Withdrawal

Three hours. Forty-five minutes. And the seconds were turning.

I had stowed away the gifts, except for the coin necklace, which was safe around my neck, and a single box of sweetbread squares, now opened on my desk. The whole time, I'd been pacing around my room, sometimes sitting and staring at the timekeeper, which had remained like a paperweight on the scattered notes.

I feel so tired.

The words sounded in my head, an echo from a memory. But I kept pacing, thinking if I should tell them, or if I should take mom's advice and rest. The radio had been left on. Music faded out and Madame Eddiefray's voice floated in like routine.

"... the recent ethics case involving Dr. Priggs still continues to shake both Zaun and Piltover to its very core. Arbitrators from the Pinnacle Court have been interrogating and auditing him tirelessly over his employment of non-consented labor, drawn from young Zaunites…"

Non-consented labor. Should've just said slavery.

"... have temporarily frozen Priggs Industries' operations for over a month as orderkeepers and scribes continue to investigate the true breadth of Dr. Prigg's alleged folly. Many firms drawing labor from Zaun have responded to Prigg's alleged breach of ethics by reassessing working conditions and ameliorating worker morale…"

"I still can't believe Lord Tafton would give us so much."

I sighed, turned the radio off, and unplugged it. All that was left, was the timekeeper's monotonous sound. I figured dad might've wanted to listen to the radio, so I coiled the plug wire and brought the thing with me as I got out of my room.

"Dad, here's the, radi- oh…"

Mom and dad sat together in separate chairs by the door; they had their arms crossed, lifting gently to the push of their chests, with mom having fallen asleep on dad's shoulder. They hadn't changed their clothes, and the baggages and handlebags they've brought home remained forgotten on the ground, with some resting on the only table in the room and on the tiny kitchen counter

Looking like they just came home from Tafton's factory, only that they're wearing different clothes. I didn't smile seeing them like this. The chem-light from my room slipped through the door I left ajar and penetrated the darkness. Didn't even turn on the lights.

I left the radio on the table, beside two other bags from the Promenade. I can't sumping stand it. They only get to be this happy when a Piltie says so. The words rolled into a huff. I peered into one of the bags they left. Shoeboxes peeked back at me. I looked at the others; utensils, hygienics, perfume, clothes, treats... Bought those all upside in Piltover, only to bring them back to Zaun...

Dad snored. I looked at him. The smile he'd given me hadn't left; a faint angle on his lips, so gently aligned with mom's. But my eyes turned down, to all these bags, and I wondered the real reason why they smiled today.

I turned for my room and shut the door behind me. Shouldn't be thinking about that after all they've given me.

The waker-juice had stopped jogging under my skin, and so the first thing my eyes turned to was my bed, waiting for me like an old friend. I crashed there, my back to the sheets, and stared at the ceiling. The timekeeper hadn't stopped, each tick a reminder, a plea for me not to rest, but the weight of my eyes defied them each time.

When they wake up, they'll be wearing their uniforms. Tomorrow, they'll ride the Howl, head off to Factorywood, and be back to sorting a line of Tafton tools...

"We're quite lucky to be the first ones to go…"

"Pilties decide when we can smile." I said to nobody but myself. "Luck isn't going to change who we are"

Nor can it stop the timekeeper...

III

"Ekko."

Hands shook my shoulders. I woke, my eyes red and pulsating, and there loomed a silhouette standing by my bed. As my vision cleared, I realized who it was from a yellow kerchief tied around her shoulder and the green dye of her braided hair.

"Phola?" I said.

"Get up, you sleepy cog." Her voice hissed, urgent, through her half-formed smirk.

I pulled myself up. "What're you—" then I paused.

Seemed like the whole sumping gang was inside my room; their patched clothes, goggles, gloved hands, wet boots, and tied kerchiefs were present in almost every corner. Dury and Weasel sat on the windowsill; Quiver crossed her arms above my chair's headrest, and Kip and Jon-jon rested by a wall.

"Hi, Eks."

"Yo, Eks."

"Sorry, we had to get in without telling ya..."

I looked at Phola. She was twirling a braid of her green hair, visibly embarrassed. She wanted to tell me something, but I first needed to know why she stuffed six guys inside my room.

"Why'd you bring them all?" I said, my voice creaky like a rusted nut turning to a wrench. She didn't answer. The others looked at me, their eyes floating down and away from the bed and into the shadows far from it. The texture of the air grew thicker, not just because of the Gray seeping in from the outside, but because of the quiet taking over the room.

I noticed the bandage wrapped around Quiver's pale arms and a new gauze stamp on Kip's olive face. Weasel took his hat off and placed it against his chest, revealing fresh white bands wrapped around his scalp. Phola sighed after she had taken a step away from me. She was gently rubbing an arm with a hand.

Something wasn't right.

"Where's Lurk?"

And their eyes sunk even further as my mine stretched open.

Quiver spoke, her husky voice cutting the silence in two. "He kept a door shut before the vigis could get us. Told us to go. We tried to..."

Every word tore a fiber out of my chest. They didn't have to say any more. I understood, and as I did, my face contorted and I slid hands over my face. Quiver didn't go on.

Phola sat beside me and tried to pat me, comfort me, but I pushed her arms away. "I'm sorry, Eks. We didn't realize that the 'nauts were on to us now… If I knew-"

"Don't be sumping sorry." I snapped. "Don't all of you be sorry." They stared. "It's all my fault…. All my fault..." Then I stayed there, looking at the floor, until the urge to rewind came but I dispelled the thought. It wasn't worth it. Neither the gang nor Phola spoke. They quietly agreed with me.

I looked at Phola. Eyes that pitied me couldn't seem to look back. "Does the rest of the gang know?" I said.

"No, but we'll tell them soon."

"Tell them. Make sure to. And tell his mom." I said. "Tell Bradley's mom." The sound of Lurk's real name stirred deep breaths.

"Alright…"

I couldn't take it. Another face in the walls. As if everything before him was not enough. It didn't matter. The gang watched silently, while some looked to the door… Nobody came through.

I caught the timekeeper's face in a glance.

Four hours. Five minutes. And the seconds were turning.

Not a second to waste.

"The zolt-heart." I turned to Phola. "Did you get it?"

She nudged her head at Jon-jon. He let a hand in his pocket and brought out a metal sphere glowing bright red at its poles. He came forward and, with eyes turned away, he gave it to me. "Here."

A scarlet orb within a spherical metal chamber twirled in infinite motion, generating bursts of light in every direction and a machinarium district's worth of energy every second. I held it in my hand and brought it close that I could see the tiny flecks of crystalline residue, the shriveled vestiges of its once whole form.

"Enough to power all of Factorywood... " I muttered. "The plotting, the searching,, and the heists upside to get even just the schematics… and the blood spilled…"

"The Pilties and their viginaut hounds'll be looking all over for that..." Phola said.

"I know. Won't matter once I'm done."

I stood, came to my desk, and placed it the zolt-heart there, right at the middle of my reviewer, like a marble. With her head down, Quiver had gotten up and had retreated to the bedside with Phola. I felt the weight of all their eyes as I turned to look at all of them.

None of them could even glance at me, so I felt the thanks that I'd wanted to say fade down into my throat.

"I should've…" I began. "I should've gone with you guys. I'll fix this mess. I promise you all. I'll rewind, make things whole again, bring them back..."

Nobody looked, nobody except Phola, whose eyes were dark to me. "You mean bring Ajuna back."

"I ain't doing this just for him." I said to her.

"Don't give us that sump-crap." She said. "What about Xerk, Bambam, and Hamchest, huh? What about Quiver's sister, Ophelia? Will you save them too? Why only now, Ekko? Why only now that Ajuna's gone?!"

"Because Ajuna was the last straw!" I shouted, not caring that my parents might hear. "You know how many times I saw him die in that gutter? Do you know how many times I see you, see all of you die?"

They fell silent.

"I can change things. I can stop them from dying; make things right. If you just give me enough time to supercharge the drive, I can fix this. They'll be back with us, and we'll never have to paint their faces on the wall. Once I'm done, we'll forget this timeline ever happened."

But none of that moved them. The resentment in Phola's eyes gleamed through in a soft, withdrawing light. I knew I hadn't convinced her, but maybe out of anger or out pity, she didn't argue, didn't say another word but the unspoken fade of her respect.

I looked away from her to meet the eyes of everyone else, but they retreated from me, sinking into the corners of my room. I could never know if they agreed with me or not.

Steps thudded from the other side, until, wiping his face squeezed in disturbed slumber, dad marched in the room. "What in Janna's name is—", and he immediately stopped when the necks of every single person with me turned to him. Kerchiefs, boots, and patchy clothes… Dad knew what all those meant and it reddened his face like billowing chem-flame. He looked at me, and to everyone else, who had all begun to get up as if standing to both respect and fear his presence.

The gang shot glances my way, knowing well what this meant, but before I dashed for the Z-Drive, I caught Phola's eyes; and all the anger she gave, had molded into silent melancholy. She had more to say, but couldn't, and hoped she could in the echoing timeline.

She won't have to.

A cyanic glow split the world apart.

I stood before them. I pushed the thanks I wanted to say back inside me.

Not an eye met. Not a lip moved. I turned back to my desk and pulled out all the tools and parts I'd hidden, the sound of clunking and thudding awkwardly telling the gang that I'd ignored them. They watched me, silent, not knowing what to say or choosing not to say something. It didn't matter. Whatever bad heart they've got for me and the cost it took to get this far, won't be important at the end of this all, and it was near. The timekeeper won't have to tick anymore.

Soon, I had the Z-Drive and the Z-Augment in my arms and, shoving away the box of sweetbread squares on my desk, I set both of them down, smothering the opened flap of my admissions reviewer beneath it. Just right beside the zolt-heart. I sat on my chair, adjusted it forward, and looked for my micro-welder, and when I found it, I got back to reinforcing a capacitator's joints. The sound of sparks shooting out in short-lived wisps filled the quiet between me and the gang.

"We'll go now, Eks." Phola said, her voice low but gritting. "I hope that damned Piltie ball is worth Lurk's life. If you've any sanity left, help us paint his face on the wall."

We won't have to once I'm done. I didn't say anything.

"Come on, guys. We've done our part. Let's leave him be." And they pulled themselves up, heading for the window. I felt Kip's small feet stop by me. I didn't turn to him. I focused on the sparks, like tiny gunshots. Reminders.

"You'll bring him back, won't you?" He said.

Unconsciously, I nodded.

"Will you bring all of them back?"

The answer stayed behind my lips. All of them, until I've wiped our block in Memorial Wall clean, once I'm done.

Phola called for Kip, and before he went, he gave me a pat on the shoulder,

"He was my best friend too. It's not your fault, Eks… It never is."

The words were lost on me. I stopped listening. I needed to concentrate. The timekeeper kept on going. I didn't want to stop it. I can't rest. Like the ticking, I must keep going, until the numbers turn back, then I won't have to set the timekeeper.

And no Zaunite child will have to die by a Piltovian's gun.

And he won't have to die.

And it won't have to be my fault.

Once I'm done.