Chapter Text
By the time the enforcers had left, Jayce's consciousness had mostly slipped away. That habit that had made his time in that other reality not bearable- it had never been bearable but slightly less consuming, returned to him now. He wasn't really aware of anything but a slight dripping. A pitter-patter of blood that came from his nose and hit the cement.
There was always dripping in that other reality, too.
Sometimes, he'd be hung upside down. The body of his flesh suit would be carved into, spilt apart like roasted pork. The flesh would curl, and then his blood would fall.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Trailing down his skin, pooling on the floor. At times, it would gather around his lips. Sink into his mouth. Often, that would be the only liquid he'd receive in days- a poison of his own body's making.
In Jayce's fuzzy, half-awake, half-gone state, the noises of the world outside his cell would occasionally burst through. Popping his eardrums before snapping back into that faraway quiet.
Curses and screams. Jeers and howls.
There were differences, but the noises shared some similarities with the other reality. That same note of desperation rang true in both.
Before, in a lifetime that Jayce wasn't sure ever really existed, he'd have called himself a good person. He'd invented something, or at least he thought he had, that could save so many lives. How many people could say that? That they were responsible for thousands still being alive.
Of course, now Jayce knew that wasn't true. He wasn't a good person at all. It wasn't just in the stupid decisions he'd made, like ignoring all warnings and pursuing the invention of Hextech, but it was in other smaller things, too.
It was his relief in hearing the screams outside his dungeon, the consolation that he wasn't the only human left. No good person would feel relieved that others were suffering just to avoid suffering alone.
Jayce blinked, eyes crusty, his eyelashes clinging to each other and ripping apart. The floor swirled around him. One moment, it was the grey cement of his current cell, and the next, it was darker, drenched in the blood of a dozen corpses.
He groaned and shut his eyes. He moved onto his back, which sent a sharp pain crackling from his ribs. His ribs had been broken a handful of times in that other reality, not all that many. That wasn't how the Machine Herald did things. But sometimes, he would get too vigorous. In his rage, he'd fling Jayce across the room with no regard, would press his hands so hard into Jayce's side the bones would snap.
Although his ribs ached, and it made breathing harder than it had been a few minutes, hours, days- no, not days yet, he'd settle on hours ago- it wasn't anything like the sheer agony of having them broken.
His nose definitely was broken, though, and his body was likely a mural of blacks and blues, but that was all. The wounds were superficial. A broken nose wouldn't kill him. It wasn't even close to what he deserved for failing his mission.
Every second he spent trapped in Stillwater, Hextech grew stronger. Brought them closer to destruction.
Unwanted memories had their way with him, overwhelming and filling him up with their black tar of hate. He tried to push them down, tried to fling them out. If he could just focus on the very real pain that reverberated through his body, the ache in his sides, his arms, his legs, his face, then he could stop thinking about it.
Think about anything else. Anything but-
Jayce hated the cold. His youth had taught him that the cold was something to avoid, that it could and would kill you. Because of that, he'd always found ways to starve it off.
Piltover experienced all four seasons. Summers were pleasantly warm, scorching on occasion. Many people couldn't stand days like that when the sun's embrace was so adamant that you couldn't wear a top for more than an hour before sweating through it, and if you weren't lathered up in suncream, your skin would peel off like a snake's exoskeleton.
Mel adored the heat, and Jayce delighted in the opportunity to walk with her through near-empty streets as they basked under the sunlight. She seemed to find his love of warmth amusing, endearing even. The sun also gave him a reasonable excuse for his flushed cheeks.
The winter season was entirely different.
An icy cold with snow that would settle each year for less and less time. That worried Viktor. He said the changing climate couldn't be good. Jayce never admitted aloud that the lack of snow relieved him.
Cold was danger. It was the numbing of your fingertips as they charred black. It was your body convulsing so hard you couldn't tell if you were having a fit. It was watching your mum, unmoving, unbreathing, smothered in white.
Jayce would do anything to fend it off. Winters were spent with the heating cranked to the highest setting, refusing to leave the house after dark, no matter the number of layers, walking around the house with a hot water bottle tucked into his waistband, leaving faded burns on his stomach.
Suffice to say, when Jayce's body had been shredded, flipped and sewn back together to be thrown here, where the cold seeped into his very being, his emotional state could only be described as terror.
Jayce shivered and pulled his jacket closer to him. His breathing came out in fast puffs of smoke. The cold was so bitter that the air felt like shards of glass. Each breath juggled icicles through his lungs.
The only salvation was that it wasn't snowing. Not that it wasn't cold enough. He ran his hands up his arms as he tried to remain calm. It was definitely cold enough, too.
The ground in this strange place seemed to be composed of rock rather than soil or sand. Jayce crouched and was surprised to find that when he touched the floor, a grey ashy powder clung to his fingers.
He glanced around him as he stood. In the distance there were mountains with jaded pinnacles that painted an ugly scenery. A grey smog shielded the sky. It wasn't dark enough to be night, but the sun remained hidden.
"What the fuck is this place?" Jayce's teeth chattered.
His mum had told him to speak to someone about his fear of the cold. "It's not healthy," she'd say to him, "You're missing out on so much."
He knew that his fear wasn't entirely rational. The basis of Frigophobia was knowing his phobia defied reason. However, that didn't change how he felt. If he had the choice, why make himself afraid? If he had the option to stay warm, he'd take it.
He was rational enough to know that a part of his current fear stemmed from his phobia. However, it was definitely more than that.
That kind of fear was intense and overwhelming. He'd feel a brush of the cold, and his heart would hammer in his chest. But this was different.
This fear almost felt tangible, greater than just an emotion, like something was lurking, watching, stalking from the mountains.
'You're going to die here,' a voice inside of himself said, and in that moment, he believed it more than he'd believed anything ever before.
Except he'd be wrong, or maybe he hadn't been wrong at all. His body was whole again, but a part of himself had died in that place.
"Death is a mercy. Death is a mercy. Death is a mercy. Death is a mercy. Death is a mercy."
"Oi, cut that out!" A loud rattling made Jayce jump.
His hands went from his face, and he looked around, startled. He'd moved, it seemed. Burrowed himself into the far corner of his cell, not that he could remember doing so. Another lapse in memory, then. It must have started around the time of his second beating…
"That one's a right nutjob," a second guard said, arms crossed. He thought he recognised this pair, but it was hard to tell. Everything sort of blurred into one. The one on the left, though, had slightly red knuckles. No doubt those knuckles had given him his black eye.
That same guard opened his cell. Jayce remained on the floor, watching cautiously. There wasn't really anything he could do. If he tried to make a run for it, even if he knocked over the first guard, the second one would just wind him with her baton. He needed to find a way out, though. He needed to bide his time. Bide his time. What time? What was a whack in the face of escaping? What were a few bruises when it came to saving the world?
He quickly stood, and the guard eyed him.
"All those chemicals in your lab must have melted your brain real good."
Jayce looked behind the speaking guard and noticed that the cells around him had now been vacated.
"Dinner time," the other guard said as if reading his thoughts. She tapped her knees like she was calling to a dog. Jayce just stared at him.
"What? Worried the grub won't meet your usual standards, golden boy?" She jeered. "Get a move on."
It was only then that Jayce realised they wanted him to leave. He hadn't thought they'd actually let him out of his cell. There wasn't a toilet or basin for him to wash himself. He'd assumed that he'd eventually soil himself and be left to bathe in the filth of his bodily fluids.
Jayce had developed many sides to himself, ones that he was aware the people of this reality wouldn't understand. But adapting his personality had helped him survive. However, there was one part of himself that he really detested. The Machine Herald had seemed amused and disgusted in equal measure by it. It was a subservient side, one that would grovel and beg, one that would gleefully thank the hand that tore him apart.
He felt that same urge now to thank those who'd just beaten him for the mercy of letting him out, even for just a few minutes. How pathetic he was, like a dog returning to its master after being kicked and left out all night.
Somehow, he had just enough self-respect left to be quiet. Just about. With his head down, he made to shuffle past. He'd only taken two steps before he was stumbling forward, tripping over the guard's extended food.
"You should watch where you're going, or you might end up with two black eyes." The pair snickered.
Jayce ignored them and let his eyes roam as he walked, bouncing from side to side, never once blinking. He couldn't afford to blink. He had to take everything in.
10 cells on his floor, 5 on either side. His was the furthest, not ideal for an escape. It was quiet now, with the other inmates already gone. Did they take them out one by one? Were they scared to have too many in the hall at once? Or did they want to avoid him walking with them?
An escape attempt might be easier during a time like this. The inmates were loud and, judging by their reactions when he'd first been dragged to his cell, didn't harbour many exemplary feelings towards him. That would make escaping while they were there harder. They'd cause such a racket it would probably alert all the guards of Stillwater.
He was pushed into the elevator and sandwiched between the two enforcers. Being so close to them was uncomfortable, and his skin squirmed, but he remained still, looking submissively at the ground.
However, he let his eyes glance up to see floor 10 being pressed. That didn't go unnoticed by the male guard, though.
He grabbed the back of Jayce's head and roughly pushed it down. "Eyes on the ground."
Jayce bit the inside of his mouth, only stopping when his teeth had gnawed through enough flesh to risk blood. He'd gotten all the information he needed from that anyway. He already knew from arriving that he'd been put on floor 32. Significantly below the exit of Stillwater. He imagined the lower floors were reserved for the prisoners the warden really didn't want to escape.
Judging by the number of guards and just how buried underground he was, his chances of escaping were slim. It would be a lot easier and more pleasant if he could give himself a break. Sink into the bleakness at the back of his mind and take this time as a rest period. The beatings, which he was sure would become a regular part of his stay here, were merely preparation for what was coming. It would still present a break. He was so exhausted that in his current state, the idea of lying on the rickety prison bed of his cell sounded like the most incredible comfort in the world.
Still, he preferred the idea of killing himself, but he'd wanted that for so long and tried so many ways that it didn't even really seem like an option. Something would prevent him from going ahead with it. The guards would stop kicking him just before his organs ruptured. They'd hear and come in right before he'd hit his head enough to smear his brain against his cell's walls.
It was ironic and amusing in a twisted sort of way that the Machine Herald had taken such countermeasures to ensure Jayce couldn't kill himself and yet had failed to prevent him from escaping.
Maybe he'd known that whether he was in that same reality or not, he'd never truly escaped. He still had to live with all that had happened, and he'd still live through it again soon enough.
There was always Viktor.
Jayce had told him in a few frantic words that he'd been to the future, or the future of a near identical reality to this one. He wanted to believe Viktor would take his words seriously, but he'd found that his wants were rarely allowed.
The elevator pinged open. He was grabbed by the shoulder and pushed forward. There were no cells on this floor. A door waited for him not too far ahead, and behind it was the intermingling of voices.
Another pair of guards was standing by this door when they saw Jayce. Their conversation ceased, and their expressions and postures became rigid. They snarled their insults as Jayce pushed open the door.
The dining hall was busier than he expected. It looked like hundreds of inmates had been crammed inside, some eating, others talking. A quick look around told Jayce that there was around one guard for every thirty inmates- an absurd ratio if it wasn't for the batons in the guards' hands and guns strapped to their belts.
Many prisoners had chosen to eat their food on the floor even though some seats were still available. Those seats must be reserved for some of the more dangerous inmates, Jayce thought.
A long line of people were waiting to get their food. Jayce joined them and, other than a few glances, was otherwise ignored. He was grateful for that. Making conversation was too tiring. There had been a time he'd longed more than anything to speak to someone actually human. Now, he didn't think he was human enough to really manage it.
Jayce's thoughts returned to Viktor. He wondered what the other was doing right now. He'd heard his warning, but whether he'd actually listened was another story. Mel had probably caught it, too, but she'd be less receptive to it than even Viktor. At least Viktor might do some research into his claims. The pivotal word being might.
He was still leaving it all up to chance. That wasn't good enough.
The horror of what was coming made his stomach churn. With all the inmates around him, the dining hall should be swelteringly hot, but Jayce felt a phantom chill all the same.
Viktor and Mel might visit him again, but then again, they might not. After what had happened last time, there was a good chance they wouldn't be allowed.
However, Mel could be very persuasive. If they did manage to get back into Stillwater, Jayce saw their talk going one of two ways. Either Viktor would tell him that he'd heeded his words and was in the process of dismantling all of Hextech. The other, more likely scenario was that Viktor hadn't listened. It wasn't as if Jayce had time to explain. He was adjusted enough to know that everyone around him thought he'd lost his mind. Who would listen to the crazed ramblings of someone like him and trust what he had to say?
You could always just kill him.
The second the thought crossed his mind, Jayce wanted to be sick, both because he was envisioning killing his closest friend but also because of the rationality behind it.
If Viktor came, Jayce could wrap his hands around his neck, squeeze and twist it until it broke. Viktor would prefer it. He'd rather have an ending like that than become as mutilated from his true self as he'd been in that other reality. Death was a mercy.
Still, he was certain that even if he killed Viktor, as long as Hextech remained, another being would become the Machine Herald. The evil within Hextech would latch onto another host. It wouldn't settle for seeping into non-existence.
He didn't want to kill Viktor. He really didn't. He was innocent here, and he wanted to live. Jayce could remember just how much Viktor had wanted to live. Even in the pain of his illness, he'd always push through.
But they were running out of options.
Jayce reached the front of the queue. A humanoid inmate was in charge of the food. She loomed over Jayce, who only reached up to her chest.
She spooned a brown meaty slop onto his tray, where it splattered grotesquely. Jayce looked at the chunks of flesh wiggling inside the stew and started to sway a little.
"Do you have anything meat-free?" He asked weakly.
The woman made a guttural noise and spat a large wad of saliva into his food. He stared miserably at the liquid as it slowly sunk into the muck.
He waited until the plastic cup of water was put on the tray before taking it and muttering sarcastically, 'thanks.'
Tray in hand he surveyed the hall for where to sit. The seats were out of the question. He'd rather not cause any more problems for himself. Sitting on the floor didn't bother him anyways. He'd have liked a corner or at least a wall so that no one could sneak up behind him, but there wasn't any room. People already sitting or leaning in those spots. So, instead, he settled for a place as far out of the centre of things as he could manage.
His sides protested as he lowered himself, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. With the tray now resting on his lap, he downed the water. It was warm and had the occasional piece of dog or cat hair in it that he had to fish off his tongue. But water was water, so he couldn't complain. In fact, he wished he'd savoured it a little more. He had a funny feeling that if he asked for more, he'd be denied.
He turned his attention to the glob, which would serve as his dinner. Saliva filled his mouth as he forced himself not to be sick. The humanoid's spit had landed in the centre of the meal, and although he could imagine it seeping through, he figured he could just about force himself to eat the surrounding areas that hadn't been directly hit.
He cordoned off the sides and then pushed the chunks of meat away. The meat was squidgy, and the sound it produced made him gag a little.
He had to eat. He hadn't had any food since escaping and hadn't eaten for a good few days before then, but his body was different here, so that didn't matter.
He wasn't particularly hungry. In fact, the thought of eating made him feel incredibly ill. But food was fuel, and if he wanted to find a way to fix things, he'd need the energy to do it.
With shaking hands, Jayce spooned himself some of the mushy liquid and forced it into his mouth. The meaty taste and the thought of the saliva immediately had his throat protesting. He clamped a hand over his lips. He wasn't going to let some slop defeat him.
Before the liquid could spray out, he roughly swallowed it down. He tried not to think of the taste as it slid down his throat. At least the texture wasn't so bad. After a breath to steady himself, he went to take another mouthful.
The door to the dining hall slammed open so loudly that Jayce jumped and turned to look. A figure had been pushed inside. Their back was now to him as they faced the guards. The hood they wore made it impossible to see who it was, but there was something about them that felt familiar.
"Cause any more problems, prisoner 516, and you'll be back in solitary."
The inmate raised their middle finger and then stalked away, head down, barging past those in line and going straight to the front of the food queue.
Jayce wasn't particularly interested in any of the inmates. He had too many other things to worry about. However, something about this person caught his attention, and he craned his body around to watch them.
They were given their food, free of spit, then turned.
Ah, now his interest made sense.
Jayce watched as Vi walked over to one of the back tables. As she approached, the inmates quickly scurried away, leaving her the whole section to herself. She took the middle seat, leaned over, and began hurling down her food as if she hadn't eaten in days.
Jayce knew that Vi had spent some time in prison after learning that Caitlyn had used his name to get her out. It was hard to remember the dates, but he felt that should have happened by now.
It made him anxious. Where was Caitlyn? Things had changed, nothing significant enough to modify the oh-so-dire future but enough that things were different. Could any of those changes have hurt Caitlyn in some way? He didn't think so, but then again, surely even the smallest thing could have potentially grave effects. He had to know if Vi had spoken to her.
He picked up his tray and made his way through, carefully stepping over the bodies on the floor and dodging away from those standing. He kept his head down, trying to appear as uninteresting as possible. However, no matter how hard he attempted to be invisible, he always seemed to bring attention to himself.
He caught movement ahead as a group of three got up from their table. He tried to scurry on but was forced to halt when they blocked his path.
Frowning, he looked up at them.
They seemed the hard type, skin slashed by faded scars, eyes dull and mean.
"We heard about you coming here, pretty boy," the woman of the three said.
"Not so pretty now with all those bruises."
"I don't know about that," the final man said with an appraising grin. "Looks tasty enough to me, all roughened up like that. Real yummy."
The slimy smiles on the trio's faces had Jayce's stomach plummeting. "Try anything, and I'll make you regret it," his voice sounded breathless, and he cringed when the woman laughed.
"Well, aren't you cute? I'm going to enjoy you."
"Shame about those Topsiders giving you the boot. But don't you worry, we'll look after you nicely. Put you to plenty of good use."
The man's gaze took Jayce in, seeming to savour every inch.
Jayce twitched. His hands rattled as he held onto the tray, his grip so tight that his knuckles bleached white.
A deep revulsion smothered him, making it hard to breathe. Hard to think. He was going to be sick.
"We'll be seeing you around, golden boy," one of them said.
"It's going to be real fun."
Jayce stared straight ahead, his gaze unfocused. There was a rushing in his ears, growing louder and louder, whirling around him, gripping each of his limbs and pulling them apart.
"This hurts you more than any other pain I have inflicted upon you, doesn't it, Jayce? How peculiar it is. How it congeals and interlinks together. That of pleasure and pain."
The world came to a shrieking halt.
"We aren't done here." Jayce's voice was cold.
"Someone's eager," one of the men said. "But let's save it for the-"
Jayce slammed his tray into the man's face. He brought it back and bashed it into him again. When he pulled it away, the corners were slick with blood. The man's eyes were wide as his hand went to his broken nose.
"You piece of shit." He went to punch him, but Jayce dodged it. With his grip still on the tray, he slapped it into the side of the man's face, knocking him to the ground.
A fiery pain caught Jayce off guard and made him drop his makeshift weapon as he was punched in the jaw. A thick taste of blood waded in his mouth. He glared at the other man of three, whose fists were raised. Jayce spat at the ground.
The man charged, and Jayce blocked his punch. He slammed his fist into the man's stomach and took great satisfaction in the pained noise it caused.
The man stumbled back with a snarl. "Mummy and daddy teach you how to fight, golden boy?"
Jayce went to punch him again but missed. He received a kick to the shin and blundered a little but managed to maintain his balance.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!"
A crowd had started to form. Jayce caught glimpses of blue and gold as a few guards watched, too.
There was a pounding of feet. Jayce jumped out of the way just as the woman of the three came running. He gripped her by her long hair, grunting as he yanked it and swung her into the onlookers.
Another punch got him in the side of the head. He punched back. Got the man. Missed. Got him again and again and again. The man fell to the floor. Jayce straddled him and continued punching, leaving the man's face a bubbling pool of blood. Below him the man groaned wetly but it wasn't enough. He brought his fist up again when something hard knocked him back.
His same tray, now discarded, had hit him in the face. He scowled and saw the woman had regained her balance. She screamed, then ran at him. Jayce stood and picked up the tray, holding it like a bat, ready for the swing.
"Alright, alright. Fun's over. That's enough," one of the guards said, pushing through and grabbing Jayce.
"I ain't going to forget this," the woman said before slinking into the crowd.
Jayce watched her with narrowed eyes before he was being pushed forward and escorted out of the dining hall.
A weakness took hold of him, sagging his body as the adrenaline was sapped from him. In its place, it left all the aches and pains, as well as the unfortunate reality of his situation.
A few more guards clambered into the elevator, and Jayce stood in the middle, shaking, not quite as much as before, but still noticeably.
A numbness was settling over him, accompanied by a fuzzy in and out of consciousness likely caused by his shiny new injuries.
Once back in his cell, Jayce stood in the far corner, waiting for the guards to leave.
However, they seemed to take tremendous pleasure in antagonising him. Two guards remained, leaning by his cell door, watching him with equal expressions of amusement.
"Usually…" the taller of the pair began, "when one of you gets too rowdy attacks another one of the other animals in this place, we'll lock him or her up in solitary confinement. For a few hours, couple of weeks, depends who they are, what they did. I have a feeling that won't work on you. You see, you already weren't too popular to begin with, but after that stunt, you pulled," the guard whistled. "Locking you away from the rest of the prisoners would be too easy. Watch your back, inmate."
The pair chuckled before finally leaving.
Exhausted, Jayce lay down on his bed. Wincing a little from the pain it caused in his sides. His hands felt uncomfortable. He raised them and saw that his knuckles were bleeding. He scrubbed his hands against his uniform and found that most of the blood wasn't his own.
He observed his hands for a little while longer.
He didn't feel ashamed of it. It felt good to beat those bastards after the things they'd said.
But it hadn't been wise.
He put his hands down with an irritated groan. He'd only drawn more attention to himself. Already, he'd made himself an enemy of the enforcers, and now he'd put a target on his back when it came to the inmates. He wasn't safe from either side. That really wasn't ideal. With all the attention on him it would make escape near impossible. Not to mention that he hadn't even spoken to Vi. He didn't even know if she'd seen Caitlyn.
Miserably, he stared at the mould-splattered ceiling. He'd let his emotions control him again. At least he hadn't blacked out this time. That was something, and for someone with nothing, even the smallest wins were to be held onto.
If he wanted to escape, he'd have to start using his brain. If he didn't, there was only one option he could take. It wouldn't stop the inferno of torture that was coming, but at least it would stop Viktor from being a part of it. Viktor, like he was now, uncorrupted, pure, good, would rather die than become the Machine Herald. Jayce was sure of it.
But he really, really didn't want it to come to that.
Yet he couldn't seem to stop messing up. No matter what happened, he found a way to screw things up. He was just so tainted, so dark that everything he touched shrivelled up and died. If it didn't die like the enforcer he'd killed, it worsened in some way.
Frustrated tears escaped him. He curled up onto his side, hugging his head in between his arms and let himself cry.