Tested Patience

"And that is all I have to report so far."

Driek Voso slowly looked up from his desk.

"That's all?" he asked.

"That's all." Caitlyn confirmed.

For the past hour, Caitlyn had watched the hope in the surviving Voso brother's eyes wither into despairing fatigue and now, with the completion of her report, die. It was an expression she had seen many times before and one that she regrettably knew she would see again. But such was the way when your everyday was often someone's worst day. And having seen it so often, she knew what was likely to come next.

"Then what are we all paying you for?"

She was ready with her answer.

"This investigation –"

"All our taxes to fund the Wardens? All that top-of-the-line hextech you have? All those private donations from people who want you to keep us safe from the Undercity? All those resources and you can't find my brother's murderer?"

Caitlyn watched Driek run his fingers through his hair and grip his scalp as though he were physically trying to put the lid back on his anger. Failing that, he dragged his fingers down the sides of his sullen cheeks and clasped them below his chin. She noticed that over the last week he had sprouted more gray hairs.

"I understand your frustration." Caitlyn began to speak again, keeping her voice at a well-practiced, even tone.

"I'm not convinced you do. Do you know what it's been like at my house? My sister-in-law has been so consumed with grief that my wife has been staying with her to make sure she does not harm herself. We will not see my nephew an orphan from this tragedy. He's only five. Do- do you have any idea what it is like to look at him in the eyes and tell him that his father is gone?" he blinked back tears and for a flash grief turned to rage. "How am I supposed to tell him that 'daddy isn't coming home' because he decided to have an affair with a dirty Zaunite?! How?"

Caitlyn decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and not take that comment as a direct slight against her. She instead attributed it to how his daughter was recently caught trying to be intimate with a Zaunite dock workers.

"This is new information to me. If your brother was having an affair this –"

"No, no – He wasn't. I don't think he was. It was Pulse. You said you found traces of it on the Zaunite's body. I knew it was his vice."

Caitlyn nodded in affirmation. The stimulant commonly known as Foreman's Friend was not uncommon in Zaun though, due to its addictive nature and tendency to cause negative behavioral changes in those who partook, it was banned in Piltover. Still, those who worked in physically demanding jobs would seek out the drug for its ability to dull muscle ache and give a rush of energy. Zaunite chemists then made a more potent version of it known as Pulse, and this was the version that often made its way topside. Of all the places in Piltover, the docks were where it turned up the most.

With eyes closed, Driek took a long, deep breath, held it for five seconds, and exhaled as he righted his posture.

"A week. It's been over a week since they found him. I can't believe you are telling me you have no major leads. Truly, you have no suspects? You saw his body. I know you did. He wasn't killed with a knife or gun or beaten with something. He was burned. His arm was severed. That wasn't a mundane weapon that did that to him. It was something barbaric. From where I'm sitting, there's one obvious suspect."

If she were to look from where he was sitting, she would see his desk covered in a mess of papers. Every news source that reported on Anton Voso's death had their article torn out and piled up. The floor plans of the warehouse and map of the surrounding docks were spread out, covered with notes, the list of which employees were working that entire day was marked in red check marks and lines, and a transcript of the official warden report sat on top of a stack of other, older reports.

From what she could gather in her brief sweep of the desk, what was there was all the information she and her officers had or was information she had permitted the press and the Voso family to possess. All except one piece of paper. It was not formatted in the style that the station's archives were but when she tried to take a closer look at it, Driek took a newspaper article and placed it in the center of the desk with such force that the movement itself felt like a snapping statement. The article read "SHOCK AT THE DOCK!"

The name "The Piltovan Inquirer" at the top of the paper made Caitlyn's face tense with annoyance more than anything Driek had said to her that day. She detested that paper. Vi enjoyed it, saying it was good for a laugh if you were standing at a paper stand, but Caitlyn didn't even like to humor it with so much as a flip through. In her eyes, it was an irritating tabloid, one far more interested in selling a scandalous story made up of suppositions and exaggerated details that would lead readers to the most sensational conclusions. More than once, their "reporting" had led the public to become so riled up over events that it made it difficult for her and her people to work. Things written by M. Quickset, who unfortunately appeared to be the writer behind this article, were especially irritating. This person wrote so much so quickly and seemed to have nosy eyes everywhere that she was convinced that there were several people behind the pen name. It made her private desire about tracking down this individual and having a polite chat with them about not muddying investigations difficult.

"Look at this, right here at the end. They're onto something." Driek said.

Caitlyn took the article and reluctantly gave it a quick read. She was not impressed by what she read, the final paragraph least of all.

"Not one individual is mentioned by name." Caitlyn stated matter-of-factly, "They are the thinnest implications. They are not worth your time or energy, Driek."

"A demented Zaunite scientist with a laser and reason to despise this city? There's one name that comes right to mind; Viktor. There isn't a dock master or warehouse owner here who doesn't know his name and the reason why he was expelled from the academy. I know I haven't forgotten what he had proposed we put into our people."

Viktor. That was a name that needed no introduction to her. She was well aware of the infamous inventor's troubled history with Piltover; claims of stolen work, expulsion by the Academy of Techmaturgy's ethics committee, subsequent blacklisting from most Piltovan research firms and factories, stealing an invaluable hexcrystal from Clan Giopara's laboratory, performing questionable experiments on countless Zaunites, and attempted murder of one of her oldest friends. And recently that that brilliant yet foolish friend nearly died at the hands of that inventor again.

She remembered the state Jayce was in when she visited him shortly after his return from his secret trip into Zaun. A courier had delivered a letter to her home, requesting to speak with him as a friend, not as sheriff. She had gone and met with him at his apartment and was surprised when he answered the door in not dressed but in a plush bathrobe and lounge pants, with his hair disheveled and stubble growing along his prodigious jawline. That was the first sign something was off. As long as she had known Jayce, he had always been a dandy who avoided appearing before anyone if he wasn't looking better than at least half the people around him.

Jayce had welcomed her in, pointed to where tea (lukewarm and over steeped, for all his brilliance he never got the timing right) sat, and promptly went back and reclined into his armchair. When she had salvaged the tea as best she could and joined him, he told her about his ill-fated endeavor. It had culminated with him sloughing his bathrobe off his injured arm and revealing where Viktor's laser had burned a hole clean through his shoulder. Telltale stretchmarks showed that he had paid for magical healing, no small expense, to at least jumpstart the recovery process. Even still, it looked red and painful and he confessed that without the invigorating rush of holding a hexcrystal he struggled to lift much with that arm. But that injury was not what had concerned Caitlyn the most during her visit, it was what he said.

"He's got a new weapon, Cait. It's nothing like anything I've seen him use before, like a storm in a bottle. The laser is precise, the golems can be directed, but this destroys everything around it. The damage he could do if he were to unleash that thing in Piltover, it's," Jayce shook his head, "Look, I know what you're going to say next but don't. Don't get involved. This is my problem. Don't get your people hurt for my mistake. I'll take care of him. This is my responsibility, Cait. Mine. I'd never forgive myself if you got killed because I made a mistake."

She remembered wanting to object to his request, rebuking him simultaneously for recklessly leaping into conflict and for asking her to sit by as Piltover was put in danger. But she never did. His expression froze her words in her throat. His eyes were turned down, staring at his hands as though something was on them, his shoulder slumped, making him look far frailer than someone who spent the better part of his life at a forge should, and his face showed worry lines that aged him half a decade in a moment. In the many years she had known him, she could count on one hand the number of times he had looked so thoroughly defeated. Before her words could thaw, he had continued to speak.

"I damaged him pretty badly. I ho– I don't think he's going to attack anytime soon. We destroyed everything he had in that fight. He's going to need time to rebuild and, in that time, I'll recover and find a way to deal with that weapon. And even if I don't, if he attacks, drag me from my workbench. I'm seeing my job through."

There was an assurance in the way Jayce spoke that made her believe that while yes, Viktor was a person of interest who posed a threat to Piltover, no, he was not a suspect for this case. If he wanted revenge, it would be against Jayce, not clan Voso, and it would be abundantly clear that he was the one behind it. However, she knew knowing such things would do nothing to ease Driek's mind, if anything they would inflame his fears, so she answered truthfully if not vaguely.

"He is delusional but not criminally insane. I do not believe he would act in such a way without sufficient motivation." She said.

"He hates this city. Is that not reason enough to suspect him?"

"No, it is not. True, there is some evidence to suggest that the culprit is from Zaun but that alone is not grounds to go into the city and arrest a man on flimsy suspicions. There is still a possibility the one responsible may be from Piltover."

At the suggestion, Driek's shoulders tensed.

"You think the murderer was another Piltovan?"

"Driek, we will need to have a discussion soon about those who may be jealous of your family's explosive growth over the past decade. Your new deal with the Vyara family has disrupted a previous trade relationship that had persisted for over a century before."

"No, I don't believe it. We're capable of being better than the chem-barons. If any family takes issue with mine's success, they should provide a better service and compete with us properly. Not, not this." His expression darkened and he pointed to the paper once more. "Keep this city safe. Be proactive, not reactive. Just do your job, sheriff. They've already done half for you. You need to do the rest."

Caitlyn slammed her hand down on the desk, perhaps a bit harder than she intended to, and gestured to the various official reports upon it.

"I am doing my job. An investigation, a good, thorough investigation that will get real results, takes time. Do you actually believe Quickset has done their due diligence in looking into these murders or do you believe they published something with little substance to capitalize on your brother's death?"

She watched his brow furrow at her words. She knew he knew she was right, but she also knew that frustration would make him stubborn. She needed to appeal to his sensibility and try to unearth it from his grief and anger.

"You are frustrated and want someone to blame, I understand that. But rushing to conclusions and then acting on them with force risks having innocents harmed."

"That man cannot be innocent."

"False justice will not satisfy you, not in the long run."

Driek opened his mouth to speak but shut it before saying another word. He closed his eyes and sighed. Caitlyn allowed her tone to soften as she continued to speak.

"Let me try again. Your frustration I understand but your grief, I do not, not exactly as you do. I know some of it and other parts I can only imagine. In both, you have my sympathy. I now ask you to please understand that everything I do is for the safety of Piltover. The Warden's work may be slower than you want but you must realize that all of us want to see justice done."

She reached down and grabbed the Piltovan Inquirer. Driek grasped its other side, but she did not pull it from him. She only continued to speak evenly.

"Do you trust us, Driek Voso? And if you do not, will you still allow us the chance?"

His tired, red eyes came up to meet hers, hard and cool but not unkind. Slowly, his grip on the paper lessened and she was able to gently take it from him. She tucked the article under her arm.

"Thank you."

"Yes, yes of course."

"Then I shall take my leave unless you have any new information to tell me."

She waited a moment as he looked as though he were considering something, but then he spoke.

"No, I do not."

Caitlyn gave a polite nod.

"I hope your day improves and I wish you and your family the most peace you can have in these turbulent days."

"Thank you, for that and, and for even bothering to come in person give your report."

Another polite nod.

"Good-bye, Driek"

"Bye."

Caitlyn then departed. As soon as the door was shut and she was sure nobody would see her, she let her posture slump. She hated this part of her job. So often it left her feeling more exhausted than any chase ever had. Death, loss, and dead ends. It made her want to go home, put something soothing on the phonograph, brew a cup of her favorite tea, sit on her balcony, and watch the normal people of Piltover go about their normal lives and not have to know the personal griefs of them all.

As she looked down from one of the windows at all the people working on the docks below, the appeal of that idea grew. It really was a nice sounding plan. She set out to put it in motion.

When the door had shut and the sheriff departed, Driek Voso stared blankly at the door. For five whole minutes he continued to stare at it. During that time anger, fear, and frustration began to bubble up and burst holes through the calm Caitlyn had tried to place on him.

"I cannot be satisfied with that." He whispered aloud to nobody but himself. "Not when I see a way forward."

From the center of his desk, he picked up the paper that had been covered by the Piltovan Inquirer and looked over it again. It was from his own family's records. Part of being an effective dock manager was keeping track of all incidents that occurred on the dock, the ships moored at it, and the warehouses around it. It also meant keeping records of when you had to send your family's own personal enforcers out to deal with troublemakers on your property or those who endangered the wealth and property of you and those who trusted you to maintain order. He knew that the sheriff did not approve of families sending their own forces into Zaun to take care of business and so he decided to keep this report from her.

The report was written by one of his enforcers after a failed attempt to chase down a boy in Zaun, the younger brother of that Zaunite who tried to take advantage of his daughter's innocence. The brat had been caught stealing from his business and his enforcer was supposed to retrieve what was taken and make sure the kid never thought to steal from him again. He failed and returned to Piltover with a broken arm. His report detailed that he was attacked by a different Zaunite youth, one with an augmented arm and leg.

Two other pieces of paper were clipped to this initial report. One was a sketch of Zaunite assailant as described by the enforcer, showing his curly hair, chem-scar across his nose, a black flame tattoo that could only be described as "tacky," and augmented arm with Zaun's crest painted onto its shoulder. The other was a newspaper article that showed a photograph of a similar looking kid and stated that he was in an alliance with Viktor. The only difference between the enforcer's description and the photograph was that the photo showed the kid having both his arms, but considering who it was he worked for, it was not difficult for Driek to imagine that Viktor had forced the kid to augment further.

This connection made the random attack on his enforcer make all the more sense. It wasn't just chance. This was planned. This was revenge. It had to be. He couldn't accept that his brother was killed for his family's success or worse, that he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. There had to be a reason for this violence. Revenge had to be it.

All those years ago, when the ethics committee had questioned him about Viktor's work on the diving suits and the young man's character, he had warned them about him. There had been something not-quite-right about the Zaunite that made him uncomfortable. When the ethics committee had told him about the plans to put chem-shunts into the divers it confirmed his suspicions. To think of what could have become of his workers- they would have been efficient, yes, and safer perhaps, but forcing them to surrender their free will to another was unacceptable. He would never find anyone willing to work for him if he was to expose his employees to that. He felt no sympathy for the inventor when he was expelled. It was for the better of Piltover.

Driek raised his head and looked to the far side of his office. There on the wall was a photograph taken of his family a decade ago. Him, his wife, his children, his parents, his brother, and his newlywed wife. They all looked so happy. But it was a simpler time then. Back when his parents were alive, when his daughter didn't have eyes for anyone, before his brother ever tried Pulse, when the deal with Vyara held so much promise, when none of them had ever heard of Viktor. Nobody in that photograph knew what would happen.

The longer he looked, the more his pain welled. That family was gone. There was nothing he could do about age, the Kindred's most lethal weapon, but he could seek justice for Anton, with or without the sheriff's approval.

"If he wants to strike fear into hearts, two can play at that."

Driek began to consider all those in his employ he could trust with his plan for vengeance. He would make his instruction abundantly clear not to kill the kid. Murdering a child didn't sit well with him, even if he were a violent upstart. But you didn't need to kill someone to send a message. He would be better than Viktor.

Anton's arm had been severed by him. It only seemed just to do the same to someone close to Viktor. And the boy's arm was augmented already, so there was little chance of him accidentally bleeding out over it. Just a message clear as possible; attack Voso and they will attack right back.