The Kid in the Sump

Viktor strode through the worst of Zaun's alleys in search of specimens for his research. Few volunteered to be human guinea pigs for experimental grafts and proper scientific cadavers were expensive, but Zaun's Sump always had a corpse to offer if you knew where to look. Nobody objected to his collecting of the unwanted dead. Viktor had always viewed it as a service to the city.

Zaun was a city that could use all the services it could get. Sunken deep into the ground years ago by a great calamity, the city built itself back up into one of the greatest and most industrious places in all of Runeterra. Some would argue that Piltover, the thriving metropolis built atop Zaun, had the undercity beat, but those who did often found themselves missing teeth if they were to say such things aloud in the Sump.

Zaun was stubborn, unkempt, and relentless, as were her people. But the progress the city enjoyed came at great expense. The factories that covered the city were constantly spewing out pollutants that made the air of Zaun noisome and covered the city in a perpetual smog known as the Gray. This foul air was only made worse by the local topography. Zaun was a vertical city, built up within a vast fissure, which helped to keep the smog corralled in its streets.

And at the bottom of this canyon was Zaun's Sump. Its location ensured that everything washed down into it; rainwater, sea water, factory run off, chemicals, wastes of all sorts and the endless unfortunate that had no choice but to learn to thrive here or die here. It was for these desperate dead that Viktor came.

The stench of the Sump did not bother Viktor. The tight fitting mask he wore filtered the contaminated air he breathed, while illuminated lenses allowed him to see easily in the dark passages. Also aiding him were the many mechanical augmentations he had installed in himself; robotic limbs that did not tire, enhancements to his senses to keep him alert to danger, and an artificial heart that would never falter. Moving through the Sump was as easy for him as if he had been walking through the more inhabitable Entresol level above. Past aging brick buildings, wrought iron gates, and caustic pools of run off, he went, unbothered by the wretched state of the city around him.

The, a stench strong enough to penetrate his mask struck Viktor. He rounded a corner and found the source of the smell, a bloated, dead rat nearly as large as what the mutated rat Twitch, the city's well know urban legend, was claimed to be. Even if it had been human, its body was too far decayed to have been useful for Viktor's work. Its ribcage was poking through flesh that looked like it would slough off at the slightest touch and rats of normal size were already beginning to eat it.

Viktor sighed with disgust and continued his search around a notorious drug den. These bodies were not ideal, as the chemicals filling them made for poor controls, but this house seemed to regularly produce a corpse every week, either through overdose or murder.

As he approached, his third arm, the mechanical hex-claw mounted to his shoulder, twitched alert. Once before, Viktor had been attacked by chemed up junkie. The scorch mark he had reduced the man to as was more than enough to deter future attacks, but he knew fortune favored the prepared, and remained cautious of his surroundings. At the house, shifty individuals dealt openly and unabashedly as a Yordle with clumps of fur missing stumbled about in a stupor. But once again, there was no corpse to claim.

The excursion was proving to be fruitless and, at length, Viktor decided to retire. He still had a preserved leg that could be useful for one more experiment, maybe. He became so enveloped in thoughts about what to do with this limb that he almost tripped over a small, slumped body. The faintest hint of a smile nobody could see stirred below his mask as he knelt to examine his find.

"Human," he noted to himself, "male, not even two decades old. Filthy. Body is emaciated, likely died of starvation. Appears freshly dead, but there is a smell of rot. Check for it."

Viktor lifted the threadbare shirt and his smile quickly turned into a scowl. Though shallow, the kid was breathing. Viktor looked up to the kid's face and found that he had opened his eyes.

"Little focus in gaze. He will be dead in days. Return later."

It was unfortunate, Viktor recognized, but life in Zaun was challenging, especially to those in the Sump where it was outright a battle. He also recognized that to others, his choice to leave the kid would seem cruel, but his dulled emotions felt nothing but the slightest twinge of pity as he turned away. Empathy was something he knew he lacked. He could not allow himself to care for the countless sumpsnipes that inhabited Zaun. If he took time to pity every urchin, he would not have time to do anything else.

A tug at his cape prevented him from leaving. Viktor's hex-claw was first to react, reflexively spinning around and aiming at the kid. The laser in the palm glowed an angry color as it was primed. Viktor leered down at the kid, expecting that this display would be enough to scare him off, but the kid didn't loosen his grip. He only stared back at him.

"Please help." he said in a voice just above a whisper.

Viktor kicked his hand away and turned to leave, but again he was stopped. The kid fell over and grabbed Viktor's ankle.

"Please," he repeated, "help me. That arm? You're Viktor, right? You can do something."

This had Viktor pausing. He was not surprised that his name was known to the kid, but that the boy still petitioned for help despite knowing who he was. Viktor was well aware of the many sinister rumors that surrounded him, and he knew that not all of them were unfounded.

"And what makes you believe I can help you?" Viktor asked.

The kid reached down and pulled up the sleeve of his pants. There was the source of the rot.

"Right leg is mangled," Viktor observed, "severe scaring. Injury from machinery. Limb healed at crooked angle. Foot is wrong, distal portion is missing. Injury continues up to the ankle. Tissue there is black, necrotic. No maggots. Surprising."

"You can help me," the kid said, "You replace limbs, right? You can build me a new leg. Please."

"Why do you believe I would do this?" Viktor asked.

"I don't know."

The kid's expression said it all.

"Desperation."

"Your guardians," Viktor asked, "where are they?"

"Dead," the kid responded, "plague took my dad and chems took mum."

Viktor pondered the situation.

"Without them, how do you plan to pay for your new limb?" he asked.

"I don't know, but I promise after I'm walking again I'll get a job. I'll pay you back, with interest, you'll see, I promise. Please, you gotta help me."

"Your plan is unreliable. You could try and run from me or you may die before your debt is paid. I propose a different solution."

Viktor had the kid's full attention.

"I will create a new limb for you and not charge you for expenses, but in exchange, you will allow me to install an experimental limb onto you and record the results. Do you consent to this?"

"Yes."

"No hesitation. Ideal candidate."

Viktor nodded in approval.

"Follow me," he ordered.

The kid struggled to his feet, clutching a homemade crutch. He only managed to remain upright for a few moments before collapsing again. His chest heaved as he gathered his strength to try again. Once more his balance faltered, sending him back to the ground.

"Wait," he cried out, determined to follow after the scientist, even if that meant crawling.

Viktor scowled. Such displays were only a testament to the weakness of flesh. He pulled the kid back to his feet and supported him against his body. With his third hand, he pulled at the collar of the kid's shirt to keep his head from lolling against him.

"The sooner I get you back," Viktor commented, "the sooner you can stand alone."

The kid nodded. He gave a fragile smile and, with a shaking leg, took a step to a new life.