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Broken bones are a great inconvenience to your work. It takes three months for you to be able to do light duties out of your bed, and another month on top of that for you to be allowed to go to Zaun. Councilor Tallis, the bastard, turns into the person overseeing your visits, and Councilor Medarda backs him up whenever he starts to falter. Not that Mel Medarda isn’t an amazing beautiful woman who you would let curbstomp you upon request, but it is rather infuriating to be at their combined mercy. However, Councilor Medarda, who understands how stir crazy one can be after being stuck in bed for months, draws you to the side after you are finally granted permission to go on your usual trips.
“A moment, my dear?”
“Yes, Councilor?”
She leads you over to a balcony, one overlooking the city, and rests against it. “I imagine you must be quite eager to get back to work.”
“Yes, ma’am,” you reply earnestly. “No one else has been to Zaun since I was injured, for fear of being attacked, and no one down there trusts my colleagues in the first place. There’s quite a backlog.”
“The never-ending monster of paperwork, yes,” she hums. “I do hope you will be careful from here on.”
“I aim to never have another hospital bill in my life, ma’am.”
“Good,” she looks you up and down. “Councilor Tallis tells me the two of you spoke after your attack.”
“Yes, ma’am. He wanted to know any details I had regarding Viktor.”
“Did you have any?”
“Not many, as I spent most of the time unconscious,” you reply, holding your tongue on the more personal aspect of your conversation. Not that you think she doesn’t know about it - she knew before Jayce could even put it into words how much Jayce loved his lab partner - but out of what little respect you have for Jayce. And yourself. “Blitzcrank is his main eyes and ears in Zaun, though the machine wants to help people more so than follow Viktor’s vision.”
Mel nods. “I have heard. An interesting choice - a machine as a saviour.”
“Maybe it’s a psychological thing. Easing people into the idea that machines can help them.” You would shrug if it didn’t make you flinch. “Only Viktor really knows the answer to that.”
“Jayce also says that he offered you a challenge,” her eyebrow raises. “To find the human in the machine.”
You chuckle. “Yes, the conniving bastard. He hopes I can get Viktor to stop whatever he’s doing and go back to normal.’
“Is that not what you want?”
Oop, there it is. “I don’t agree with everything Viktor does, ma’am. If I did, I would be down there with him, with enough metal in me to call lightning,” you lift your chin and smile. “But I don’t like storms. I like my feet solidly on the ground. I’ve climbed enough heights in my life to get to where I am and I am not about to fall.”
The councilor watches you for a moment. “So what do you think of Jayce’s hopes?”
“I think that if Jayce and Viktor could ever work together again, they would accomplish amazing things, but it would require them to ease their convictions, to acknowledge that they were better together than they are now apart, and there are much easier things than that.”
She makes an affirmative sound, her mouth twitching in a smile. “That there are.” She does look at you. “Tell me one thing, then, to ease my own worries.”
“Yes, Councilor?”
Her expression shifts from its polite mask to something a little more open, a little sterner, and you suddenly remember that Mel Medarda is from Noxus. For all of her love of diplomacy and politics, her blood is still grounded in iron and steel, and she knows when to draw that blade out of its sheath. “What will you do if there is no hope for him?”
You feel, for a moment, your ears start to ring, a tightness blooming in your sternum and your stomach tightening. “That is the question of the hour, isn’t it?” You ask quietly, all feigned happiness drained from your voice.
“Do you have an answer?”
You look out towards Piltover, pointedly avoiding Mel’s gaze, your mouth dry. Finally, you manage to loosen your heavy tongue and speak. “I don’t know, Mel. What do you expect me to do?”
“Tell the enforcers where he is so that he can be detained, removed as a threat, stripped of his abilities.”
“That’s a suicide mission, Councilor,” you snap. “He’s prepared in case that happens, and the only reason those preparations haven’t been turned on Piltover is because he doesn’t care. He only cares about his work, his Glorious Evolution or whatever they call it, and Piltover is nowhere near his priority list.”
“Then what do you call breaking into Jayce’s house?” She asks coolly.
It’s probably a conversational trap, probably her fishing for information, but you fall into it anyway. “He didn’t give a shit about Jayce, only the crystal he had. And then when he went back again, it was to see if Jayce had any of it left. None of it was about a grudge. He’s incapable of them anymore. He doesn’t even feel love anymore, Mel, what makes you think he could feel hate? ”
And there it is. Mel’s expression softens from that stern mask and she reaches over to touch your arm as your chest heaves in frustration. Frustration and some other emotion that you can’t place. Sadness? Hopelessness? Anger? She just touches your arm, rubbing it with her thumb. “I am truly sorry, my friend,” she says, her voice soft, like you’re fragile.
You do not have the strength to shove her away. You just stare out at Piltover, your ribs aching with every exhale, fingers tight around the railing.
“Do you really think you can find it? The man in the machine?”
You laugh bitterly. “If I can’t, no one else can.”
She tilts her head slightly to concede the point. “So what will you do first?”
“Let my ribs heal a little more. Then I’m tearing Zaun apart.”
That city was your home. You know nearly every inch, every nook and cranny. You know where a person can hide, and you know how to track them down. And where you fail, you know other people who can.
When she speaks again, you can hear Mel’s smile in her voice. “Go get him, tiger.”
A week later, you begin the search for Viktor. The elevator trip down to Zaun feels longer than normal as you tap your fingers against your thigh, waiting impatiently. If your last conversation with Viktor was any indication, he is going to be hiding from you. You can’t flush him out - you aren’t enough of a threat to properly do that - so the only answer is going to be tracking him down. The only problem: if you know all of the nooks and crannies of Zaun…so does Viktor.
You are going to need more sources of information than your history and instincts.
First stop to gather information is, of course, the Last Drop. Theiram is still tending bar in there after all of this time, and he gives you a polite smile when you slide onto the barstool. “Welcome back,” he says easily, pouring you your usual. “Thought you’d died.”
“You wish,” you smile easily, taking the drink and passing him the requisite payment.
“You here for business or pleasure?”
“A little of both,” you shrug, sipping at your drink. “Looking for someone. Hoping someone’s seen him.”
“And who would that be?”
“He goes by Machine Herald these days.”
Theiram pauses mid-pour of something to look at you sharply. “Dangerous business, looking for him.”
“His creation saved my life. I think I owe him a thank you.”
“Then may Janna and all the gods be with you.”
You frown. “What do you mean?”
Theiram used to be so fearful, but his voice is easy confidence as he fills a glass and passes it over to another customer. “We used to hear about him sometimes. Kids who would try to hunt him down to prove their bravery. People who were saved by his creations, and others who were injured by them. We knew better than to go near him,” he pauses for a moment, leaning forward over the counter to whisper in your ear, “and now we don’t hear anything.”
That makes your skin crawl just a little. “What do you mean?”
“Not a word, not a peep, not a flash of silver in the street,” he drawls. He clearly spent too much time around Jinx. “He up and vanished like a fart in the wind about…three months ago?”
Right when I got injured. “What about his cult members?”
“They’re still around, yeah,” he shrugs, “but they’re…jumpier than normal. You could try them, but I doubt they want to speak to you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the Machine Herald died and they don’t know how to cope with it.”
The thought of that twists in your stomach and you shake your head a little bit to throw it away. No, that wouldn’t be it. As much as your heart screams at the idea of Viktor dying, you are certain that any attempt to kill the Machine Herald would be very loud and very, very obvious. You have another long swig of your drink. “Do you know where any of them gather?”
He taps the counter meaningfully and you pass over a few coins, which he gladly takes. “Try over by Benzo’s old shop. There’s usually someone huddling in the doorway.”
“Thanks, Theiram,” you say quietly. It’s not the best of news, but it’s at least a start. “You’re a big help.”
“A question for you, then. Why do you really want to find him?”
You pause before downing the last of your cup. “I knew him, once. I hope to know him again.”
“Best of luck with that, then.”
You are fairly certain that he looks at you with pity as you walk out of the Last Drop, but you ignore it for now. The alcohol burns in your chest, but it’s enough to give you a little bit more focus. Benzo’s shop hasn’t seen a lot of action for a long time, tucked away in a corner like an old memory. Silco didn’t destroy it and put anything there, surprisingly. Was it out of sentimentality? An understanding that what was left of Vander’s community would riot, because Benzo was a good man and hadn’t deserved the gruesome death he’d had? Either way, there it remained, and you know the route there by heart.
Alright. Here goes nothing.
After a couple of hours, you are ready to put your face in your hands and scream in outrage. You very nearly do. There is not a single sign of the Machine Herald. The fog in front of Emberflit Alley seems to surge as you approach, sending you away with full body coughs that make your barely healed ribs ache. The cult member you used as a guide before runs away at the mere sight of you, and when you try to find others with Viktor’s telltale metal augments, none of them will give you the time of day. Even when you climb up an old fire escape to the top of the buildings and try to look down on the house, the fog seems to swell again to block your view. For a moment, you debate calling his name, but you are fairly certain that you will not get an answer.
He’s there, you know he is, but…
“That will not be necessary. However, this is the last time you will see me. Any contact with you will be observation only, to be reduced to none in due course.”
He’s serious about this. Not that he jokes anymore, but it’s one thing for someone to be hard to find, and another for them to be actively avoiding you. You look into the fog once more, hoping beyond hope that you can pry his shape out of it…but there is nothing. Not even a ghost lurks in the fog.
You sink down to the roof, crossing a leg under you and leaning against an old smokestack. There are no other leads you can think of, no one you could ask. It would be easier to find Jinx or the Firelights than Viktor. You have no idea where to go or what to do. Perhaps it would be best to go back to Piltover and think things over. Hire a few informants. See if you can get a hold of a cult member and shake some information out of them. It was going to take a long time but perhaps you would get it done.
A loud crashing of metal above you drags your attention out of your thoughts.
Of course. Who else would know Viktor and would be in regular contact with him? You jump to your feet and put your hands to your mouth. “Blitzcrank!”
From scaffolding above you, the robot looks down at you, optics clearly taking you in, and you watch the robot jump down until they stand across from you, peering down at you.
Identity recognized, initiating protocol 2.1. Greetings, little one.
Oh. Oh, ow, that hurts.
“Hey, Blitz,” you reply gently, crossing your arms over your chest. “I wanted to say thank you, for pulling me out of the rubble.”
It is part of my programming to assist the people of Zaun and protect them. I have done my duties successfully.
“That you have.” Long gone are the days of a simple toxic waste cleanup robot. “Still, thank you.”
It is customary to say that ‘you are welcome.’ You are healing well?
You smile despite yourself. “Yes, I have. Still some pain, but nothing time will not fix.” The smile lingers for another few moments before the goal of the conversation makes it disappear again. “I won’t keep you from your duties long, but I do have a question for you.”
If it is within my lexicon and protocols, I will answer your question, little one.
“To confirm, I imagine you can’t tell me where Viktor is.”
Negative. Master Viktor has denoted his location as top secret information.
“Of course he did,” you tap your fingers against your arm. “Is his health top secret?”
Negative. This is information that can be shared with you.
Well, that, at least, is good to hear. “And…what is protocol 2.1?”
Protocol 2.1: when on exploration phase, seek out known individual and associate of master Viktor, identified as ‘little one’. Protect and assist individual when possible, relay any messages between little one and Master Viktor, and allow for assistance from little one with tasks.
…there is something in your eye. That’s all. You rub at it with the back of your hand and swallow back the sudden lump in your throat. That must be from before his mechanization, when he had you assist him in testing his creations. Your smile is sad as you shove your hands into your pockets, trying to keep yourself calm. “I see.”
Query: What is the purpose of your line of questioning?
“I was trying to find him and talk to Viktor, but he’s hiding from me,” you shrug a little bit, trying to be kind to your already stressed-out body, “and I’m also curious how much of him is left.”
And what purpose does that serve?
“Besides causing me emotional pain?” You laugh bitterly. “I suppose I wanted to see if he was serious. If he was so deadset on being without emotion that he would make sure I could never find him, and he could never find me.”
You question his resolve?
“Gods, no. Viktor has always been stubborn and dedicated,” the sad smile etches itself ever-deeper into your face.
Further query: Then why do you pursue a path that causes you emotional pain?
That’s the question of the hour. “Are you going to tell him what I say?”
Affirmative, unless told otherwise.
It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts. “He said that he still felt something for me. Something that his surgeries and mechanization couldn’t get rid of. He’s determined to get rid of that feeling, but…I am selfish. And I still want him to think of me that way, and…maybe I can preserve just a bit of that. That somewhere in this world, in some way, Viktor is still mine and I am still his.”
Confirmation: You love him.
“You know what love is?”
Master Viktor explained it to me. Safety and security, wanting to provide it and accepting that this person will grant it to you. Mutual support, meeting needs, seeking this individual out when needs are not being met. Romance is placing a person as a priority above all else and knowing that they do the same regarding you.
You have cried too much over this and it takes everything you have not to cry more. “That is correct. And I do.”
Master Viktor says that he does not love you anymore. However, he did not delete Protocol 2.1 and he has requested surveillance of you during your visits to the Undercity. This appears to fall under his previous stated description of love as ‘placing individual as priority above all else, providing security, seeking person out when needs are not met’.
There is so much in that statement that you aren’t sure where to start. He’s watching you? “He’s watching me?”
Correction: I am watching you.
Right. Whoops. “Has he said why he is having me surveilled?”
Negative. Only to ensure your well-being.
You nod slowly. “I see. I don’t know what he’s thinking with that.”
Blitzcrank pauses. Query: Do you require similar parameters?
There is absolutely no reason for you to turn that down. “Please. Let me know how he’s doing. If he needs help. Anything like that, I will come.”
Understood. Parameter set.
“Thanks, Blitz.” None of this puts your mind at ease…but it’s a start. “I should be heading back up to rest.”
Do you require assistance travelling?
You turn your gaze back to the fire escape you climbed and your pelvis screams in response. You grab your hip, wincing, and give the robot a sheepish smile. “...I may just.” Blitzcrank simply holds out their palm. For old time’s sake, you smile and climb on. “To the Howl, please.”
With more grace than you would expect from a clunking robot (but as much as you would expect from one of Viktor’s creations), Blitzcrank carries you most of the way out of Zaun and sets you on the path home.
Your sleep that night is…a rather restless one.
Viktor, sitting in your bedroom, one leg crossed under him, the other hanging down next to his resting cane. In his hands sit two objects. In his right is his original prototype Hexcore, shimmering with its blue and purple light, spinning in its usual fractal pattern. In his left…his heart, beating steady and true, dripping red. His eyes are dark, shadows heavy beneath them, and they watch you intently. A hole drips in the centre of his chest, where he reached in and ripped it out. You watch, frozen in place, as he turns his heart over in his hand, examining it. “So long as this beats, it is yours,” he says. Then you watch in horror as he tips his hand, letting it fall to the ground. You find it in you to move and dive forward, trying to catch it before it lands. It moves in slow motion, your hands just barely reaching it, and when you look up, you see him pressing the Hexcore into the hole in his chest, a smile spreading across his face-
And then you wake, sitting bolt upright, gasping for air, your hand outstretched as if you can still catch it.
It takes a few moments for your heart rate to settle, your eyes wide and your chest heaving with pained breaths as you anchor yourself back into reality. It’s okay. You were dreaming. It’s okay, it’s okay, you tell yourself as you slowly fall back onto your sheets. You press the heels of your hands into your eyes for a moment, groaning in frustration. It’s fine. You didn’t need to sleep anyway after a long day walking around Zaun. You didn’t need to sleep as you contemplate the loss of the person who has been there for you your whole life. When you had nothing else, you had Viktor, and now you have everything…and he’s gone.
No matter how deep you bury it in your mind, it still comes crawling out into your subconscious. You suppose you have to ask yourself the question now.
What if there is no man left, and only machine? What if the man you loved is lost forever? What if he can’t be saved?
Tears spring to your eyes at the thought and you viciously rub them away. As much as your heart insists that you shouldn’t give up on him, that there is hope no matter what…you know there has to be a point where you withdraw your hand. If Viktor insists that this is the life he wants to live – alone and heartless, surrounded by his machines and his glorious purpose – then there comes a point when you should truly respect that. Even if there is still some connection between you. Even if you still love him and Viktor still feels something for you when he feels nothing for anything else…you have to let him go.
No matter how much it hurts.
There is an ongoing murmured debate among the cultists who devote themselves to the Machine Herald. They are in awe of him and all that Viktor has done to improve himself, to ascend himself beyond the limits of humanity and bring others with him, to save them from the errors of their own evolution. However, there is much about him that they do not know. He is not a man who invites others close to his side, and if they ask on behalf of their worship, he denies them answers. So their imaginations spiral out of control and they each throw in their opinions as they huddle around their fires at night, cleaning their augmentations and eating their simple food.
Simply put: how much of the Machine Herald is still human? What can he still do?
Does he need to eat and sleep? Yes. Those are still biological functions necessary for his health. He removes his mask to ingest substances, and has demonstrated a faint nostalgia for sweetmilk. And, as a consequence, he does still need to use the facilities, although no one dares ask his physical limitations on the matter.
Does he still bathe? Yes, as he is still mostly skin and skin dies, needing to be scrubbed off. Again, no one asks the specifics of how this takes place, nor has anyone ever attempted to catch him in the act. They know the arm doesn’t come off, and that will hurt, no matter what state the machine herald is in.
Does he have other biological urges? His reflexes are intact, and he manages any necessary neurological responses accordingly. But as far as the worshippers of the Glorious Evolution know, that is it. There is only one person that the Machine Herald has ever shown interest in, according to those who knew Viktor growing up, and he has currently shoved that person far, far away from him in a step towards his true self.
A question they do not ponder – does he dream? But of course, they say. He dreamed of this future, of the glorious evolution, of a future where humanity would rise to its full potential without the errors of its emotional existence holding it back. Of course he dreams. We live for his dream. If one were to ask Viktor in his day to day, he would agree with this assessment, although he would phrase it as ‘long-term planning a cause towards an ideal best-case scenario’.
…if one were to ask Viktor this at 3am when he has snapped awake and has nearly thrown his pillow across the room in a fit of oddly emotional pique, his answer would be quite different.
Contrary to many of his opponents’ beliefs, Viktor does not sleep standing in a charging port or on a gurney in full armour. He puts his armour on a stand nearby a simple cot, a table set up above the head of the bed for his third arm to rest on, a small pillow for neck support, and a blanket for when the cold sweeps through his laboratory. He sleeps on his side, curled inward in a half-fetal position, bad leg propped in a comfortable position, his hair wild over the thin pillowcase. His colostomy bag lays nearby, and his rigid routine of when to wake up and empty it doesn’t even require an alarm. It is by no means luxurious, but it suits his purposes well enough. Even when rudely awoke does his position change. His Hexcore is always within reach, in case there are any intruders.
Intrusive thoughts, however? There is no defense that he can truly prepare against them.
He wakes suddenly, muscles tensed, eyes snapping open to stare at the wall ahead of him. His hand rises automatically to his pillow, to the knife stored under it, and his senses take in the room. Nothing. There is no threat, no danger in the room, and his fingers knot instead in the pillowcase, gripping it for a moment. It is simply his mind playing tricks on him, spinning fictional scenarios as visual hallucinations that he should not put stock into. Emotions hardwired into his hindbrain, a part of survival instinct refusing to be erased. He should ignore them. And yet, it takes him two minutes and twenty-three seconds for his heart rate to return to its usual resting pace. His eyes stay wide the whole time, barely blinking, as he stares at the wall.
Racing boats in the river below Piltover, as grown people. Viktor tries to follow the boat, you following behind him, and Vitkor overtakes the boat, stepping on it to let it take over his leg. The clunky machinery becomes one, slowly taking him over, and it feels pleasant. Tickling. There is a surge of water, trying to drag him under, and when he looks back at you, he sees you lying on the ground, rocks around you, bloody and bruised, and your eyes locked on him. His mouth opens, his hands raised to act- and then he wakes.
Slowly, he wills his hand to relax and separate from the pillow (not that he quite understands why he did it). Mindlessly, he touches the colostomy bag, weighing its heaviness, and checks a nearby watch for the time, his augmented eyes peering through the darkness. 2:57am, and here he is, awake, rationalizing away your fictional death and pondering the reaction to it.
This is how he slept with you, his memory summons against his will. On his side, bad leg up so it wouldn’t be squashed, with either you curled to look at him or tucked into his arms like a living pillow. You always smelled good, your shampoo smelling like mint and citrus, and he could easily bury his nose in your hair, breathing you in.
He does not shake the thought away, but it is a near thing, and a whisper of frustration rises in him. It does not end. It has been six months since his last contact with you in that hospital room, and the surge of emotions in reaction to you has gotten worse. His initial plan to remain separate from you lasted three months and thirteen days until the first of these dreams woke him. He’d sent an agent to observe you and report back to him, who had informed him of your slow recovery. With that, he checked on you every other week. Then every week. His initial concern for you became an anxiety, and a new, necessary part of his routine is to check the surveillance systems that he had placed near your house in Piltover and your overnight residence in Zaun (nothing direct, simply indicators whether you have entered or left, and if anyone else entered with you). When you are in Zaun, he does not seek you out, but he does have Blitzcrank relay any interactions they have with you. It is absurd – your presence had only been in two short interactions over the course of several weeks. Why your absence is so…obvious is not logical.
You should be less of an issue as the stimulus of your presence was removed. Instead, it has become worse, and simple surveillance is not enough to alleviate his concern. He will not violate your privacy by having a robot directly surveil you, nor any of his agents. Nor will he reach out to you, for multiple reasons.
(Because then he’ll want to keep talking to you. Because it might hurt you if he reaches out. Because you’ll want to keep talking to him. Because perhaps every reason he initially had to keep you away will become more and more relevant and he’ll have to step away from his work.)
He snorts. This thought process is becoming irrational and needs to be halted, adjusted to something more logical.
He gets up, emptying the bag and retaping it to his stomach, pulls on some of his warmer clothes in lieu of his armour, straps a brace to his still weak leg, and takes his staff as support. The walk to the lab is a familiar one, waking him up in a Pavlovian reaction, and he stands before the chalkboard. All of his life’s greatest achievements came from a chalkboard: the designs that made Heimerdinger look at him as a potential student, his updates to Jayce’s theory of Hextech, his first notes on the Glorious evolution…it all came from the first stroke of chalk on slate. Taking a piece of chalk in his mechanical hand, he looks at it for a moment. He does not pray, otherwise he would pray that this will work to ease his turbulent mind. With that, he begins to write.
Theory: That emotions resulting from long-term exposure to key individual become centralized and separate from usual emotion centres of the brain, and thus emotions regarding this individual will remain regardless of the emotional removal.
Study: Removal of emotional centers of brain
Hypothesis: Removal of emotional centers of brain will reduce emotional output without reduction in higher brain functions and other motor activity.
Conclusion: Surgeries successful. Removal of amygdala, adrenal gland, prostate, reproductive organs. Lesions placed on cingulate cortex, thalamus, hippocampus, and forebrain to remove emotional functionality. Some personality shift noted – cause approached with greater intensity, more aggressive in combat. No shift in higher functions or motor functions noted. Additional methods required for quality of life, but manageable.
It had taken a great deal of work. He had tackled the surgeries bit by bit, with assistance from automated machines. The greater physical surgeries were first, while he had full use of his brain, and he worked on the brain surgery options while he was recovering from the others. The installation of his third arm was difficult, as it had required a mirror and a lot of very careful surgery, but it had assisted with all future work. He’d installed a catheter and colostomy bag afterwards for when he removed his armour, and to assist with surgery recovery. The eyes had been equally difficult, as he had had to do them one at a time, and then additional facial and chest augmentation for future endeavours. Then came the brain surgery, and he’d definitely needed automation for that. And a lot of anesthesia, because it was one thing to open up your arm and work on it, and another to break your skull and put needles into your brain in very precise spots. That was a process where he could not make a mistake, especially as this was intended for him to never make mistakes related to pain and emotion ever again.
He had been impressed by the recovery, as much as he could be impressed anymore. There were some lingering emotions, but there were not ones that would promote error. In fact, they assisted in his work and with the limited social interaction he had. Empathy often required reciprocal emotion, he had found, and being able to smile a little or frown sometimes meant the difference between getting what he wanted and not.
However, he had not yet administered the process to anyone else. Doubtless they saw some fault in it. Perhaps there were things humanity was not yet ready to go without. A foolish thought, but unfortunately, something that he would have to factor into his work.
He made the notes and moved to the next hypothesis.
Study: Emotion and human error
Hypothesis: Inhibition of emotion will reduce the amount of mistakes in subject (self) by at least 50%.
Conclusion: Experiment successful. Fear and anticipation of pain eliminated. Jealousy and envy eliminated. Previous estimation of project #58 completion: 21 days. Completion of project: 10 days.
The brain surgery had been the most uncertain part of his process, and as such, successful completion was extremely important. If he had made a mistake, he would be rendered a vegetable, or irreparably injured. If his removal of emotion had not conjured the result that he sought - the removal of human error - then his work was all for nothing. As such, this had been tested more rigorously than any other part of his process. Not only were all of his essential brain functions tested against a previously established baseline, he formulated a test to confirm his own hypothesis regarding human error.
It was a resounding success. The reduction of his extraneous emotions was just what he needed to ensure that his stream of inspiration continued without interruption. Not to mention that it allowed him to work through any injuries that arose from his work, the thought of comparing his work to Jayce had never crossed his mind. His world had shrunk down to be nothing but the work, and the increased quality of the results had shown it. Now, he had, for his work, received the title of Machine Herald, and his work had saved the lives and improved the quality of life of many others.
One more finished. Onto the next hypothesis.
Study: Presence of individual after surgery to remove emotion
Hypothesis: Reunion with key individual with whom significant positive emotions were shared will not provoke emotions.
Conclusion: Hypothesis incorrect. Emotions still felt at presence of key individual, if at greatly lessen intensity than before surgery. Amusement at jokes, concern at their distress. Feeling of pleasure at physical touch of individual. Rising memories. Enforced distance as response.
It had been foreseen that, at some point, you would have come to find him. He could nearly predict the exact moment of it. As soon as news of Jayce’s victory against him and the rising worshippers spread to Piltover, he knew that you would come to investigate him. You would find where he lived, you would walk right in the front door, and you would confirm his identity and confront him. The information was laid plain before him as to how that was likely to occur. You were likely hurt by his departure and would express it loudly. Possibly, you would try to convince him to abandon his path and return to Piltover. You would not react well to his revelation that he was without emotion. He would tell you that it would be for the best if you two never saw each other again, and would impress upon you that this was the best for his work and for your emotional health. And then, you would leave, and that would be the end of it.
Still, when you walked into his laboratory, he realized that he hadn’t fully prepared for the situation. This was rooted in one apparently erroneous thought: that he had eliminated all emotions related to you. However, when he saw the relief and sorrow on your face upon realizing that he was exactly who you had thought, something had tightened in his chest. When you had nearly wept at the reason for his departure, he felt an irrational urge to say something to make sure you didn’t. When you accepted his reasoning and mission without a single complaint, when you accepted that the path to the Glorious Evolution was the path he would take for the rest of his days…he was pleased.
When your hand cupped his cheek, he became very, very aware that apart from touching his research subjects and patients, he had not felt the touch of another for a long time. He didn’t realize that he had missed it until his head was already leaning into your palm. Your expression had changed at that. Softened. Fond.
Still in love with him.
No, he definitely had not prepared for that. Distance was necessary for that, so that he could examine where these thoughts had come from and how to eliminate them.
Study: Fear of Injury
Hypothesis: Distress will occur upon the sight of the key individual, but not other individuals.
Conclusion: No distress noted at sight of other injured individuals, including individuals that were previously known and had no negative experiences. Upon sight of key individual injured, distress and fear felt, as well as relief at survival. Suggests that key individual continues to be source of emotional stimuli, that reactions to them have become part of thought processes, regardless of lack of support by emotional centers of brain.
Viktor pauses, letting the chalk rest against the slate. An impromptu experiment, yes, resulting from an unexpected call from the Zaun Hospital. A request for an emergency contact, an injured bystander, and he found himself standing over a hospital bed in the dark of night, staring down a bloodied, bruised, broken body. The human body is fragile, prone to injury with little effort, prone to death just as easily. He grew up in the Undercity. He saw a great deal of injury, to the point that even prior to his surgery, he had grown accustomed to it. Not completely inured to the point of not caring, but accustomed to it so that he knew how to respond. Now, with his surgery complete, he has found himself able to ignore suffering when it is in the way of his greater goals.
But that had not prepared him to see you on the hospital bed, wrapped in bandages and splints, a cannula in your noise, your breath raspy with each inhale and exhale. The chart at your bed stated that you had been on death’s door from the rubble crushing you, that your hands were injured from trying to free yourself from it. You had looked so fragile, so frail, so unbearably human, and when your eyes had opened to look at him, despite the pain, you had looked so relieved to see him.
Viktor? Why are you-
He’d given a logical explanation, which was the primary reason for his visit. He did not mention how badly he’d needed the reassurance that you would live.
You had said that you saw Kindred while you were lying in the rubble, not sure if you would be rescued. That they had asked how you wished to die, that you would go to it gladly, and they would wait until it was time for you to depart the world of the living. The idea that death had come so close to you brought emotions to the surface. Discomfort. Upset. Fear.
When your eyes had closed, Viktor had allowed himself one touch to let out his emotion. His fingers had brushed your forehead, smoothing back sweat soaked strands of hair, and he’d pet your forehead, just the once. It let a knot in his chest slowly unravel, not that he had noticed it there, and he could finally leave the hospital without any emotion floating at the forefront of his mind. And if he kept checking the hospital records to confirm your continued health, that was no one’s business but his own.
Study: Separation from stimulus
Hypothesis: Separation from stimulus will reduce emotional responses.
Conclusion: Feelings of anxiety persist regarding health of key individual, which are only appeased by surveillance to ensure well-being.
Viktor puts down the chalk and stares at the words on his chalkboard.
The conclusion from all of these studies? You are still important to him. Deeply, the kind of depth that entrenched itself in his mind, unable to be removed. Your presence reduces anxiety, your absence increases it. Positive emotions are present with your touch, and the absence of that touch creates intrusive thoughts seeking it out. Attempts to cut you out of his life have, as of recently, failed. He will need to try harder, to cut contact out completely, to avoid every possible interaction with you in the future. To get rid of anything that reminds him of you. It must be final. The last traces of sentimentality must be excised, like an infection.
He sets the chalk down firmly and walks back into the sleeping quarters. Prior to moving back to Zaun, he destroyed almost all elements of his life before the Glorious Evolution. Viktor Nikolavich did not matter anymore. He was the foundation, yes, but he was not the future that Viktor needed to carry forward. And so all traces of that man disappeared.
Except for one.
In the drawer where he keeps his underclothes, there is a small wooden box. He pulls it out with care, setting it on the table, and opens it. Sitting inside, nestled in simple black cloth, is a necklace. He lifts it up, letting it hang from his fingertips, the neon lights from outside catching on its shimmering metal. It was a simple pendant on a metal chain: brass with blue and purple gems embedded into it. Viktor had bought this necklace for you with his first large paycheque, and with your first paycheque, you got him a matching one.
You and I, Viktor. Reaching our heights together, and oh, how we will soar.
His third arm whirs to life at his back, flaring to life, and a little yellow target settles on the pendant. He focuses on it, bidding the sentimental object farewell and perhaps even good riddance, and the laser fires, blasting into the wall.
Perhaps we shall soar. But it will not be together.
But it is not destroyed. To a mild flash of surprise, the pendant simply falls to the ground, landing by his foot. The chain hangs loosely from his hand, swaying a little in the air, the broken links glowing with heat. He frowns at it in concern. He had aimed at it. He had aimed intently at the pendant to blow it to pieces, and yet…there it survived. Viktor leans down to pick up the pendant, turning it over in his fingers.
Perhaps there was a malfunction with the arm’s targeting system.
He places the pendant back in the box, closing it, and pushes it back into the drawer.
Perhaps he had simply flinched. Perhaps there were things he was simply not ready to go without, no matter how much it may hurt his plans to do so.