Chapter 17

The shrill hum of a drill pierced the night air. Viktor sat at his workbench with one of his own legs on the table receiving adjustments. The light of his lamp burned steadily, its oil having been enhanced by Zaun's chemtech, and provided ample light for his surgical work. With the unwavering balance of his mechanical hand, Viktor upgraded his limb to be closer to Ren's, now that the prototype was showing signs of success. His forceps carefully moved aside the wires of his leg, their veins, as he installed the hardware that would allow for a more flexible ankle. It was slow work, but work Viktor loved and it was well past midnight when he had finished.

He would have liked to continue, to work till the dawn, but the meticulous work left his mind aching like an overworked muscle. Reluctantly, he cleaned his tools and returned them all to their exact spots on his bench before reattaching his limb. A small grunt escaped him as the nerves were reconnected. Though the reconnection caused no pain, the shock always caused a primal lurch that he could not control. But rather than let it annoy him, Viktor always thought of it as that last gasp of flesh and its flaws as it gave way to mechanical perfection.

Viktor observed his foot as he moved it through simple motions to ensure all was attached as it should be. As he did, his mind strayed back to Ren and how he moved so naturally in combat.

Practiced form. Kicks clean, fast, accurate. Reveled in it. Subject displays greater aptitude of violence than originally thought. Enhance limb for more combat capabilities?

Melee combat was barbaric by Viktor's standards. After all, lasers left clean, cauterized wounds and ashes were easier to clean up than bloodied bodies. Still, Viktor acknowledged that some familiarity with the martial skills was good for the health. You never could know when you would need to defend yourself up close from a chem baron's thugs, a feral beast, or an overzealous, shortsighted, Piltover inventor.

Viktor's mind grew dark as he lingered on that last thought. It was a dangerous place to linger. He knew this and tried to distract himself with other thoughts, but it was too late and he found himself mired in that dark place.

The whistling of golems prepared as hosts, how placid the look of the faces of Zaun's poor were, even with their heads opened, the glow of the Shuriman crystal and the deep thrums it made as it powered his machines, and of course, the clanging rage of battle before the blinding explosion and the crumbling of walls.

Damn him. I would have saved them. That crystal should have been mine. My purpose was greater. They could have lived. Shortsighted, brash, stupid. I was right to distrust you, know you could never understand. Destructive idiot. Their blood is on your hands, not mine.

The logical part of Viktor's mind recognized what was happening and tried again to distract himself with thoughts of his current experiment, but that too became corrupted. He wondered if that altercation would have gone differently with Ren by his side.

Doubtless.

He envisioned Ren being able to keep pace with Jayce's movements, dodging blows effortlessly, and utilizing the rocket kick he enjoyed so much to attack choice weak spots on their mutual foe.

The thought of this sent a pang of excitement through his body and Viktor noticed that he had been tightly clenching his human fist and that his laser arm glowed angrily with pent up energy. He relaxed his arms, all of them, and quickly attributed this outburst of emotion to the fatigue of mind he was already experiencing. Immediately, he set about preparing himself for rest. For a moment, he considered injecting himself with his mood inhibiting chem solution, but decided against it. The logical part of his brain knew that this was a foolish choice, but that small, ravenous part of him that still craved emotion was enjoying the sadistic self-satisfaction that currently held his heart. He reasoned that this indulgence would later serve as a drive for Ren's improvement so that he may see the day that his foe lay broken at the hands of his work.