AN:
In case you haven't read the summary, or want some clarification, yes, this is going to be a M/M, sexually graphic story. I know some people just aren't into that; and that's fine. Just like my other stories I'm marking with AN's when there's going to be a lemon, and you can skip them if you want.
Either way, review, comment, PM me, come and throw eggs at my house...
The teenager strolled slowly down the hallway, one hand flipping a small metal plate, the other counting down with two fingers extended.
"Three… Two… One." The plate rose into the air and deflected a bullet aimed for his forehead, the next two whizzing past as he threw himself against a wall.
"You are ruining my art! I must protest that you have yet to get SHOT!" The muffled voice echoed down the hallway, tight on the tail of the bullet that glowed and spat smoke, though Ekko had no time to see it as he pulled the cord attached to his waist and the world glowed blue. For a second he hung suspended in time, then the bullet slowly floated backwards, as if attached with a cord, and in the next heartbeat-
The teenager strolled slowly down the hallway, one hand flipping a small metal plate, the other counting down with two fingers extended.
"Three… Two… One." The plate rose into the air and deflected a bullet aimed for his forehead, the next two whizzing past as he threw himself against a wall.
"You are ruining my art! I must protest that you have yet to get SHOT!" The muffled voice echoed down the hallway, tight on the tail of the bullet that glowed and spat smoke, though Ekko had no time to see it as he fell to his hands and knees, the bullet slamming into the wall above him and blowing a hole in it. Sunlight streamed in, lighting up the figure a dozen metres ahead of him. An ivory hump rose from the chassis that held it together, the painstakingly carved porcelain mask covering its face in stark contrast to the smoking rifle the man held in both hands.
"Why do you resist? I offer you immortality, beauty in a form made of purest stardust… Death, at my hands!" The man stood up, hands moving in precise but flaunting, exaggeratedly showy movements. Ekko snarled, hiding his fear.
"I resist for the people of Zaun! They deserve justice to be delivered!" He gestured to the crumpled corpses surrounding the Virtuoso, then dashed forwards.
It took four tries to knock the madman out, and five to get him to the people who wanted him without getting jumped by a gang. Normally, Ekko didn't work bounties. He was guided more by morals than sacks of cash. But even the most righteously justified of people needs to eat, sleep, and pay bribes to the gangs so no one ransacked your crib every other day. It helped that he was going to crack Jhin over the head anyway; why not get payed for it? The people he delivered the maniac to were shady, secretive, and probably doing something definitely illegal. But then again, so was everyone else in Zaun, and when they offered him more jobs for more criminals, all of which he had plans for besides, the offer was too gold-plated to put him off with the fishy smell. He spent weeks hunting psycho after scumbag after ganger, raking in the dough and giving it to families who lost parents and houses and jobs. In Zaun, it was all too easy to run to the black-market gangs, replacing lost limbs or taking loans for a week's food, slipping further and further until they were drowning and the Chem-Barons owned them, their family, their soul.
And they would collect.
Ekko knew it himself. He'd seen it firsthand, more times than he could count; it filled him with black rage when he couldn't even remember the faces of those he saved day after day. At least he hadn't forgotten the most important faces, his friends, his parents. He was a guardian, now, a symbol of revolution for an oppressed population with no teeth, and he couldn't forsake them. It was what he knew was right, even if his friends couldn't help him. One day he knew he'd seek them out, but today wasn't that day.
He pulled the cord on his waist, folding back five minutes ago, regaining the time lost brooding. He was standing on a roof's edge, looking out over the most dangerous slum the city had to offer, watching as the people went about their business. About to step back from the edge and locate his next contract, something stopped him. A single spot of pink among the drab grey and brown, bobbing towards him in a sea of people. Once he saw that, the darker purple hat protruding from the crowd was obvious, and he wasn't sure whether to smile, cry, or punch something when he realized what it means.
They walk right up to his door and knock. He recognizes them both; he'd had his eye on Vi for at least two years. At first, she was a threat; another ganger that was particularly effective and ruthless. Then, she vanished. Her gang collapsed from the power vacuum. People just thought she was dead; the Chem-Barons had decided she had outlived her usefulness, despite her reputation, or maybe she'd been captured and dumped in an unmarked grave. But then, the vilest and most merciless gangs start to be picked apart. The Factorywood Fiends are destroyed overnight, then others. The culprit isn't subtle, but they're good; no clues, no trail, just violent retribution.
But Caitlyn? Who hasn't heard of her? Infamous for being utterly ruthless, completely fixated, and wearing slutty dresses. Tales of her outfits and the possibilities surrounding them are popular in the sump, though he's more interested in her actions topside. She looks out of place; in the sump, next to the pinkette violence-factory that is Vi, and knocking on his door. He comes up behind them and calls out to them, but his voice cracks. He pulls the ripcord and tries again but he startles them and Caitlyn spins, taking a shot. Third time round he trips. Overall it takes more resets than he'd like. Of course that's all mostly irrelevant when the Chem-Thugs arrive. The fight is difficult, but he has to admit, Vi can kick some serious ass. Should he ever need some muscle, she'd be a good friend to have.
But as soon as the fight ends, all he can think about is his parents. They still don't know of his other life. They're so tired, they don't have time for anything other than their jobs and sleeping. They barely eat. But now… Well he has no choice. He considers rewinding, but he steels his spine. He cannot have a perfect life; he knows that. He's lost friends. For now, all he can do is make the best of an average situation. Vi offers her house; he accepts. Caitlyn offers her aid; he accepts. He promises to enquire after this strange girl, but that is, for now, a long way from his thoughts. They depart, leaving the broken bodies of a dozen gangers, and the corpse of Grendel, a huge bloated thing, more Chemtech than man. Ekko has clashed against him before, and now he was so easily defeated. His arms are shaking by the time he manages to dump all the bodies into a pool of noxious chemicals. He slumps into a chair and waits. Every ten minutes or so he rewinds and performs an errand; the limits of the Z-drive. Two hours pass before his parents arrive from work. They vaguely mention the battle-scarred street outside and ask him how his day was. His mother's eyes can barely stay open. So many times Ekko has wanted to tell them; he has money, more than enough to support them, move them up to Piltover like they wanted. But that isn't what he wants; Zaun is his home, and he can see the spirit underneath that no one else can, the vigour that breathes life under the smog and caustic gasses. His crew, the Lost Children, they make a difference, they live, they have fun and eke out their own place here in the dark. But he had been so scared, so concerned over the consequences… But now, he is galvanised into action.
They normally leave long before he can talk to them, and they don't come back together. Today is a rare occasion. The last time he could remember it happening was his nameday. They got him a pastry from Elline. His ears burn at the memory. He can feel their love for him, but the sight of them aging and withering away before made his stomach turn. He'd never told them his intentions to stay, but for once in his life, he's out of time. He has to do it now. It takes three times to do it. He can't get the words out, can't bring himself to break their dreams and shatter their fragile reality. But he won't do it anymore. Won't lie.
"Hey, mum. Hey, dad." Just like the last time, he wishes he could say something more, but it would seem cheap considering his next words. They murmur a greeting, a ghost of a smile, and sit. His father pretends to rest his head in his hand and nods off. His mother just closes her eyes and slips away. He sighs.
"Hey, mum, dad, listen I need to talk, why don't we have some water?" He rushes it, like a deflating balloon, but they don't seem to notice. They nod and smile and seem to summon a reserve they're building up like their meagre savings.
"What did you - *yawn* - need?" He coughs and rubs his neck and places the Z-Drive onto the table. It makes a concerning whizzing noise. They both look at it like they do everything else he presented to them; that over-exuberant, easily faked focus that is familiar to parents everywhere. He gestures to it.
"This is my Z-Drive. It's Hextech." They both gasp. Actual tears come to his father's eyes.
"My little genius… I always knew you were destined for great things!" His mother almost goes to stand up and come round to hug him, but her body rebels and stands taut like a wire before collapsing again.
"Oh, my son, you'll make such an impression on those academy scholars!" There's a moment of silence.
"What does it do?" They look at it in a sort of glazed-interest. They have no idea what it is. What it does. Who he is. They couldn't build a plank with nails in it. He can build Hextech machines of complexity that still sometimes outpaces his skills. The Timewinder was a re-hash of a failed experiment. He corrals his thoughts.
"It rewinds time. Pull this cord, you get thrown back up to about ten minutes. It varies. I'd show it off, but…" He trails off, trying to say what he wants to, what he needs to. He realizes they didn't really hear his explanation, and expect him to keep talking.
"I'm not going to Piltover." He says it slowly and measuredly, tasting the words. They are bitter. His father's face slowly folds into a frown, his mouth hanging open. His mother freezes like it interferes with her thoughts.
"It's a long story, but I… This is my home. This is where all I know exists. Piltover is a gilded trap, waiting to spring." He thinks of Vi, and Caitlyn. "Well, okay, some of it is alright. But the academies? The houses? They don't give a golden Hex for us! We can't live in their shadow, thinking they're better than us. We… We can do it without them, and I'm going to show everyone." He sighs. His mother's eyes focus on him and her face breaks out into a smile. His father chuckles and wipes moisture from his eyes. Ekko can't believe it.
"Oh… Oh, my little boy…" He glances between them, fists clenched. The Z-Drive hums incessantly.
"So… So, you aren't mad?" His father's jaw wags, indecisive, and then drives into a concerted motion.
"Well… I… We always wanted you to move onto better things. Piltover represents your only future… You don't belong here, in this sump, son! You deserve so much more!" This is more words than they've spoken in weeks. His voice is stronger than his failing body, which seems not to realize it is fading like a bad memory.
"Zaun has it all. You can't see it, but I can. Your lives… Surely you can see it's destroying you? Your Zaun isn't the one I know; slaving at the feet of the rich and strong. But the Zaun I know… I would trade nothing for it, and to see us rise out of the ruins and refuse of their city, and prove them wrong!" He's panting. His voice rings with a hollow tone in the cramped confines of their home. He realizes he's standing, and slumps back down. His parents watch him in a speculative manner, their eyes watchful, but not judging. He can't be more glad.
"And… I made a decision, today. You saw the street. There was a fight." They nod as an afterthought. "In Piltover, there's a girl causing death and destruction. A… Friend… Came and asked me for help. I agreed. Grendel didn't want that. He paid the price." Their eyes widen. His mother smiles, proud, then immediately her expression sours.
"You fought him!?" Her voice is a window into the past, and for someone who is as intimate with it as he is, that's not normally that amazing.
"Yes, mum. I fight. All the time. Vigilnauts, Chem-Thugs, sometimes a Warden." He quickly drives on, to pre-empt any response. "But that isn't important. I do what I have to, to make Zaun a better place, to help those who can't help themselves. And that fight was a part of it. So, mum, dad, we… Well we have to move house." He didn't want to dump too much on them at once but he managed to get out one confession so what's another few dozen?
"The Chem-Barons know where I live now. They know I'm cooperating with their enemies. They're going to be coming for us." He can see their world collapsing around them through their eyes. His mum nods like he was telling them about a new friend. Whereas she is more calm and accepting, his father is more in shock. "So… Pack your things." He rubs his hands and avoids looking at them. He clips the glowing cylinder back to his belt. They all stand at the same moment and before he can realize it they have him trapped in a hug. It's awkward; they're bony and weak, and he isn't sure what to do. But he can feel their love, and he knows that they will support him. He can feel it, a shift in the atmosphere. He's been taking his time, waiting for the right moment. It's arrived, knocked on his door.
And that moment, under the eye of The Boy Who Shattered Time, will splinter and seed a revolution across Runeterra.
