Chapter Text
"I won’t."
Just two words, but they split Vi’s world wide open, leaving nothing but jagged edges and broken promises. She keeps replaying Caitlyn’s voice in her head, like a cruel echo that won’t fade. Caitlyn had promised—she’d promised —that she wouldn’t change.
She feels numb, her eyes dry from hours of crying. She can't force herself to leave this spot, the place where Caitlyn turned her back on her, as though walking away from them both. Every thought is a loop of Caitlyn’s face, Caitlyn’s words, the way she’d once thought Caitlyn understood her. She’d let herself believe, just for a second, that things might be different this time—that Caitlyn might be different. But now Caitlyn’s gone, and Vi’s left haunted by the one face she hoped never to see in her again.
Jinx.
That same emptiness, that cold detachment, hovers over her like a spectre, like her sister’s ghost creeping back to tear down the last bit of hope she had. Vi’s fist collides with the ground, her knuckles raw and her voice a broken scream. She can barely look at her discarded gauntlets, tossed aside like her faith in this broken world.
For what feels like an eternity, Vi just sits there, hands shaking, the echoes of Caitlyn’s words and the memory of Jinx tangling together until she can’t tell one from the other. It feels like some twisted déjà vu, the same ache, the same helpless rage clawing at her. How many times was she going to go through this? How many people she cared about would turn their backs, would slip into that darkness?
She tries to pull herself together, to push past the anger long enough to think, but it’s no use. She remembers the softness in Caitlyn’s eyes when she’d talked about how much she’d learnt after spending time in The Lanes, that spark of conviction that had drawn Vi to her, that had made her think—just maybe—that there was someone who could be a light in this mess of a world.
And now? Now all she could see was the hard edge that had started to creep in, the way Caitlyn looked through her as if she was the enemy. She chokes on the memory, gripping her arms tight around herself as if she could keep it from falling apart. Every promise, every laugh, every smile… shredded in an instant.
She’d given everything to Caitlyn.
Caitlyn was the one who had shown her that despite this world’s hardness, there was still room to be soft, to open up to someone. And Vi had done that. She’d laid her heart out to this woman.
Caitlyn was the one who had pushed her to back down from violence, to not be swept up in the violence that Jayce had been pushing. And Vi had done that. She’d thrown down her gauntlets and pushed aside her instincts to rise to fight.
Caitlyn was the one who had asked her to look past the bitterness in her heart for what was good and what was right, to join the enforcers and track down Jinx. And Vi had done that. She’d joined the group that she’d spent her entire life hating for killing her parents.
She’d given everything to Caitlyn.
For a fleeting second, Vi can feel Caitlyn’s lips on hers again, that precious, desperate kiss. She remembers the way her chest flooded with relief, a rush that felt like hope after so long spent in darkness. She can almost feel the warmth of Caitlyn’s body pressed close, the fragile promise that they could still hold on to each other, still find some part of themselves untouched by this mess.
But the warmth quickly fades, twisting into a dull, throbbing ache in her stomach, and she’s jolted back to that gut-wrenching moment. She can still feel the butt of Caitlyn’s rifle slamming into her, the shock of pain that had left her breathless. She can still see Caitlyn’s face, her eyes cold and unyielding as she’d levelled the barrel straight at Jinx, too blinded by rage and determination to notice—or to care—that Vi and an innocent child were in her line of fire.
The memory cuts through Vi like a fresh wound, and her heart clenches as she realises just how far Caitlyn had gone, how little of the woman she loved was left in that moment. Vi had always known what it was like to live in a world that chewed people up and spat them back out hollow. She’d seen it with Jinx, seen it with herself. But to see it with Caitlyn—it was a betrayal she hadn’t known she could feel.
A shaky breath escapes her, and she can’t tell if she’s about to scream or crumble. Her mind drifts to every promise Caitlyn had made, every quiet word in the dark where they’d both dared to hope. She had trusted Caitlyn, opened up to her in ways she hadn’t thought possible, shared pieces of herself she’d long kept buried. And now… it felt like Caitlyn had taken those pieces and shattered them beyond repair.
“I was a fool,” Vi whispers, her voice thick and cracked. “A damned fool to think you’d be any different.” She swipes at her face, even though there are no tears left to brush away.
One second passes, then another.
And then finally, something within Vi snaps. What’s the point anymore in trying? In hoping, in keeping people close. She’d given everything to Caitlyn, and now it felt like that choice had shattered her from the inside out, leaving nothing but a hollow ache. One foot after another, she pushes herself up, standing on legs that feel almost too heavy to hold her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hears a chorus of voices—a distant echo of Vander’s, Caitlyn’s… her parents’, even Powder’s innocent laugh from long ago, back when she was just a kid who still thought the world was kind.
“You have a good heart.”
They all say the same phrase at the same time, and the words cut deep, twisting like a knife. Vi’s jaw clenches, her gaze hardening as she looks at the ground she’d just been sobbing on. That was her mistake, wasn’t it? Caring. Thinking that a good heart could get her anything other than this pain. She spits on the ground. “Good heart,” she mutters bitterly, her voice raw. Fuck that.
Her fingers curl into fists, nails biting into her palms until she can feel the sharp sting, grounding herself in the one thing that’s never lied to her: pain. Her fist collides with the wall, a sickening thud that reverberates through her arm, and she doesn’t even flinch. A scream tears from her throat, echoing into the empty alley, a release of all the anger, betrayal, and heartbreak. She doesn’t care who hears it. Let them come. Let them see what’s left of her.
The lessons she’d buried, the ones she’d tried so hard to unlearn, flood back into her mind like a tidal wave—lessons she picked up in Stillwater, ones that had kept her alive. People can’t be trusted. Connections are a weakness, and she’s the only one who will ever have her back in this world. She’d forgotten that for a while. Let herself hope, let herself feel… but never again.
One rung after another, she climbs the ladder Caitlyn had left her by ascending, her movements cold and mechanical, shutting out every remaining spark of softness she’d allowed herself to feel. She’s done with that. When Vi reaches the top, she doesn’t pause to look back. She doesn’t look down. She doesn’t want to see the fragments of the woman she’d been, the woman who dared to hope, still lying somewhere down there in the dirt.
Whatever she had felt at the bottom, whatever scrap of humanity or caring she’d still held on to—it’s gone now, left far below.
~ ~ ~
The first fight doesn’t even scratch the surface of the ache inside her. She lets the guy land a few hits, hoping the pain will jolt her out of this fog, but it barely registers. The impact just fades into the background noise of her thoughts, leaving her more hollow than before. She lands a final, brutal punch, watching him crumble to the ground. The rush that used to come with a victory like this? It’s gone.
The next few days bleed together, slipping past in a blur she can barely grasp. She’s either drunk or fighting—sometimes both—grappling with strangers who mean nothing to her, their faces faceless, voices fading as quickly as they come. She doesn’t care. When she’s not throwing punches, she’s hitting whatever’s nearby: walls, barrels, her own knuckles battered and bruised until she can barely make a fist. It doesn’t matter. Nothing seems to crack the numbness that’s taken root inside her.
The worst part is that she feels herself slipping. Some part of her recognizes the dark pull she’s sinking into, but she makes no effort to stop herself, to hold onto anything she’d once believed. She just lets herself fall, deeper and deeper, with a strange kind of resignation.
She barely notices the bruises that blossom on her skin, or the way her hands throb and bleed with every hit she throws. The physical pain is nothing—a dull ache that’s easy to ignore. The emptiness, the gnawing hollow inside her, is what drives her now. No matter how hard she hits, or how much she drinks, nothing quiets the voice in the back of her mind. Nothing drowns out Caitlyn’s words, still echoing like a ghost haunting her every step.
Night after night, she falls back into the same routine. The bruised knuckles, the shattered glass, the faces of strangers she barely looks at, barely even registers. They’re all distractions, just things to fill the silence that stretches endlessly around her. She tells herself she doesn’t care anymore, that this is who she’s always been—someone who fights, who survives, alone. But every hit she throws, every bottle she empties, feels more hollow than the last.
At some point, she loses track of how many days have passed. She forgets to sleep, forgets to eat, just keeps moving through the dark, as if running could take her far enough away from the ache in her chest. She spends hours prowling the streets, looking for any reason, any excuse to lose herself in a fight. It’s easier that way. Easier to feel her body moving, fists flying, and forget the person she thought she could be.
One night, after yet another fight that leaves her opponent sprawled out on the ground, Vi finds herself standing alone in the middle of a deserted street. The adrenaline fades, and for a moment, there’s just… silence. She looks down at her blood-streaked hands, at the cuts and bruises she’s lost count of, and feels something heavy settle in her chest.
She thought she could drown it out, that if she fought hard enough, if she pushed herself far enough, the pain would stop. But the emptiness is still there, unyielding, deeper than ever. And as she stares down at her own battered hands, she realises she’s only made herself more lost.
"No!" Her scream cuts through the empty street, raw and ragged. The stench of the familiar streets she once called home clogs her lungs, thick and suffocating, as she throws her whole weight into a punch. Her fist drives into a nearby wall, tearing through brick and stone, as if destroying something—anything—could release the fury knotted inside her.
It feels like a cruel joke. She’s done everything she can think of to burn away the ache inside, yet it lingers, gnawing at her like a wound that refuses to heal. Every broken piece of her, every raw nerve, screams out for relief—for something to ground her, to pull her out of this endless, spiralling darkness.
But there’s nothing. No one. Just her, standing alone in the ruins of a life she’d barely begun to piece together.
Vi sinks to her knees, fingers digging into the rough gravel. She closes her eyes, feeling the weight of everything she’s lost, everyone she’s lost, pressing down on her. The anger, the pain, the loneliness—all of it crashes over her like a wave, and she can’t find the strength to hold it back any longer.
~ ~ ~
Things do get better. Kind of. The days start to feel less like one endless blur; the nights aren’t quite as soaked in alcohol, her knuckles aren’t always raw and bloodied. Little by little, Vi pulls herself up, though each step feels like it costs more than she has left. Slowly, she starts to hear rumours of the world above, whispers of what’s happening topside. And when Caitlyn’s name comes up, it hits her like a punch every time.
It’s hard to believe half of what she hears—stories of a brutal enforcer who’ll stop at nothing in her hunt for Jinx. The Caitlyn she’d known, the Caitlyn she’d loved, would never have crossed that line. But there’s a part of her that knows exactly how true it could be. She’d watched it happen, slowly, painfully, right in front of her. She’d tried to stop it, tried to save them both from this exact outcome, but it had only left her fractured and alone.
As the days pass, she doesn’t even know what pushes her forward. Maybe it’s some buried hope that she could bring Caitlyn back, that she could make her see reason. Maybe it’s nothing more than the anger still simmering in her chest, a need to get even with the woman who broke her heart. Or maybe she’s just looking for a fight that matters, a way to feel something real again.
She finds herself standing at the edge of the pit where Caitlyn had left her. Her eyes drift down to the bottom, where she had discarded her gauntlets, abandoned them like the pieces of herself she thought she could never use again. The sight twists something deep inside her, a sharp ache she can’t quite name.
The gauntlets are gone. Of course they are. It’s been… weeks, maybe. She’s lost track of time in the haze of fights and empty bottles, but she feels the sting of regret sharper than she wants to admit. With a rough sigh, she curses under her breath.
She takes one last look down into the pit before turning away, jaw set and fists clenched. The emptiness where her gauntlets should be gnaws at her, like she’s missing part of herself that she’d foolishly tossed aside. Each step feels like it’s scraping against raw edges, but she knows she won’t stop until she has them back. It’s not even about the fights—though there’s a part of her itching for that, too—it’s about reclaiming the pieces she thought she’d lost for good.
She starts asking around, trudging through dim alleys and flickering neon-lit corridors, stopping anyone who might know something. The people of Zaun look at her with wary eyes, some shrinking back as if she’s a storm waiting to explode. Maybe she is. But a few talk, muttering rumours of a scavenger who’d found a pair of gauntlets in the depths, bragging about his new score. Vi follows each thread with a single-minded determination, the hollow ache in her chest guiding her every step.
Every lead she chases pulls her deeper into Zaun, each person she meets reminding her of a time when this place had felt more like home. She’d fought to protect these streets, to keep the people here safe—even when they didn’t know her name, even when they’d never thanked her. But now, as she walks among them, she’s just another lost soul searching for something she might never find.
Eventually, she tracks down the scavenger. He’s hunched over, gauntlets hanging from a shoulder like some shiny trophy. The sight stirs something in her chest, that familiar burn of anger and purpose. For the first time in weeks, she feels a surge of clarity.
“Those aren’t yours,” she says, her voice low, steady in a way that surprises even her.
The scavenger glances up, and she sees the flash of fear in his eyes before he tries to mask it with bravado. “Finders keepers,” he sneers. But his hand trembles as it grips the strap, and Vi’s expression hardens.
Vi raises an eyebrow, stepping forward with the faintest hint of a smirk. “Wanna see how this ends?” Her gaze shifts pointedly to the gauntlets slung over his shoulder before meeting his eyes again, unflinching.
They lock eyes in tense silence, each second dragging like an eternity, until the scavenger finally looks away. With a reluctant grunt, he lets the gauntlets slip from his shoulder, and they hit the ground with a dull clatter.
“Smart move,” Vi mutters, bending to pick them up. Her voice holds a hard edge as she glances up at him. “Now, get lost.”
The man doesn’t hesitate, disappearing into the shadows without looking back.
Vi watches him slink away, the tension finally loosening in her chest as she hefts the familiar weight of the gauntlets in her hands. She slides her fingers into them, feeling the cool metal settle against her skin.
She flexes her fists, feeling the power surge through her arms. The ache in her chest dulls just a bit, replaced by a fierce, determined pulse. Maybe she’s still broken, still hurting in ways she can’t mend alone, but she has this—these gauntlets, this fight. And that’s enough to start with.
Taking a deep breath, she feels the air shift around her, sharper, clearer. The streets that once felt like home and then like a prison now feel like a challenge. Caitlyn’s face flickers in her mind, still there, still haunting her, but she pushes it aside. There’s a lot she can’t change, things she can’t go back to. But as she starts walking, her fists clenched and shoulders squared, she knows one thing for sure:
She’s not done fighting.