall, the other short and fat, like characters from a comic. You immediately recognized them. Given your knowledge of the Zaunite underground scene, you should have guessed who was behind this sketchy job. Honestly, this was just embarrassing.

"Right on time," the tall one said with a smirk. "And he's not even that damaged."

"Are the twins here?" you asked, fully aware of who these two goons worked for.

"Nah, they stayed at home. Nice and cozy."

Do the job, get paid, you thought, hoping the bad feeling you’d had since entering the brothel would magically disappear if you repeated the words enough times.

"You're Viktor," the short, stubby man said. "Sit, sit. You want a drink?"

Just when you'd managed to detach from the guilt, you learned the guy's name. Viktor. He had a name, thoughts, memories, everything. You feared that meeting his eyes would trigger remorse so bitter you might do something stupid. You'd done enough stupid for a lifetime already.

You saw Viktor's face turn towards you in your peripheral vision and knew there would be nothing worse than meeting his eyes.

"Right, I'm done," you declared. "Tell your bosses I need my money fast."

"I'll walk you out," the taller one said in a disgustingly sweet tone.

You didn't reply, stuffing your hands in your pockets and exiting the booth without looking back.

"Wait!" Viktor called out.

But you didn't.

The tall man chuckled and followed closely behind you. You couldn't remember his name, but it wasn’t the first time he'd tried hitting on you during unfortunate occasions—whether for business or errands for the twins at Renata's.

"Poor guy has no idea what's gonna go down. What'd you tell him to get him to behave like this? Nice and obedient, like a good puppy."

The puppy analogy felt like a punch to the stomach. You were evil incarnate, throwing a puppy into a shredder, and the universe was letting you know through this sleazy douchebag.

"What do they want with him, anyways?" you asked, dubious you'd get an answer.

"We got a project going on. Honestly, it's a great one. Need a brainy dude like him to see it through. And once it's done, they'll probably put a bullet in his brain and dump him in the Pilt. Use and discard, nice and clean."

Your eyes went wide, and you clenched your jaw. Berg's words had lit the spark of spontaneity you were known for. You took a deep breath before putting your half-baked, most likely doomed-to-fail plan in motion.

"Right, nice and clean," you repeated, turning towards Berg with a sweet smile that seemed to surprise him. "Actually, I kind of feel like a drink, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah," he agreed through a grin before looking you up and down.

"You buying?" you asked, cocking your head playfully.

"For you, baby, anything."

Nausea.

"Let's get a round of shots from the bar and bring them back to the booth," you suggested.

"I thought we could drink somewhere more…private."

You needed him to order something fast, something they could all drink. You'd bring it to booth four, where Viktor was waiting.

"You know, something that makes me hot is when men do just what I say," you whispered to Berg, rising on your toes and grabbing his arm for support.

He grinned again, the pink and red lights of the brothel reflecting in his gold teeth. A shiver of disgust crawled up your spine.

"All right, all right, shit. You know what you want, that's hot."

You hid your revulsion and followed Berg toward the bar. It was calm, since the sun had already been out for an hour and most people had left.

"We'll take a bottle," you asked the barmaid confidently.

You used the short moment when Berg seemed distracted to spike the liquor with a little something you'd kept in your inner pocket—a strong sedative prepared in case things went wrong. Worst was here.

Berg carried the metal tray with the spiked bottle and four shot glasses as you both returned to the booth.

This time, your conscience allowed you to meet Viktor's eyes. Nothing but surprise was there.

"Oh, nice!" the short one exclaimed as Berg placed the tray on a side table. "What do you say, big brain? Might not have another opportunity to get messed up in a while, heh," he continued, filling the shot glasses carelessly.

"Don't you want him to stay sharp?" you asked matter-of-factly.

"Eh, maybe. Well, more for me, then," the short one said, laughing heartily.

Berg handed you a glass, his fingers touching yours, raising the hairs on your arm—not in a fun way.

"Wait, what the fuck?" Berg suddenly said, stumbling.

You snatched Viktor's cane from his grip and swung it into Berg's head, knocking him out. The other guy tried to yell and stand but barely managed either before collapsing beside Berg.

"Fuck, okay, we gotta go," you told Viktor, your breath short.

You handed him his cane back, unsure how to convey that he must trust you. He was dubious at first but surprisingly seemed to change his mind.

"You're a problem," he noted with disdain.

You chuckled. "Let's go before anyone notices those two," you added. "Come on!"

Viktor rolled his eyes, the sassiness he'd displayed in the alley returning, and followed behind you. You returned to the kiosk at the entrance, leaning heavily as the sedative started kicking in.

"My iron," you requested.

Your head spun, your eyelids heavy. You could barely manage to stay upright.

"Hey, you're not gonna pass out, are you?" Viktor asked, struggling to help you keep balance.

You walked twenty steps at most before collapsing onto the damp floor in an adjoining alley, bringing Viktor down with you.

"Hey!" he called again. His voice sounded strangely distant as the nauseating spinning in your head grew stronger.

Then you closed your eyes, and all became quiet.

 

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

The first thing you noticed as you regained consciousness was how serene you felt. Your heartbeat was slow, your breathing even, and your eyes blissfully shut. But something was bothering you; it felt like an annoying noise in the distance gradually coming closer. Your shoulder was sore, somehow as if frozen and burning at the same time. The more you focused on it, the more other little feelings of pain were starting to make themselves known everywhere: your neck was stiff; in fact, the whole left side of you felt wrong. Opening your eyes was the next logical step but a tremendous effort. First, you pressed your eyelids tightly shut to warm up, then you tried your best. The light was blinding, and it took you a few seconds to understand what you were seeing.

A face—not a handsome one, well, maybe, depends on personal taste, one might say. Why was that the first thought your brain managed to bring up? It was a face you'd seen before, with golden eyes and sunken cheeks; all of it was familiar. Your eyes wandered between his pale skin, dark hair, and eyebrows furrowed as if he was concentrating on something. Your fuzzy-brained observation was quickly cut short by something in your peripheral vision: a gun. Your gun. Was he holding your gun? Not only that, but he was aiming it at you, at your hands. Memories from the last hour or so came rushing back when you saw the purple handcuffs.

Adrenaline made its way to your fingertips quickly as you managed to grab the barrel of the gun and point it away from your hand—and his.

"Probably—" you attempted to say, your voice hoarse and sounding like someone else entirely.

You coughed hard, shaking your whole body. Talking was still out of the question, at least for the next minute. You cleared your throat and swallowed with difficulty a few times, perplexed as to why Viktor seemed to observe you calmly while you were regaining your composure.

"Probably best you leave that to me," you finally managed to tell him.

Viktor chuckled.

"I'm not certain," he said with disdain.

If there was one thing not to be questioned about you, it was your shooting ability, but you didn't have the energy to tell him that. The barrel was still firmly grasped in your palm, and Viktor's hand was still on the handle. He let out a frustrated huff through his nose and let go of the gun. You pulled the cuff's chain taught with your wrist and aligned the end of the barrel on the little lock.

"Look away," you warned before taking the shot.

The link was shattered, and Viktor's hand separated from yours. He rubbed his wrist, the corner of his mouth lifting with an almost imperceptible wince.

"So, what was the plan exactly?" Viktor asked, struggling to get back on his feet.

You still felt a little lightheaded but managed to get up just fine, incapable of keeping your brows from lifting with worry as you clearly noticed the way Viktor had a hard time standing after you'd undoubtedly pulled him down with you in your fall when you passed out. He'd walked just fine, albeit slowly, from the docks to the brothel. You assumed whatever the problem was with his leg wasn't that serious, but now it had become obvious this whole ordeal might have taken more from him than his body was ready to give. Why were you so worried about this stranger's well-being?

"Well…" you attempted to explain, realizing you had no idea how to phrase up this stupid idea you'd had to free him so he wouldn't die.

You held out a hand to help Viktor back up.

"I don't need help," he coldly stated before clenching his jaw, his trembling grip on his cane finally allowing him to get back on his feet.

You withdrew your hand awkwardly and tucked your gun back in your holster.

"How long was I out?" You asked, rubbing your forehead.

"A few minutes," Viktor replied as he patted the dirt off the already grimy coat you'd made him wear—a habit, maybe.

"Right, I'm taking you back to Piltover. We'll use the tunnel—"

Of course, you wouldn't use the tunnels; there was no way Viktor could crawl through the tight corners and take the numerous and dubiously built ladders back to the Upper City. You rested your hands on your hips, looking at Viktor as if to appraise the risk and reward ratio of the situation.

"Who hired you?" Viktor asked, interrupting your thoughts on which path back up to Piltover would be most appropriate. "I can't think of anyone in the undercity who'd want me abducted or dead."

"It was never a matter of death—"

"I'm a cripple, but I'm not ignorant," Viktor cut off whatever lie you were about to spur.

"Well, I obviously can't tell you who hired me."

"Maybe you should, since whoever paid you to do this obviously changed their mind at the very last minute," Viktor supposed.

You chuckled. Maybe it was better if he thought you weren't the one responsible for this monumental fuck-up of a mission. Your employer had changed their mind at the last minute, and Viktor was to be set free; how nice.

"Anyway, I'm taking you back topside. You can go about your day as if none of this happened. Once you get there, I'm sure the academy will hire all sorts of bodyguards to make sure this doesn't happen to you again."

"Splendid, well, I'll go there on my own. I know my way. Have a good day," Viktor said with an insincere, ironical tone as he turned his heels and started taking off, walking even slower than before.

"Hey, wait up!"

You walked around him, blocking his way.

"My…employer might have changed their mind, but these two guys will still be looking for you when they wake up. You might not make it to Piltover before they do. I'll stay with you," you explained.

"Abduction, manipulation, protection, quite the impressive skillset. You know what they say about jacks of all trades…" Viktor told you with a condescension that was even stronger than before.

You rested a hand on your gun's handle, letting out a frustrated breath.

"Believe me when I tell you I have mastered at least one trade," you replied.

Were you trying to intimidate this man into letting you protect him? None of this was making sense.

"Let's just go. Stick to secondary streets until we get to the bridge. I assume that's where you were planning on going," you added.

Viktor's shoulders dropped as he seemed to give in, releasing an exasperated sigh. You had the urge to say something, anything to voice out your frustration. You felt like you were trying to help a cat take medicine. Somehow, no matter how much you tried to make it understand it was what was best for it, it was fighting you—what's more, with unnecessary sass. But you stayed silent, pulling your hood on your head and gesturing to Viktor to do the same.

 

 

---

 

 

"You do this often?" Viktor asked, taking you out of the downward spiral of worse-case scenarios running through your mind.

Renata would somehow manage to get her money from you, no matter what such a thing entailed. Then, she'd gut you. Maybe she'd have you thrown in the Pilt with your arms and legs tied together. There was no shortage of ways to dispose of someone who fucked up as much as you.

"What?" You replied distractedly.

"Never mind, I'd heard talking helped with stressful situations, but I'm not convinced of the research that went into such a theory," he continued tiredly.

"No reason to stress anymore. You're going home," you explained.

"Provided we get to the bridge in one piece."

Maybe Viktor was starting to realize you didn't know what you were doing and were winging this whole thing.

"Just trust me," you told him, willing as much confidence in your voice as you could.

"I'm afraid it's not possible. I'm…glad you got me out of there, but what would you have done if Berg and the other hadn't agreed to drink the sedative with you when you'd decided to save me?"

"Well, I would have—"

You suddenly stopped talking, and embarrassment warmed your cheeks. Viktor had figured everything out, and the truth had made its way into the conversation, so naturally, you hadn't even seen it coming.

"Why?" Viktor asked, leaning on his cane and looking you in the eyes as he stopped walking for a second.

Curiosity lit up his golden eyes, and his face somehow looked entirely different from what you'd seen. He must have had the mind of a true scientist, fascinated with learning, no matter the subject. You clenched your jaw briefly, still unable to see your principle of non-killing as anything else other than a weakness. You knew it was senseless of you, yet you couldn't help it.

"I have enough blood on my hands," you said. "I can't be responsible for this sort of thing anymore."

It had sounded more grim than you'd intended, and you quickly sought to think of something else before the terrible images you were constantly working on suppressing would flood your mind. Viktor's mouth twitched as if he'd wanted to smile but quickly changed his mind.

"An admirable tenet," he somehow praised before starting to walk again.

You didn't know what to reply, so you stayed silent and resumed walking at Viktor's side. It was obvious that such a thing would sound great and noble to a topsider, but your peers in Zaun had made it very clear that your decision to stop killing was a testament to your weak-willed mind; it showed that you were scared.

Just minutes later, the mighty bridge of progress—linking Zaun and Piltover—was now in view. You'd simply make sure Viktor safely crossed, watching from a distance, and then…you weren't sure what would happen after that. You'd decided to think about only one thing at a time.

A few people were coming and going along the bridge, in front of which some enforcers were posted, as always. The scene was peaceful, which made it all the more annoying when you recognized a woman sitting on a crate nearby: she was a lookout for the twins. You had no idea she'd work the bridge as you were used to seeing her around the docks, but there she was, carefully keeping watch. You could only hope she was unaware of the twin's intentions concerning Viktor. This theory didn't seem too far-fetched since she was just a low-level grunt.

"I'll walk you to the bridge, then we'll go our separate ways," you informed Viktor, relieved this would all end quickly—on his part, at least.

He nodded, then lifted a finger in the air as if to ask you to wait before rummaging through his bag. Viktor looked like he was about to give you something when a voice called out.

"Viktor!" The man yelled in the distance.

Viktor's eyes widened before he turned his head. A curious-looking smile was plastered on his face as he looked towards the man in question. You tried to stay relaxed, readying yourself to deal with whatever other complication was to get in your way yet again. A tall man was walking towards the two of you, his tanned skin and warm smile apparently familiar to Viktor as he greeted whoever this was.

"Jayce! What are you doing here?" Viktor asked.

"Friend of yours?" You whispered, though your question remained unanswered.

There was a yordle behind this Jayce person, which you'd failed to notice earlier, given how tiny he was. He was fancily dressed and walked with an assurance that surprised you.

"The professor and I were visiting the bridge this morning and thought we'd wait for you, but it seems the ferry from Kumangra was late again?" Jayce asked Viktor.

"Ah, yes. Something to do with a missing cargo manifest, though I'm not entirely sure that information is to be believed," Viktor bluffed, sounding surprisingly natural.

Jayce patted his arm in a friendly manner before his eyes landed on you, along with the yordle's inquisitive stare.

"I don't believe we have been introduced, miss," the small creature said politely.

You were reticent to remove your hood, but creating a scene now would be even more trouble, so you yielded, revealing your face and smiling brightly.

"She's a long-time friend," Viktor interjected before you could say something that might betray the situation. "We ran into each other and decided to catch up as we walked."

You were almost shocked by Viktor's apparent will to cover for you. He might have yelled for the enforcers as soon as they were within earshot, and you'd have had no other option but to make a run. It was even more curious that no one would question his supposed friendship with someone from the undercity.

"(Y/n)," you added with a smile, holding your part-metal hand out, crouching a bit to shake the yordle's little hand energetically.

You'd carefully kept the arm with the handcuff still around your wrist tucked in your pocket, trying to keep the pose casual.

"I'm Heimerdinger; this is my student Jayce, though you might already be acquainted if you've known Viktor for some time," the yordle introduced himself.

"No, not yet," Jayce added with suspicion as his eyes lingered on your Zaun-made prosthetic.

"Well, now that presentations have been made, let's go—" Viktor started to say, his voice cutting short when he stumbled forward, losing his balance as he tried to walk closer to Jayce.

Without giving it any thought, you plunged forward to try and keep him from falling. Jayce seemed to do the same as you both held your hands out towards Viktor.

You suddenly became terribly aware of the remaining handcuff around your wrist and realized Viktor had finally taken the hand out of his bag. The two halves of the way-too-visibly purple handcuffs were all your eyes could see as everyone seemed frozen in place. You noticed Viktor's eyes grow wide—your own must have done the same—before looking at Jayce, who looked even more suspicious than before.

"Is that a bruise? And what's this jacket about?" Jayce asked as he seemed to be looking at Viktor's reddened wrist. "And what are those?" He added, obviously talking about the cuffs.

"Oh, this—no—" Viktor started to justify, unable to tell whatever lie he had in mind as Jayce yelled out to the enforcers nearby.

"Excuse me, there's a little problem here," he shouted, causing three enforcers to turn their heads immediately.

That's it—you were done for. You knew there was an arrest warrant for you lying on some high-ranking officer's desk somewhere. You wondered if it was still effective and didn't want to find out. Either way, if you were asked for documentation, it was game over. Your name would surely ring a bell, and you'd be hauled off to Stillwater Hold and never heard from again.

You threw a vehement look at this Jayce, already disliking his character—topsiders were scared of everything, afraid their peaceful little existence would burst into flames at the slightest inconvenience, and it showed. Viktor had been brave; he'd shown more guts than any Piltovan you'd met. But none of it mattered now because one thing had become terribly clear: with remnants of the sedative still in your system, you weren't sure you could outrun these three enforcers—with more to surely join when you'd take off. Had it been another time, you'd not have thought about it twice. You knew this area like the back of your hand and would have found a hidden passageway, a sewer pipe in which to disappear.

For the second time today, a poorly thought-out plan formed in your mind, and you put it into motion way too quickly.

"Time for round two," you whispered to Viktor, unholstering your gun.

You reluctantly stuck the end of the barrel to the side of his neck, making sure your weapon was clearly visible to all as you stepped behind him.

"Not a step closer," you instructed loudly as Viktor's sling bag dropped to the floor.

"This is a terrible habit, you know," he whispered.

"Yeah," you replied, probably as annoyed with the situation as he was.

Taking Viktor hostage was the only thing you'd been able to think of, and it would only set you back an hour or so. You'd let him go as soon as you'd be sure the enforcers wouldn't find you.

"Let him go! Drop the gun!" One of the enforcers yelled, taking out his own gun and pointing it at the two of you.

"Go on, shoot, dummy," you told him as you stood behind Viktor, clearly indicating that you wouldn't be the one taking the bullet.

"Put your weapons away," Heimerdinger ordered the enforcers as if pointing their guns at Viktor was the stupidest idea they could've had. "This doesn't need to end badly," he told you, holding his little hands out.

"Yeah, it won't if you let us go. If you don't, I'll turn his throat into a flute," you threatened, still holding the gun to Viktor's neck as your other hand was firmly grasping his shoulder.

"Are you letting me go?" Viktor asked you in a hushed tone.

"If you behave. Before then, you're my bargaining chip."

"It's all right, professor," he suddenly told Heimerdinger, lifting his cuffed hand to gesture for peace. "I'll be back shortly."

"What are you doing, Viktor?" Jayce asked with concern as he took a step forward.

"Uh-uh," you told Jayce, shaking your head to signify how much of a bad idea that was.

"Who is she? What's going on?!" Jayce continued, worry distorting his face.

"I'll explain everything, Jayce," Viktor promised.

You guided Viktor backward, facing the enforcers and slowly walking towards the closest alley. Your eyes were trained on Viktor's friends and the enforcers, keeping complete focus as you were making your escape. Before long, you and your hostage disappeared into the bowels of the Under City.

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

This should be it," you told Viktor, out of breath. "You know your way back?"

You'd long stopped holding him at gunpoint, virtually since you'd been out of the enforcers' eyeshot, but another ten minutes had passed, and you hadn't stopped walking further and further from the bridge.

"I'll be all right," Viktor replied.

You rubbed your face to wipe away the annoyance and worry you'd felt growing since this morning. The cool metal of your prosthetic was a welcome sensation against your heated cheek.

"What will happen to you?" he asked, and after all that had happened, you wondered how he could somehow conjure empathy in his tone.

You didn't even have the will to answer; you didn't want to think about it. At least he's not dead, you kept telling yourself. This complete stranger would get to live another day because of your idiotic decision, and that had to count for something. But somehow, you doubted you'd keep a positive attitude once the sole of Renata's boots would press into your cheek as you'd be begging for your life.

Before you had time to contemplate answering Viktor, you noticed his eyes widen with surprise, and then he pushed you toward the bend of the alley you'd stopped in. The hurried tapping of his cane echoed against the tall, poster-covered walls. You bumped into a big crate and Viktor almost tumbled down with you, but you both managed to keep your footing. He pushed you against the wall with a hand firmly pressed against your shoulder.

"Shhh," he instructed in a hushed voice as he quickly looked past the corner. "The man from before, he's here."

"Berg?" you asked.

"Well, the short one."

Of course, he'd be awake much quicker, given his weight.

"Is he alone?"

Viktor shook his head sideways, glancing again towards the street. Although his attention seemed entirely taken by what was happening over there, his hand was still on you. His grip on your shoulder had somehow softened, and the warmth from his hand was seeping through your clothes and into your skin.

You wondered what about him would make you notice such things in the first place. Granted, you were very observant and gifted in reading people and situations, but this was something else entirely. The stress of this whole ordeal was causing you to seek solace in simple things like a person's touch, but you knew nothing about this guy if not for his name.

You pushed Viktor's hand away, convinced you wouldn't know what to do with the thoughts that would spring into your head if you let this go on any longer.

"Right, it's best we lay low for a few hours before you try your luck at getting home," you suggested. "I know just the place."

 

 

---

 

 

This day never seemed to end. It must have been early afternoon, but it felt like you'd woken up two days ago—and you'd for sure set a new record on the number of fuck-ups you could manage in half a day. You removed your coat and threw it nonchalantly on the barely intact metal ladder near the empty pool.

"What is this place?" Viktor inquired as he looked around.

"Shut down ten years ago. To be honest, I don't even understand how they got the funding to build it in the first place. No wonder they couldn't get the scratch to maintain it down the line. Must have been open for one, two years at most if I remember that right," you explained as you went to sit on the edge of the pool and let your feet dangle in the emptiness.

This was one of your hideouts, though it could barely be called that. This indoor pool was an absurd addition to the neighborhood, something about Piltovan charity—a testament to how much Piltovan officials have no grip on Zaunite priorities if they thought it'd be better to build a pool than a water-filtering station. It was now in ruins; the access had been restricted, but you'd found a discreet way in and occasionally used it as a punctual safe-house. You'd stashed some ammo here, though it had depleted over the years. The funds to replenish the stock had yet to enter your pockets.

Still, even though the place was clearly a wreck, it was beautiful. A domed ceiling made of stained glass had been built over the pool, letting in a beautiful light during the daytime. Plants that must have originally been decorative were now attempting to turn into a bit of jungle, slowly taking over the far corner of the vast pool room and cascading down into the pool itself.

Viktor removed the run-down coat you'd forced him to wear earlier and elected to sit on a metal chair not too far from you. He seemed exhausted, and from the way his mouth moved when he straightened his crippled leg, you assumed it must have been painful.

"I'm sorry you got dragged into this."

The words got out of your mouth before you'd even had time to think about whether or not it was smart to say them.

Viktor chuckled as he set his cane against his other leg.
"You have rent to pay, I assume."

You'd not expected him to be so practical about the situation, but you nodded immediately. Rent, a crippling debt left behind by your incapable brother; same difference.

"Growing up in the fissures isn't forgiving," he added.

"Yeah, I'm sure it made for an exciting read in your books," you retorted with a sneer.

"I don't think what happens around here can be captured in books."

The hurt in his voice when he'd said that suddenly made the whole picture very clear: you'd mistaken him for a topsider because of the uniform and the fact that he worked at the Academy. But now that you really thought about it, he seemed surprisingly spirited for a Piltovan who'd never left the golden towers of the Academy. He'd barely flinched when you'd pulled your gun out; he'd even provoked you when you'd threatened to shoot him. It was now obvious why his apparent colleagues you'd just escaped from hadn't questioned his friendship with a Zaunite. Viktor had to be from the undercity, like you.

"Well, good for you, you made it out," you congratulated with a little irony.

"Not entirely, apparently," he joked, confirming your suspicions.

A loud noise surprised you, the metallic clank bouncing around in the empty pool room.

"Fuck," you whispered, getting up immediately. You collected yours and Viktor's coats before gesturing for him to get up.

"You said this was safe," he questioned.

"It usually fucking is."

You could hear voices in the distance, getting dangerously close. You quickly made your way to the storage room, an already small space where all manners of useless junk had been piled to the ceiling. There would barely be enough space to fit in between the door and the crates, jute bags, and unidentified trash, but it was your only option. The way you'd come in was the only way out, and all you could do now was try to hide since you didn't know how many people had just come in and who they were.

You glanced behind you as you were nearing the storage room door, making sure you hadn't left any sign of your passage before opening the door and pushing Viktor inside. His cane escaped his hand and threatened to fall loudly to the floor, but you quickly held out your foot, saving the both of you from being spotted before you'd even had a chance to hide. You spotted movement in the corner of your eye—shadows—and knew it was a matter of seconds before whoever it was would come into the main room and see you. You could somehow feel that if you tried to pick up the cane to take it with you, you'd drop it—the angle at which its handle rested on your foot would also prevent you from quickly getting it through the door. So, you managed to gently drop the cane on the floor, as close to the wall as possible so it wouldn't be noticeable, and slid into the door opening before closing it gently behind you.

Your vision took a while to adapt to the darkness; all you could make out were messy shapes in shades of grey and brown. It seemed to be even messier in here than you remembered. Your back was flat against the door. You were trying to be as still as possible while your heart was beating so loud you could hear it thumping in your ears. A small, circular window in the door barely allowed any light into the storage room. As you tried to distinguish Viktor's face in the darkness, he suddenly rested both hands on your shoulders, causing you to jolt with surprise. You still couldn't see very well in the dark, but his face seemed to be distorted with pain as he shifted his weight from his injured leg to the other—stepping on your foot by mistake while doing so.

"S—sorry," he whispered, discomfort clearly audible in his voice.

You assumed that he must have put weight on the wrong leg without his cane and in the heat of the moment. Instinctively, you reached up to lay a hand on his wrist, signaling it was all right. Moreover, you brought a finger to your lips to make sure he'd understand that being quiet was of the utmost importance. Viktor nodded and closed his eyes.

"—monumental fuck-up! A fucking cripple and a druggie, you can't even handle that much?" A muffled, feminine voice suddenly reached your ears through the door.

You wondered why people calling you a druggie would still cause a sting in your heart, even after over a year of being sober. You couldn't recognize the woman's voice, but the person who spoke soon after you were unfortunately able to place immediately.

"She drugged us!" Berg interjected.

"Why would she even do that? If I'd known Renata would hand the job over to this incompetent bitch I'd have done it myself," the woman replied with annoyance.

Something sounded like it was thrown across the room—a small object, probably. In the storage room, Viktor seemed to be resting much of his weight on your shoulders—his leg must have been excruciating. Whatever little light was coming in allowed you to see his tensed-up neck, clenched jaw, and furrowed brows as his eyes were still shut. He was pressing his lips in a thin line, possibly to keep himself from making any noise, and you could tell his breathing was uneven. In fact, it was really easy for you to notice all those details since he was standing so close your bodies were almost touching. One of his legs was clumsily placed between your own, and you could feel the heat from his body against yours, seeping from his palms into your shoulders.

"What am I going to tell the twins now? You know this shit is serious. The project depends on it," the woman added in the other room.

It sounded like someone was walking closer. You jolted again as you felt the door move slightly against your back. Someone was leaning on the other side. Your hand tightened around Viktor's wrist, and your whole body tensed up. Your eyes were wide with urgency when Viktor finally opened his, his face merely a breath away from yours.

"Don't—move," you mouthed with barely any air leaving your lungs.

You looked straight into Viktor's eyes, analyzing his face, praying he'd stay perfectly still and quiet. His mouth twitched again, and he seemed to be regulating his breathing.

"What, you think we don't know how to make bombs? We don't need a fucking topsider for that—" Berg said, his voice sounding so close it was now obvious he was the one on the other side of the door.

"You even know about his research and what he could have done for us? You don't know shit. This is the real deal! If we're to see this attack through, we can't fuck-up like that again," the woman reproached.

Your heart started beating even faster. You had no idea what the twins wanted Viktor for, but a terrible picture was beginning to emerge.

Berg cackled.
"Be it with this technology bullshit or good old-fashioned explosives, we'll blow these fuckers up. Maybe then, Piltover will understand what the fuck Zaun is about," he confidently added.

Viktor was staring at your face as if you'd somehow grow telepathic abilities if his gaze was intense enough. You lifted your brows and shook your head lightly, indicating you didn't know more about this than he did.

"Whatever, let's just bounce," Berg finally added before he probably pushed himself from the door, making it move against your back one last time.

Their voices gradually faded into silence as the group left, yet your heartbeat didn't slow down at all. After a few seconds of silence, Viktor finally let go of your shoulders, his wrist slipping out of your grasp as he reached for the door handle. You caught his hand quickly, shaking your head vigorously.

"Just a little longer," you half-whispered, half-pleaded.

Viktor seemed to be in pain still, and you could understand his desire to go sit somewhere, but you had to be sure the twins' people were gone for good. After a minute or so, waiting in awkward silence, looking at each other's faces, you finally allowed Viktor to open the door. He stumbled out clumsily, barely making it a few paces before collapsing on the ground, resting his back against a large and empty flowerbed. He held his bad leg carefully and extended it slowly, grimacing the whole time.

Meanwhile, you'd started pacing around nervously, your eyes darting from one corner of the room to another distractedly as you went over what Viktor and you had overheard.

"A bomb…" you spoke to yourself, rubbing your chin.

"They must be stopped," Viktor said firmly, though his voice was weak.

"Yeah, how you plan on doing that?" you retorted with more annoyance than you should have—you were unwilling to have yet another problem to add to your current list of preoccupations. "This isn’t your problem."

"Right, I've just learned about a terrorist plot against Piltover, but I'll simply go back to the lab, scribble on pieces of paper while I wait for a bomb to blow up."

You stopped pacing and faced Viktor, planting both hands on your hips. You'd done nothing but take decisions all day, hauling him from one place to another, feeling the weight of stupid decisions gradually pile up on your shoulders. But as you were contemplating asking Viktor for advice, wondering what he'd suggest, you felt that weight lift off slightly. You sighed.

"Well then, what do we do?" you conceded.

Viktor's eyes met your own, determination flaring brightly in his golden irises.