[Fanfiction] Fracture - Chapter 22
PROLOGUE: http://boards.na.leagueoflegends.com/en/c/fancreations/fZAXxjHA-fanfiction-fracture PREVIOUS CHAPTER: http://boards.na.leagueoflegends.com/en/c/fancreations/MXQWqEEB-fanfiction-fracture-chapter-21
Fanfiction.net link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10770866/1/Fracture
Genres: Suspense/Drama/Mystery/a lot of others Characters: Leona, Caitlyn, Nasus, Kassadin, too many to list
Summary: The machine that sustains the lethal matches of the League fails. Events spiral outwards. (Character death.)
REDEMPTION
She had the feeling that she was committing a terrible folly.
Even as she sat amongst the ashes, digging elbow deep through ruined tomes and the remnants of destroyed bookshelves, Morgana asked herself, why? Why was she even bothering? It was one book out of thousands that she had little to no hope of finding, assuming it hadn't been lost among the carnage, and why exactly she was searching for it... was beyond her.
The Fallen Angel sucked in a cough as the rising dust entered her lungs. Her hands were totally blackened now, her skirts heavy from the debris she had inadvertently piled on. The damned Voidborn had ruined much of the League's once expansive archive – but there was a chance yet. Some records had survived.
She brushed the ashes off of a singed cover, tossing it aside once the letters History of Dem- came through. Not it. This was the summoners' section, wasn't it? Where were all of the spellbooks?
Morgana rose, stumbling slightly on deadened legs as the debris and dust fell from the folds of her skirt. Perhaps she was looking in the wrong place. Perhaps the particular book she was looking for would not be in the section available to any run-of-the-mill summoner.
She turned towards the restricted area, treading carefully over the rubble with measured steps. Never had she been allowed in this area – not even when she had been formally admitted into the League. The Curator of the Sands had kept a watchful eye over any who tried to pass, and the Fallen Angel had an inkling that there were more than a few secrets that the Institute wished to keep from the general populace amongst those locked, towering shelves.
The keeper of the archives was not here, however – today, she had free reign.
Morgana toed aside a shattered shelf, tilting her head to take stock of the wreckage underneath. She could make out a few titles off of the battered spines of some intact books, but kneeling down for a closer look yielded nothing of relevance. She scowled, kicking aside a loose pane. The glass shattered against the corner of an overturned shelf.
Too much damned rubbish to sift through – and for what? Why was she doing this?
She huffed, tossing over the shelf so that its contents spilled out over the floor. These volumes looked far more intact, and Morgana got on her knees, digging through them. A tome on summoner spells, half a treatise on runes – her fingers brushed over a book with a silver spine.
Op—ni-g G-tew-, it read.
She had found it.
.
.
.
"Remind me why this is so important to you?"
"He's being held in maximum security, and I don't even know what for. I'm an officer of the law – do you think I can let that stand without doing some digging?"
Vi watched her partner pace up and down the room, a scowl on her face. The sheriff had been pretty agitated since they'd gotten to Demacia. She had only been there in the aftermath to dig her out of the rubble, but whatever had led up to that point, Viktor getting booked had really gotten to Cait. It was a shame, she thought, rolling out the soreness in her shoulder. She was a lot prettier when she smiled.
"Cupcake, the Demacians are working with the Institute to handle it. Soon as Lantern-jaw's kicking, aren't we going back to Piltover?"
The Enforcer was relatively certain that was the plan, at least. Heimerdinger had phoned in not too long ago complaining about Ziggs. Amazingly it turned out the bomb-crazy yordle was no good for reconstructive work – and the fact that the local crazy bitch kept turning up to drag him off into something stupid didn't help. Their infrastructure was totally decimated, he'd said, and he could really use their help keeping the order.
"We are," answered Caitlyn, with a short nod. "But Jayce has a few days yet until he'll be able to walk upright, let alone travel. I can't stand idle during that time."
Vi snorted. "If you ask me, you're the one that needs a break the most. Your ear's still busted, isn't it?"
The sheriff paused, hand coming up to touch her bandaged-over ear. As she'd heard it, Cho'Gath had fucked up her ear drum with one of his roars. She was still only hearing out of one side, even a few days later.
"Being half-deaf won't put me out of commission," she replied matter-of-factly.
"But the bruised ribs and the sprained ankle? Cupcake, you need to sit the fuck down and rest." The Enforcer stood from where she had been leaning against the dresser, clapping her arms onto her partner's shoulders and steering her towards the bed. She could feel the resistance as Caitlyn dug in her heels.
"Vi, I'm fine, really. I can already walk just fine, and I need to work. It's been too long, and there are things I need to sort out," she protested, turning on her.
"Ya say that," she tapped her lightly on the abdomen and watched her wince, "but then you do that. Besides, what happens with Viktor isn't our business. If Zaun's got a problem with Demacia holding him, then they'll do something about it."
"Piltover has a vested interest in this as well," she insisted, crossing her arms. "It's merely some investigative work – light. Don't worry, I'll be fine."
"You really have a problem," the Enforcer groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Cait was such a workaholic, and it was awful for her health. After spending the last several weeks worked up over her safety, she'd like some peace of mind. The sheriff was already turning to go.
"I haven't seen you for a few weeks, then when I do see you again, I can't have a proper conversation with you for two days. And then you go and get yourself fucked up, you won't rest, and you're telling me not to worry?" she demanded, catching her arm as she tried to walk away.
"Vi..."
"Don't 'Vi...' me!" she snapped irritably, hands going to her hips. "You better lie the fuck down and get some sleep, or I'm gonna have to knock you out. For the last month I've been worried sick that you might have gotten your ass killed, and now that I know you're still kicking, I'm not giving you the chance to ruin it."
Her expression fell – the cool composure came off – and for a moment, she was afraid she had been too harsh. But it was Caitlyn.
"I didn't know it was that important to you," she replied softly.
Vi leveled her with a glare. "Of course it's important. You're my partner, Cait."
A pause. The sheriff looked away for a second, then looked back at her.
"...I'm sorry," she sighed, drawing her arms around her in a light hug. "You're right. I'll rest, and then I'll see about Viktor, all right?"
"You'd better," warned Vi, pulling away. "Or else I'm locking you in."
.
.
.
His guts hurt like hell.
Jayce held in a grunt, rolling over painfully onto his side so that he could look out the window. The sky was red by the setting sun, and he had to admire Demacia's cityscape. None of the buildings, grand as they were, blocked the distant horizon. You couldn't watch the sunset in Piltover – there were too many high-rises for that.
Still, it wasn't the place for him. His hands ached to tinker with something mechanical, and it was only the pain that kept him from fidgeting. The Terror of the Void had really done a number on him. The Defender was honestly surprised that he wasn't dead.
When he closed his eyes, he could remember – the trembling of the ground underneath, the ear-splitting roars. The feeling of sharp teeth closing around his abdomen. His side flared at the recollection, and he let out a small, huffing sort of laugh.
Why did he intervene at that time?
Cho'Gath had been chasing them, and he'd thought he might be able to hold him off while the sheriff and the Herald got to where they needed to be. The Terror had passed on right by though, even as he'd hurled shock blast after shock blast after him. He could have gotten off scott-free, if only he hadn't...
An image came to him – of a fallen column of stone, and blood spattering outward, Cho'Gath looming over a prone figure.
If he had just left him to his fate, he would've been fine. But he didn't.
Jayce sucked in a breath, cast-covered arm pressing lightly on his burning side. It was ironic, that he had ended up saving his enemy's life, only to be messed up like this. They did say that no good deed went unpunished.
What had possessed him to move, the Defender didn't know. He wanted to say it was the innate morality in him, that no matter the history between them, he didn't have to die. He wanted to say that he had looked beyond the rivalry of Zaun and Piltover and acted on a sense of justice. But none of those seemed to be the right answer – too dressed up for the force that pushed him into intervention.
It must have been the blood, Jayce realized, dark and crimson and pooling all around him.
It had reminded him that Viktor was still human.
.
.
.
She couldn't move.
It wasn't a numb, out of body sort of paralysis, either, but a heavy, gripping one, weighing down on her limbs with a dull throbbing. Through the haze of pain, she could make out the crumbling roof of the Institute's archives. An evening sky showed through.
Kayle tried to move her fingers first, feeling them strain before yielding the slightest twitch. They curled in, and she tried to make a fist, then to lift her arm. Then she tried to sit up.
"Ugh...!"
A mistake. The skin on her back stretched tight about sore wounds, and she had to pull up her knees and curl into herself immediately to deal with the dizziness.
"You shouldn't have done that."
"I'm well aware," she ground out, eyes shut tight in order to ride out the onslaught of nausea that assaulted her. A hand pulled at her shoulder, and she looked up reluctantly, eyes squinting in the dimness.
"Drink this." The neck of a bottle was pressed to her lips. Kayle took a careful sip. "The pain should subside soon."
It was a health potion – she recognized the taste – and the Judicator grabbed the bottle, upending it and gulping down its contents. Wiping her mouth with one hand, she shot a wary, sideways look at her unlikely savior.
"Why?"
Morgana leveled a stare at her, bright eyes peering out of the darkness. She said nothing.
"Is this a means to revenge?" She sat up straighter, turning to look at her directly. "Are you aiding me only to kill me? Or have you poisoned me already?"
Her sister made no reply.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it? Now that you are no longer bound by the League, your chance to destroy me is here." Kayle leaned forward, eyes narrowing to a glare. "Well, now? Make it quick. I won't beg."
She was nothing without her wings, now – there was nothing to carry her justice on, nothing to distinguish her as an immortal being from the mortals of this realm. She was not an angel without wings. There was nothing for her beyond this, and there was little doubt in her mind that Morgana knew this. She must have relished it.
"I wanted to kill you," she answered softly.
The Judicator smiled sharply. Of course.
"Wanted," her sister stressed. "Now..."
"Now what?" she demanded. "You want to make amends? You want to reconcile? Your betrayal has cost me everything."
"My betrayal?" Morgana snapped. "My betrayal cost you everything?"
"You forsook me and our cause, and you turned your back on the Institute that sheltered you," she shot back angrily, ignoring the pulsating ache in her back. Kayle laughed, bitterly. "You cannot deny this."
"You forsook me," she cried, finger pointed at her accusingly. "You were the one who broke our blood bonds first!"
"You turned against our cause!"
"I never turned against anything!" Morgana glowered at her, teeth bared in a half-snarling scowl. "Just because I didn't want to join your army didn't mean I was against you!"
"And yet you turned to darkness anyway!" she spat back, batting away her sister's hand. "You embraced evil!"
"I did it because of you!" She seemed to rear back, hands splayed out as if she wanted to grab something. Morgana took a long, shuddering breath, repeating quietly,"I did it all because of you."
They stared at each other for a long moment, neither saying a word.
"What changed, then?" she asked with an unsteady voice. "You had no problem during matches – and now you're telling me you don't want to kill me now that the opportunity arises?"
Morgana looked away from her, running a shaky hand through her dark hair.
"It would have been permanent," she started to say, and there was something that stopped her words for a second. "I couldn't... For some reason, I just... I realized that – you're still my sister." She laughed brokenly, an odd strain in her voice as if it were rising from a strangled throat. "I hate it - but you're still... my sister."
Kayle stared at her – this creature of darkness, this fallen angel – that had been her greatest ally once. The one who had ruined everything, who had cost her everything.
Her only sister.
"We can never go back," she said quietly. She felt so strange, suddenly. So hollow.
Morgana shook her head slowly, closing her eyes. A deep breath passed through her lips.
"I can never go back, but you..."
She drew out a book from behind her. Kayle took it carefully from her hands – ran her thumb over the beaten, silver spine.
"This is a spellbook?"
Her sister nodded. "A means to summon champions from other planes... and to send them back."
She glanced at her incredulously. "What are you suggesting?"
"Go back." Morgana leveled her with a steady stare. "Go back, and reclaim your wings."
"I can never reclaim my wings," she murmured bitterly, but her sister shook her head.
"There is a way. There is a place. Don't you remember?"
"You can't mean – the work of the Masters?" Morgana nodded. "But their secrets have been lost for aeons. You don't honestly believe -"
"There is a lot I don't honestly believe," she broke in, voice low with some emotion that Kayle could not place. "But right now, it's your best chance, isn't it?"
"And you?" she demanded, leaning forward. Even if she did find a way to fly again, how could she leave her sister behind after going through so much to chase after her? "What will you do? Do you expect me to let you run rampant?"
Morgana rose, skirt straightening out, dark wings unfolding until she loomed over her. There was a smile on her face, muted and bitter.
"I will stay – and face justice."
.
.
.
He didn't think anyone would come visit – certainly, not her.
"How you holding up, Lantern-jaw?"
Jayce flashed a weak smile at her, propped up among pillows as he was on the narrow cot. The Enforcer seemed healthy. In much better straights than him, at least, as she pulled a chair up to his bedside with ease.
"Didn't expect to see you here," he admitted wryly. "I'm in excruciating pain, thanks for asking."
"Serves you right, trying to play hero again," she said, smirking at him. "Easiest way to get yourself fucked over."
"Is that concern I detect?" asked the Defender jokingly. "I didn't know you cared."
"Just parting some wisdom to you, buddy. Getting real sick of seeing people banged up. You guys're really bringing me down." Vi crossed her arms behind her head, leaning back. "How long you got?"
He raised an eyebrow at her. "What, until I die?"
"Hah! If only." She leaned forward slightly, in a stretch. "Until you get out. Me and the sheriff can't wait on your ass forever."
Jayce tried for a shrug and then immediately regretted it.
"Don't know. The doctor didn't say," he told her, exhaling carefully through clenched teeth. The Defender glanced back towards her. "Where is the sheriff, by the way?"
The Enforcer rolled her eyes, and he figured he could guess.
"She's off poking around into Demacia's business. I got her to sleep the full eight hours, and then it was right back to work," she huffed, blowing a lock of hair to the side. "She's got her panties in a real twist over the crazy they got locked up."
"Who, Viktor?" The mention of the primary cause of his hospitalization caused his side to ache and he breathed in deeply through his nose. Jayce was beginning to wonder if it was a psychological association. "What for?"
"She's real suspicious about the charges, or something," explained Vi airily, picking at her ear with one pinky. "I don't know. I wasn't paying that much attention when she was talking about it."
"What's the relationship between them, by the way? They seemed on pretty good terms."
"I think it has something to do with back when Cupcake just joined the force. He helped her out once, or something, and they kept contact?" She shrugged. "I don't know. She didn't really tell me much about it, and I wasn't around then."
"I can't imagine Viktor just helping the sheriff for nothing, the way he is," he remarked, a little incredulously. Even if it had been years ago, the day he'd first met the Machine Herald in person still weighed heavily in his mind.
"Maybe he was less crazy then," she offered noncommittally, shrugging again. "All I know is they go way back."
Jayce made a humming noise in the back of his throat, pondering. What had Viktor been like, before he started turning himself to machine? He hadn't even known that he and the sheriff were acquainted.
Thinking back on it, it was strange how much things changed. He used to admire him quite a bit when he was fresh out of school. Even if he was from Zaun, the great Machine Herald and his Glorious Evolution seemed like such a breakthrough at the time. He had wanted to be like him, if only a little bit. The Defender of Tomorrow let out a short laugh that stopped short in his throat, ignoring the curious glance Vi shot him.
He had been so excited when the Institute had recruited him for work on the system. It seemed like such a privilege – they'd said the team was hand picked by the lead scientist, and that had thrilled him like nothing else. It meant that he had talent. When he recalled it, his time spent on that project, it seemed to him that it was the springboard that launched him into his career. Then came work on the arcane crystal, and the Machine Herald requesting to meet him in person, and he had been so eager.
Things unraveled after that.
"Uh, Lantern-jaw? Helloooo?"
Jayce blinked, snapping out of his brief reverie. "Uh. Sorry?"
"Don't just stare into space like that when other people are around," she told him dryly, crossing her arms. "It's creepy."
"I thought women liked brooding men," he said, playfully flashing her a half-smirk. He made a mental note not to do that much anymore. It made his face feel tight.
"Maybe some chicks dig it, but I think that's usually when they're not half-dead," she shot back, punching him lightly on the shoulder.
"Ow!" He sucked in a breath. "That really hurts, you know?"
Vi grinned at him smugly.
"Case and point."
.
.
.
This was not her home.
These grand, gilded structures – these tall, magnificent spires – were not hers. They could not be.
There was no one here.
Kayle stumbled forward, out of the shadow of a looming tower, into the bright light. She looked up, carefully so as not to hurt her neck. There was a golden sky.
This was her world. It had to be, or else some twisted mirror of it, for nothing could replicate that sky. Runeterra's horizon had been beautiful, with its constantly shifting pallets, but here, the heavens were beyond glorious, and she had spent long, long years yearning for the sight of it again. She remembered it in her heart, had committed the vision of resplendent, white god-rays shining through wispy, roseate clouds to memory.
Her breath caught in her throat. The Judicator struggled forth, onto the smoothed path that led into the heart of the city. How could she deny it any longer? Morgana had been right. The spell had worked, and she had indeed returned, though there was not a soul in sight.
Questions raced through her mind at breakneck pace. How much time had passed between her summoning and her return? What had happened, and where had everyone gone?
A throbbing seized her – a pulsating ache that shuddered down her spine and reminded her of her purpose. Kayle breathed in deeply, and steadied her stride. The first order of business: her wings.
She staggered towards the Grand Library.
.
.
.
"Stop right there!"
The thunderous sound of hurried footsteps and the sharp ring of drawn swords. She turned slowly from the wall.
"If you make the slightest move, my men will kill you."
Soldiers, carrying Demacian standards. She regarded them with an even glance, asking lowly, "What do you want?"
Their captain barked out an acrid laugh. "Don't play innocent. We know you were involved, Fallen Angel. We have orders to take you in."
Morgana closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply. She held out her arms.
"Do it, then."
A thousand years of pain for the power she had sought, the destruction she had caused. She had reaped enough of suffering. She could endure a thousand more.
.
.
.
The room smelled sterile.
The cell-door shut behind her with a click, and she took quiet, careful steps, afraid to disturb him. His head lifted slightly, and he looked up.
"You know everything already," he coughed. "There isn't anything more."
"My god," she whispered, kneeling in front of him.
He looked terrible.
"Is that you, sheriff?" he asked, and his gaze shifted from side to side, as if searching for something. Caitlyn leaned in closer to look – and then recoiled.
His eyes – eyes that had been bright, and green, and swirling – were utterly dark.
"It's you, isn't it?" he murmured, lowering his head again. For a long moment, the sheriff couldn't find it in her to speak.
What had they done to him?
Viktor sat pinned to the wall, chains crossed against his chest so that his torso was entirely restrained. One arm they had manacled to the wall – the mechanical one left well alone He'd been strung up entirely.
His lower half was missing – she could see the stains around the mangled edges of his armor. Blood was crusted around his mouth, a trail left running down his chin. A medical tube fed into his nose, taped to his cheek; she could hear the wheezing of a machine in the far corner of the room.
"Viktor... You've gone blind?" she asked hesitantly, for lack of anything better to say.
He looked up again, in her general direction, quirking a strange half-smile at her. "They disabled most of my augments... Tried to nullify me completely as a threat."
"Who? How?"
"The girl. The mage. One little snap of her fingers near my eyes, and she became the last thing I've seen in three days," he told her simply. She could see the fingers on his human hand twitch. "It's damnable how easily magic interferes with technology given the right circumstances..."
The Machine Herald let out a sputtering cough.
"And this blood?" she murmured, fingertips grazing over his chin. He turned away from her.
"Had some internal bleeding when my pelvis was shattered," explained the scientist, with a chilling calm. "They said that the force was so great, some bone fragments were forced upwards and punctured my lungs. At any rate, they had to amputate from the waist down in order to extricate me from the rubble."
Caitlyn resisted a shudder. "How are you even still alive?"
"It's a wondrous concoction, is it not?" he asked her, and for one moment she had no idea what he was talking about. Then Viktor coughed, and turned back to look at her, and she understood. "They say that the professor developed it. Enough regenerative properties to keep me alive, but in this amount, not enough to heal."
She took the far end of the tube between her fingers, felt its tautness as gas pumped through it.
"They won't give you a respirator?"
"No." The muted smile appeared again, unsettling and almost deranged. "After all, I could not answer my interrogators as well with one on."
The sheriff felt something in her chest clench tight, something burn white hot and tremble all the same. This was just cruelty. Vicious, meaningless cruelty. Even if he were a criminal, there was no reason to treat him like this.
"Why are they doing this?" she demanded, voice steely. "What are they charging you with?"
He laughed a hacking, guttering laugh that sounded as if it were dredged up from deep within his lungs. "Crimes against Valoran... and all of Runeterra."
"For what?" she asked incredulously. "The system?"
"For obtaining power no one was meant to have," he whispered savagely.
"You weren't the one who exploited it – you weren't the one who used it to subjugate," she protested hotly. "That was the Institute of War!"
Viktor glanced up with a cutting smile, eyes not quite finding hers. "And yet, who do you think is charging me?"
Caitlyn crumbled backwards, legs folding underneath her.
"A scapegoat," she muttered to herself, even though she'd known it somewhere inside of her all along.
He made a sound halfway between a pained breath and a chuckle. "Yes."
This was not justice.
"I'll make an appeal," she said. "I'll make a plea with the Demacian court, or bring it before Piltover."
"I appreciate the sentiment, but-"
"I'll get you extradited back to Zaun, if I have to," she interrupted, voice with a cold, collected fierceness beyond her understanding. "The Institute was destroyed – there are almost no summoners left, and their power is in shambles."
Caitlyn looked down at him, half of the man that had saved her life only three days ago.
"Sheriff..." he started.
"I'll do whatever it takes," she assured him softly, "because you don't deserve this."
Viktor laughed again – shorter, quieter – a melancholic smile coming to his bloodied lips.
"You don't know what I deserve."
"I know enough," replied Caitlyn firmly. "I know that you had the power to control us, to use us – that at any time, you could have terminated us at your whim. And I know that you didn't."
A second of stillness – and then he drew a long, stuttering breath.
"...I may be more machine than man," he murmured wearily, "but I am not a monster."
Something she didn't understand compelled her then to take his hand – the mechanical one, limp and non-functioning. She turned his palm over in hers, traced her thumb over the bolted-knuckles and rough wiring. Viktor made no indication that he knew what she was doing, and she realized that he didn't. Both his eyes and the arm were disabled. For some reason that realization made her clasp his hand tight.
"Sheriff?" he called out, almost hesitantly. There was something lost in his voice.
"I'm still here," she answered quietly. For a long moment, silence fell over them – and then the Machine Herald began to speak.
"I feel strange," he began, voice odd and stilted. "It must be because they tampered with my augments."
"What do you mean?"
"There is nothing moderating my thoughts, or emotions. Right now..." Viktor breathed in deeply through his nose, as if to confirm something. "I am utterly human - just a man. The man I was ten years ago."
She didn't know how to respond to that.
"You know my history, don't you?" he asked, after a lengthy pause. "The creation of Blitzcrank?"
"I know that credit was stolen from you," offered Caitlyn. "That it ruined you at first."
"It didn't just ruin me," he told her, smiling bitterly, "it destroyed me. I was young. Idealistic. I tried to convince myself that the credit didn't matter if it was for the greater good, that I shouldn't be angry or jealous of Pididly – but I couldn't. I couldn't shed those terrible emotions, no matter how I tried.
"So I ran away. I tried to rebuild, to recreate myself." Viktor tilted his head, gazing into some faraway scape that was beyond her. "Machines... they do not deviate from their purpose, they do not clamber for credit or acclaim. They work. They perform. They are perfect.
"I wanted that perfection. I struggled for it," he went on, with a wheezing cough. "I replaced part after part of myself, performed dangerous self-operations to come closer to that ideal being. There is comparatively little left of me that is original, by this point, and yet..."
He faltered, face twisting into some kind of bitter self-hatred, some kind of all-consuming anguish and doubt and despair that was so forthcoming and vulnerable and raw that it shook her. Without realizing it, she reached out, almost to touch him.
"And yet after all this time," he continued, voice low and straining – the sheriff watched as his manacled hand clenched into a fist, "I am still just a man."
"No," she heard herself saying. In her own voice there was a strange, indescribable sort of waver. "You're much more than that."
Viktor didn't respond, closing his eyes. When she turned to look he was slumped over where he sat, as if speaking had drained the energy from him. A long period of silence passed.
"I have a request, sheriff. If you'll take it," he said quietly, at last. "Two, rather."
"What is it?"
He looked up for her, dark eyes glancing about. "They confiscated my belongings when I was incarcerated. There's something amongst them I need delivered."
"To whom?"
"You will know when you find it," he answered, with a half-smile that was only tired.
"All right," she said, nodding even though he could not see. "And the second request?"
He jerked his head towards the far corner of the cell. "Disconnect that machine."
"You'll die, won't you?" Caitlyn protested, with a start. "I can't do that."
"Would you keep me living like this?" he demanded sharply. The Machine Herald let out a hacking cough. "I won't have it."
"But I couldn't possibly... This would be assisted suicide."
"The Institute will not grant me the mercy of death." Viktor stared up at her – or where he thought she was – with darkly incisive eyes. "Why won't you? My system is still online. There is a chance."
Even though he could not see her – even though he wasn't really looking at her, Caitlyn turned away. "There's too much of a risk."
"One I am willing to take," he insisted. "Sheriff... please. Before they shut it down."
She glanced back at him – at his blank, sunken in eyes, at his gaunt and weathered face and his blood crusted mouth, at his mangled armor and blood-spattered clothing – at his suffering. She looked down at the mechanical hand he had crafted out of nothing, at its wondrous complexities, twisting wires, smooth plating, worn bolts. She saw a man of genius, utterly broken. And she made a choice.
"It will be a slow death," she warned, climbing unsteadily to her feet. "If you respawn, they may consider it an escape attempt."
"I am prepared to deal with the consequences," answered Viktor, through a heavy, shuddering breath that sounded as if he was holding in a wheeze.
The sheriff stumbled on shaky legs to the corner of the room, reaching around for the power cord.
She pulled the plug.
.
.
.
The Institute ordered the system shut down the next night, and posted guards on standby for latent, respawning champions. They had her pending for punishment in aiding a criminal.
Even so, when she put the request forth, Prince Jarvan allowed her to search through the confiscated belongings. Viktor's were in a heavy chest kept under lock and key.
When Caitlyn opened it, the first thing she dug out was a ragged teddy bear. . . .
Next Chapter: http://boards.na.leagueoflegends.com/en/c/fancreations/Q9odPx4k-fanfiction-fracture-23
