#chembaron

Smeech had inquired Viktor for some designs on Shimmertech augmentations, and though he never quite liked the Chembaron, he had to admit that the extra coin in his pocket would make the month easier. Given the mogul's line of work, Viktor didn’t understand what he could offer to Smeech that he didn’t already know. But the young engineer chose not to question it.

He normally didn’t share his schematics with anyone; those designs were his and his alone. A signature to his name, and something he dedicated his entire adult life to. So when he gathered together quick designs for that particular project, he figured the Yordle didn’t have to know they were half-baked ideas strewn together over a single, perhaps inebriated, evening. They would be adequate enough.

His eyes grazed over the parchment of blueprints one more time, before he rolled them together and set off to the Scraphacker’s district. The ache in his leg flared more that day, he wasn’t sure why. So he decided to rely heavily on the last few vials of Shimmer he had in his stock. He may have needed another trip to the doctor soon.

As Viktor walked through Entresol, he ducked into an alleyway, hoping he could avoid any tentative trouble that may have revealed themselves in the open streets. As he passed through, he thought he could hear a kerfuffle nearby. The activity didn’t bother him as much as the inconvenience of being pulled into it as a bystander. He didn’t linger, and opted to turn around to find some other way through. But he paused when he heard a voice that stood out from the noise. It was young; a child's. And it wasn’t anger or frustration that he could hear, but fear. It didn’t take long for Viktor to understand the activity was less a fight, and more an assault.

He had already been halfway climbing the steps to a nearby rooftop, when he settled on some scaffolding to watch from above.

From his line of sight, his lips tightened when he saw a girl in the middle of a group of men. She couldn’t have been any older than 12 or 13, clearly terrified and clutching a canvas pack to her chest. They were barking out expletives, and he could only hear the tail end of their conversation.

“—? This was your family’s repayment, what good is your father’s word if you just stole them back?”

“These were ours, you took them from us!”

Viktor watched with stitched brows, but he sat there, still. It wasn’t uncommon, trouble like this was everywhere. And unfortunately, the vulnerable, the sick—the youth—were more often susceptible to the abuse.

And Viktor was on the clock. He pulled out his pocket watch and counted the minutes. He’d need to arrive at Smeech’s operating quarters in an hour, and he was already running late to the rendezvous point. Despite his distaste for Smeech, he was still a Chembaron, and Viktor didn’t want to entertain the idea of losing his connect, or angering the man. He stood from the scaffolding and continued to climb the steps, but his eyes widened when he heard a strangled cry.

Piercing amber searched the group again. She was already on the floor, a knife in one of the assailant's hand, and he was sure he heard the man threaten her.

“If he can’t pay with his goods, then we will have to set an example of the consequences with something more valuable. Perhaps with your lif—"

The man’s knife was knocked from his hand when he keeled over, and when the girl looked past the remaining men, Viktor stood there, breath slightly uneven, but with brows surly and eyes sharp. His hands were muddy, having found some random, discarded, scrap metal to knock the man over with. And in the brief shock of the sudden intervention, as the others ran to their fallen friend, Viktor grabbed the girl's hand and fled down the alleyway. He could wield his dagger good enough, but Viktor wasn't exactly a fighter; and he cared all too much about his life to risk it against three broad men.

It took a length of time for the aggressors to stop following after them. As the yells eventually began to fade in the distance, and when Viktor was sure he and the girl were safe, he let her go and leaned his hands on his knees, catching his breath. Today was not a good day for his constitution. His leg had felt the strain by way of the muscle seizing, and the ache in his lungs bordered thinly from discomfort to true pain. He wiped the sweat off his chin as the girl still clutched the bag in her hands, staring at Viktor with wide, careful eyes. When he stood, he looked back at her and glared,

"You're a fool. You should have dropped that thing long ago," he gestured to the bag, "Janna, you sure as hell shouldn't have taken it from those men in the first place."

She gulped and nodded on instinct. “Thank y—“ The girl could hardly get a word in before Viktor arranged his pack and tightened the drawstring to leave. As he made his way down the rest of the alleyway, he heard her exclaim through her nerves,

"Y-your name! How can I repay you?"

He turned to her, amber gaze adorned by a heavy set brow.

"Just get rid of it."

When Viktor hit the midway point to the baron’s rendezvous, he took the watch out from his pocket again. He looked at the parchment in his pack, now bent out of shape, before sighing with a frustrated breath and turning to go back to the shop. He was sure to hear back from Smeech's men about the missed appointment, but the stress of abandoning the assignment was drowned out by Viktor's body begging him to rest.

When he finally returned, he made his way to the shop’s second floor, tossed the bag aside, and fell into his bed. His brows stitched together, and as his eyes grew heavy, he muttered under his breath,