Synthetic

Chapter 1

Viktor abandoned a screwdriver on the floor, the metal clinking against the wood before rolling away. The rest of his tools were in a similar state, disregarded after having been used, scattered around him. His fingers sank into the soft material of the dermis, before reaching up to the head, touching a jolt of electricity to an exposed wire- that would, ideally, be connected to the brain. Warm.

Viktor smoothed his hands down the thigh, towards the joint of the knee, and cupped underneath it, bending it gently. Not a creak, and he ran his hands down further, to the ankle, rolling the complex joints and flexing the toes. Perfect. Viktor tried not to let his grin grow too wide- there was still more work to be done- much more.

The arms went well up until the hands- tricky little things, making sure the fingers lay right, asking himself multiple times, "Are those stupid little wrist bones necessary?" before deciding, yes, they were. Setting the tendons and arteries together was maddening, making sure the tubes were wide enough to accomplish what was necessary, yet slim enough to fit in the fingers. The nerves were the worst, though. He wanted you to feel, in every sense of the word, spreading the sensors through the dermis, right next to the heat transmitters. They were everywhere .

Perfect.

Viktor gripped his crutch, using it to pull himself up from the ground. Pinpricks of pain shot up his spine, traveling to the base of his skull, subsequently worsening his migraine.

"Soon," he softly spoke to himself, taking care to step over the masses of wires and tools decorating the floor- his work could not be undone now.

The market was just as busy as he always remembered it. Drawing his coat tighter over his frame, he burrowed through the crowd, his destination familiar, yet uncharted. There were many suspicious alleyways in the Undercity, well-known ones, where you "wandered" for specific things, but the one next to The Last Drop was prolific, and Viktor kept his head down as he entered it.

He ignored the moans of people suffering, fingers clawing at his shoes and ankles as he veered to the right, taking a worn staircase down into the caverns of the bar. The wooden door at the very end was ominous, a mixture of purple and green lighting seeping out from beneath it, detailing what was inside. Viktors knuckles, worn from work, rapped lightly upon the door, and didn't wait for an answer before entering.

"I see you've come back," Singed spoke, a lilt to his voice that told he'd always known Viktor would come traipsing through again. His scarred hands set down a vial, the concentrated shimmer inside sloshing around before settling again. "Your friend, did he understand?"

"No," Viktor croaked, wincing at the vulnerability in his own voice. His eyes traced the mechanisms on the table, the flames and drips producing what Viktor needed . "He did not. I seek you for... other purposes."

"You want more."

It was a statement, not a question, and as he spoke, he held out the vial to Viktor.

Viktor didn't take it.

"I'm working on something- someone -" Viktor searched for his next words carefully, vulnerable, but not wanting to expose his jugular. "I will need much more- a much purer dose than what is in that vial."

Singed withdrew his offer, nail tapping against the tube in thought, his shoulders hunched. Viktor's eyes drew to Rio, still alive, but not living, in that tank. That longing still filled his chest, a camaraderie present after all these years. Silence floated through the air, only being broken once every few seconds by Singed's nails against the glass, before he placed it down entirely. The hand once holding the vial, gestured broadly to the wall, where stacks upon stacks of boxes lay.