Chapter Text
Brockton had changed much more than she would have expected, for just two years.
She got off the bus in a daze, adjusting her backpack, eyes dragging across things that should have felt familiar and simply did not.
Lamps where she expected light crystals.
A sky with too few stars.
Getting honked at when she walked onto the street.
It took her a moment to remember you weren’t supposed to walk out without the traffic lights.
She still kept expecting horses.
It passed her in a blur, the rest of the slow, meandering walk.
It didn't... fit. With her memories. Her expectations.
The city was visibly and tangibly exhausted. It hung over everything like a cloud.
Too many pawn shops open, too many other businesses closed and boarded up, graffiti laid thick upon cracked glass as if geotopical formations, layers of it.
Too few people walked outside.
Boarded windows, even close to downtown.
Whatever wasn’t permanently shut down hid behind security shutters, sometimes multiple layers of them.
The roads looked like they hadn’t been patched since she left. There were craters of asphalt everywhere, filled with gravel and sand by citizens, most likely, rather than the city.
Brockton felt… posthumous. Like her.
She was but a ghost, returning from war centuries late.
So she should have fit right in.
She didn’t.
Her eyes flicked to rooftops from habit.
Her gait kept shifting, consciously having to adjust herself into a casual walk.
The letters still sometimes looked foreign, her mind shifting through languages familiar to her, English in the far back end of that list.
Some things she had dearly missed about this world.
Modern shoes still felt unreal.
It made the long trek much more bearable than the death marches still fresh in her memory.
She found her house eventually.
Notices of disconnection were scattered all around the front porch. Mail had been crammed into the mailbox until the city gave up.
The porch tilted faintly, wood rotting.
Digging the key out of her backpack, she struggled with the lock for a bit until her patience thinned.
She glanced around at the dead neighborhood. All quiet, all still.
Tugging at the nebulous core within her, a prepared spell slot pushed forth.
‘Flash’.
How inspired.
She aimed past the door, and used it.
Much like its namesake, she teleported three feet into her living room with a sharp snap and burst of golden, flashing sparks.
She coughed immediately, squinting as she waved the dust out of her face, turning to inspect the lock.
She paused.
His key was still in there.
She tugged it out with reverent gentleness, staring at it blankly.
Almost willing forth the grief to finally hit.
It just didn’t feel real.
She vaguely remembered being taken out of the asylum by her orderly for a little bit, attending a funeral.
And that was it. Gone, like that.
She slowly set the key aside, and turned to her home.
It didn’t feel like a home.
Dust lay thick and clumped with humidity.
A few patches where the dust was thinner here and there, maybe a home intruder who found nothing of value and left through a cracked window.
She appreciated the lack of disturbance on their end.
Buttons clicked uselessly, electricity long since turned off.
The water worked.
She watched it circle the drain in the kitchen.
She tried to remember what even happened, but she had never been given many details.
Some kind of confrontation at work that her dad tried to break up, and paid the price for. An accident.
How… meaningless.
She crept through familiar paths with the curious caution of an archaeologist, excavating her own forgotten life.
Bottles of alcohol filled the kitchen bin.
Untouched remnants, here and there. A cup of coffee in his room, on the nightstand, still half-full.
Her room was exactly the same. Every handle was clean of dust, relatively. Tidied more than usual. A new book on her desk, something she didn’t recognize. He probably thought she’d like it, found it somewhere.
He had been waiting for her to come back.
Her eyes burned.
She couldn’t tell if it was the dust or the realization that she’d lost both of her worlds within a year of each other.
She wished she could cry.
Nothing came.
She closed everything left open. Stuffed in her backpack, old pictures. Of her mom, her dad. Some where they were all together and happy, the three of them.
She mourned for all three.
She searched around to find more of their belongings.
Mementos.
There was a realization to be had, about physical objects, that she hadn’t understood before.
When she was young in mind and body both, before she triggered two years ago, she hadn’t found a point in mementos. Just objects. They were only as useful as their utility. Keeping one for memory’s sake felt bizarre.
She understood now.
A physical remnant of something long gone felt like a continuation of a memory that couldn’t carry on otherwise. It carried the memory because all other evidence of the person, the moment in time, their significance, had faded from the physical world otherwise.
She was Runeterra’s memento.
And the objects in front of her were no different, so she decided to carry them on in turn. Because nothing else would.
A small gold necklace, something her mom only wore in weddings and important days, hidden under her hoodie. Her dad’s favourite watch, a small silver thing that fit all too perfectly on her right wrist, its hands as frozen in time as her old home. Her old diary went into the bag too, a sense of fond amusement running through her as she rifled through the pages.
She zipped the bag shut, and stared at it.
Then she turned to leave.
A small thump made her pause, head turning towards the basement door.
Slowly, she approached, unlocked it, as quietly as she could manage, and walked down.
It took a couple turns through the benches and closets, until she saw it, and paused.
In the corner, a sleeping bag.
Strewn about the corner around it, signs of life.
A backpack, still open, a torn packet of tampons visible inside, still full.
To the right, a large old tub. A bucket full of holes hung above it from a hook.
A... makeshift shower.
A bucket for a nightstand, a little tealight candle burning atop it.
The wax hadn’t even begun to melt yet.
To the left, a broken basement window, hanging open, a wooden ladder open under it.
She relaxed, a little.
Just someone trying to survive and scrape together what little dignity they had left amidst ruins.
Isolated.
Disconnected.
She could relate.
She glanced from the fresh-lit candle, to the backpack no sane person would leave behind if she read the situation correctly, to the simple ingenuity of the shower, to the tampons.
They were still here, somewhere. Hidden.
Her gaze drifted down to her hand, at the keys she still held.
“My parents used to live here.” She said, too loud in the silence. Flat, blunt.
She tossed the keys on the floor, next to the sleeping bag.
“Take care of it.”
She turned, and left.
At least one thing still felt vaguely familiar.
Bob’s place was not much different from what she remembered. More lights, more loud people, far more glass and screens. But the shape was the same.
Just a place to eat.
She got in line.
Ahead, a delivery driver, accent thick and unfamiliar, asking for an order to pick up. Around, patrons, some quiet, some loud, average late night crowd.
One conversation drew her attention, then her gaze, lingering on a familiar blonde bowl-cut.
She recognized him.
Greg had… not grown up, but matured a little. He looked strange with stubble.
He hadn’t changed much though.
Still, it stung in a way she couldn’t express.
Asylum East felt like a place frozen in time.
But the world kept spinning beyond its walls, and left her behind.
…Maybe that was for the best.
She turned back forward.
“At least it wasn’t a major city this time. And it wasn’t Behemoth. You can fix water damage, you can’t fix radiation.” He shot rapidfire, casual.
Her gaze pulled to the side again.
A TV, showing the aftermath of the most recent attack, mid-day news running a repeat.
Nobody reacted.
An employee quickly changed the channel, almost automatically.
She tilted her head to hear better.
“Insurance rates are gonna spike again.” Greg’s conversation partner grumbled.
…Sparks? She couldn’t remember his name.
“Bet they never rebuild half of it.” Greg said through a bite of his burger.
“Why would they? There’s nobody to fill the buildings anymore. Fucking liars on TV keep saying we’re recovering, talking about- fucking statistics, but every year feels worse.”
“Yeah. You notice they stopped releasing population data? Or doing polls- and surveys!” Greg pointed out, voice conspiratorial.
It... horrified her.
Not just the words.
The tone.
Because she recognized it.
In Runeterra, when The Void first began to win, there had been outrage, terror.
By the end, nobody blinked twice as another nation fell. Atrocities were just another day. Dead eyes marched in rows up Targon’s spine, numb and spent as they walked over the bodies of those who’d collapsed.
The emotional fatigue of constant tragedy cut deeper into morale than any knife.
Collapse always, always sounded ordinary before it looked apocalyptic.
Her gaze slid back forward.
This had happened before. Over and over again, through a hundred sets of eyes, the same events.
She didn’t remember all of the thousands of years she’d experienced in the vision, but she didn’t need to. She remembered what mattered.
Before she could spiral, she was faced with an employee full of forced politeness.
She blinked rapidly, trying to focus.
“Uh- the- the cheeseburger. One.”
The worker nodded, tapped at the register.
“Six and a half.” The man blandly said, then stared at her.
“... Of what?” She asked.
“Six fifty.” The man responded, instantly, repeating himself.
What did th-
Oh.
Oh.
Money. Paper money.
Symbolic currency.
Functional economies, and all that.
For a moment, she stood there, lips pursing.
She… forgot about that.
A fresh wave of disorientation seemed to hit her like a truck.
She forgot about dollars?
The silence had gone past awkward, and the employee was starting to eye her cautiously.
The delivery driver observed from the side, intrigued, half-face helm bobbing in her peripheral.
“Nevermind.” She sighed, face warm.
She had money in the bank, but she had to withdraw it. That was why her orderly kept pestering her to take the morning bus from Philadelphia.
She forgot about all that.
Whatever. She wasn’t too bothered.
It would only take a few moments to grow something edible, once she found a spot isolated enough. She’d come here for the normalcy of it, more than a need.
She settled outside the store, digging through her backpack to see if she had any coins, gold, or dollars.
Nothing.
She slowly settled the pack back on, eyes lingering on a lightly swaying key, left in an unatended delivery scooter.
Bold choice. Or they forgot it.
As if the thought summoned the problem, a man in a hoodie glanced at the scooter, slowed, peeking towards the store.
Then he hurriedly burst into motion, jumping up on the seat, cranking the engine, a mere three feet away from her.
If she extended her arm, she could touch him, he was so close.
For a moment, the sheer shameless, opportunistic audacity made her pause, glance around at the thick crowd all around them.
Lingering eyes glanced away.
Nobody reacted.
Not worth the risk.
The engine rumbled.
He twisted the throttle, the scooter lurching into motion-
Her hand snapped out, grabbing his shoulder, yanking him off the scooter as it kept going without him, falling immediately.
His backside met the ground, and she hurriedly yanked him up by the shoulder as her other arm curled around his throat, and squeezed, the crowd parting and erupting into murmurs, making distance.
Elbows flailed, legs kicked as her chokehold tightened.
She just twisted a little so he couldn’t hit her, and dragged him back to the sidewalk, bored and mildly annoyed, kicking his feet out whenever he tried to stabilize and straighten.
A moment later, he went limp, slowly, then all at once.
She lowered him to the ground, opened his jacket, turned him onto his stomach, and twisted the arms behind his back into a makeshift straightjacket. Phones lit, someone calling the police already.
Two random guys went around her to grab the scooter, wheel it back out of the street back to the sidewalk, turning it off.
Knot finished, she straightened and turned to leave.
The delivery driver from before burst out of the restaurant doors and rushed past her straight for his scooter, questions rapid and panicked, to the guys with his scooter, to the crowd.
She ducked her head and walked.
The crowd directed him to her anyway.
“Hey, hey! Girl!” He rushed out, going around to block her path, eyes wide and panting with relief.
He didn’t look much older than her, she noted, before he reached out to her.
Her hands jerked out of her pockets by instinct as he-
Yanked her into a hug, his helmet squishing into her cheek.
She froze, tense and bewildered, wide eyed.
One half of her shifted, intending to snap his neck.
The other half shifted as if to pat his back.
Neither actually moved beyond an aborted twitch.
He pulled back just as quickly as he came, bursting out into laughter, grabbing his chest and groaning in relief as he swayed back a step.
“Holy shit habibi, thank you!” He rushed out.
…What language even was that?
“You have no idea how- if I lost that thing I would have cried man! You- you wanted a burger, right? I can buy you the burger- no, I’m buying you the burger, come on, you deserve it.” He patted her shoulder, his other hand directing her back to the doors.
She almost refused by instinct.
Gifts were dangerous. Debts mattered. Resources were survival, and she didn’t need them.
“I don’t really, uh-”
“No no no, come on, you had a cheeseburger, right? I insist, please, you saved my ass just now! Whatever you want on the menu, I'm buying!” He forced on, gesturing wildly.
She relaxed, a little.
This wasn’t a conditional- anything.
Just returned kindness, she supposed.
“I’d feel shit if I didn’t! Come- actually no, just stay right here, okay? I’ll go buy it for you, you keep watching the- the papaki, wait here!” He added, accent thicker as he began to walk away, gesturing at his scooter, then darted back into the crowd.
“Uh- yeah, ok!” She called out, stilted, then stared at the scooter.
Then the crowd, which stared back at her.
They seemed to take it as an invitation.
People sidled up to her for small chat, others joining one by one like a cascade effect.
Questions about martial arts, if she was from around here. Talking to each other. Chuckles flowing.
Casual. Pleasant.
The two guys who picked up the scooter held the guy down as he began to stir.
The waiting crowd slowly seemed to open up a little, discussions flowing as she awkwardly stood there, vaguely uncomfortable but… pleasantly surprised.
All it took was one person to act, for more to follow. She knew that, but it was different to see it.
She looked around at them, all of them.
None of them seemed to realize how precious and fragile civilization was.
A convenience store.
A queue.
Delivery jobs.
People assuming food existed if you just paid for it.
She hoped they never had to realize.
She relaxed, as the wait went on, and the police came by far too late as usual.
And she felt an unnamed conviction fill her as she ate her burger and chatted with the locals.
Who better than to let her know how the city was doing, than the average person who lived in it.
The image was grim, of course. She knew and expected that.
She just hadn’t expected how much had changed beyond what she could immediately see.