AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hello! Tonight on the menu, Piltover. Thank you all for your patience and for sticking around! I hope you enjoy.

DISCLAIMER: I will be using both Vi and Cait's old and new lores, mixed in the way I see fit.

DISCLAIMER 2: This story follows VI, all through her youth up until the moment she meets Cait, where we MAY see some POV changes.

DISCLAIMER 3: This story will merge into the world created in other two fics of mine: Silver and Gold and Beyond Redemption. If you haven't read any of those, I recommend reading AT LEAST BR, because chapters 20-32 happen in Piltover. Still, it's not necessary to read it/them, though, because we will see those same events in this one, only through Vi/Cait's POV.

Anyway, without any further ado, let's get to it! I hope you enjoy and I hope you have fun! That's what this is all about :)

Mili.

Oh! Btw. At the end of BR, I said I wouldn't post this fic on this website. Truth be told, I wasn't going to... I did it due to a request I got on twitter. Posting here can be quite complicated or at least annoying because this website requires you to go back and forth between several tabs in order to let you post (and it has awful character limits on synopsis and chapter titles). Having said all of that, I'll say: This will almost surely be the LAST FIC I post in here. After ASTS is done, I'll probably keep on posting ONLY on AO3, where you can find ALL of my works, already! If you really enjoy my work, first of all let me thank you for your support and, second, let me recommend you get yourself an account there or, at least, get familiar with the website. Trust me, it's nice! Maybe a bit whacky with update notifications, but nothing a little bit of patience/a little bit of checking from time to time/a little bit of following me on my social media ( mililap1 on twitter) cannot fix! You may also check my tumblr mililap but I don't really post updates there, I DO post them on Twitter, though.

Now yes, enjoy!

Life can be seen under many different lights.

For some, life is pleasure; it's about seeking that which pleases one, that which brings the blissful feeling, the sweet release. It's about giving in to desire, to the most carnal, primal, animalistic, territorial part of one's self, damning the mind, the wisdom, the knowledge and the purity it seems to demand to Hell. Life is about getting high, going down, getting off. Life is about seeking pleasure, delivering it, selling it and buying it, whatever it takes. It's about being in the heat of it all when it comes to liquid ecstasy running through your veins; whores, pimps, clients. Drug addicts, drug dealers, the drug in itself. Lovers, affairs, adultery, commitment. Lies, secrets, escapades. Moaning and whimpering and sweating, writhing and squirming and turning while someone else makes you come undone under their hand, under their body, unter their tongue, while you yourself make yourself come undone under your own hand, your own imagination, your own moaning and whimpering and panting, your own sweat and your own self.

Life, for some, is about pleasure and one could find it anywhere and in any shape or form; from the loneliness of their own bedroom to the suffocating sea of bodies that any dance club could be, from the simple touch of two fingers to the rush of a laboratory-made substance, from the exertion of physical exercise to the smile on a loved one's face.

Pleasure.

For others, life is business; it's about seeking power, about being the strongest, about being at the top of the food pyramid, being the dog that eats the weaker dog and the being the slyest entrepreneur of all time. It's about climbing the ladder, step after step, no matter what, even if sometimes it's required that one steps over somebody else's head. It's about making it to the top and crowning oneself as the king; about having no equal, about being the most powerful one, about being able to lift a finger and with just that make sure someone is doomed. Emperors, kings, presidents, governors. Policemen, vigilantes, criminals, mafias, organizations. Spies, wars, deceit, domination, destruction. Companies and their owners and tax evasion and wealth and richness and far more money than what one could ever need, far more than one's enemies will ever have, success and crushing the other one under the suffocating pressure of one's thumb and not letting them raise their head, not letting them think for themselves, not letting them fall out of line, not letting them bring one down.

Life, for others, is just a big business where one must do whatever it takes to reach power. Power can be presented in many ways, from wealth to knowledge, from strength to charisma; from the man who steals a wallet to the one who can crush a skull with just one punch, from the one who finds the cure to a lethal disease to the one who can sweet-talk a whole crowd.

Power.

Then there's the people who think of life as a search for wisdom.

Or the people who see life as a search for meaning.

And how could one forget of the ones who see it as a search for happiness.

"Are the subjects ready?"

She believed neither her nor her only friend could see it as any of that.

"Yes, doctor." Another deep, male voice replied.

They both saw it for what it really was, she guessed.

They saw life as an obstacle race for survival.

"Perfect," The doctor replied. "Bring one of them in."

"Any, sir?"

A beat of thought. "The small one would be better, but any of them is good at this point. Now, hurry."

She couldn't see much, her cell completely dark, save for the light that came from the hallway through underneath the closed door. Still, she could hear a few things. She could hear her cell partner, the other girl, her breathing shaky and accompanied by nonsensical mumbling. She could hear other cells' inhabitants as they wailed and screamed in pain, in anger, in hunger, in fear, in desperation and madness. Last, but not least, she could hear the doctor's assistant's footsteps as he approached. Step after step, she heard his boots resonating throughout the halls, the sound waves sneaking into the room. She could tell he was coming from the eastern area, growing closer and closer.

"Go away," She heard her little friend's broken voice as she swayed back and forth on her heels, her dirty hands going to her ears as she tried to cover them, "Go away, go away, go away, go away—"

Her eyes moved to the space between the door and the ground, seeing a shadow there where it hadn't been before.

Someone was standing right outside the door.

She closed her eyes, held her breath.

She heard the click of the lock as the door was being unlocked and opened—

"Hello, girls," He said, ignoring the look of fear he got from both of them, "Guess which one of you is coming with me, today?"

The only reply he got was the shuddering breaths of both girls as they stared in terror, as they drew back from him.

"No guesses, huh?" He said, before laughing once, " I'll tell you myself, then."

She watched as he moved towards the other girl—

"No!" She heard the other girl scream, the sound guttural and desperate as the man tried to grab her, failing as she clawed at him in response to his attempts, pure survival instincts taking over. "No! Go away!"

She couldn't help herself as she got between them, pushing the man away, putting the other girl behind herself, joining in on the smaller girl's screams as she also roared out a "No!" Though hers came out angrier.

She did sound terrified, but she didn't sound sad.

She sounded angry.

She was angry. So angry she felt like an artery in her neck would explode anytime soon, but not soon enough, because the fear tampered it down.

How long until it doesn't tamper it down anymore?

The man glared at her, his jaw feathering as he gritted his teeth, before smiling sickeningly so, "Seems we have a volunteer today," He said, before grabbing her by the arm and pulling her away—

"No!" The other girl screamed, terrorized, "No!" She tried again.

But it was already a bit too late.

The man walked out of the room and closed the door, locking it up, before walking back the way he had come from, dragging her by the arm alongside him.

She looked around the hallways as she helplessly followed him to whatever they had in store for her, her eyes going from left to right and scanning the whole hallway, before climbing up and down the doors she could find to both sides, all perfectly distanced from one another, all perfectly symmetrical, the numbers on each of them painted with black paint, flawless. She heard everyone's screams, so similar to her cellmate's, for they were screams of pain, of fear, of horror, of sadness, of hunger, of restlessness.

Of anger, much like her own.

It was hard not to see life for what it was, she thought. It was hard not to see life as an obstacle race for survival when all of her thoughts, all of her wishes, all of her dreams and nightmares revolved around that one single goal: survival.

Life was about it, she decided, then; about living to see another day, to witness another dawn, to glance at another dusk. About managing to juke death one more time, by eating a meal before dying of starvation, by drinking a glass of water before dehydrating, by resting before being too restless, by finally manage to reach the shore after swimming for so long, before the sharks caught up or tiredness did and drowning became inevitable, by doing what one must do in order to survive, by climbing the ladder up to the one step that would allow for survival, by bringing pleasure to the ones who would see one as a valuable asset, thus ensuring they keep one safe, protected.

Alive.

Life was about remaining alive, about surviving no matter what, no matter the cost. About doing what is needed, about winning when winning was necessary, losing when losing was necessary, suffering when suffering was obligatory or required and relaxing when peace and quiet came and allowed it to happen, maybe in the darkness of her cell, in the arms of her little friend or in the shuddering breaths they shared in secret, both between them and with the rest of the locked up ones, all of them trying not to breathe too hard for someone could maybe hear them and take them all away.

Like they had done with her.

She kept on thinking about how life was about struggling and fighting and surrendering and going with the flow as the man finally dragged her into a room.

A big room with a stretcher in the center.

"Ah, the bigger one of cell one-zero-six." He eyed his assistant, "I thought I had said bring the small one?"

His voice made her tremble as she turned to look at him.

"I tried, sir, but she got in the middle. I think it's best to teach her what happens if you get in the middle."

The doctor looked at her, before looking at his assistant once more. "She'll be more suited for this test, anyway. I now doubt the other girl could have handled it without giving up."

Where giving up meant dying.

The doctor, all dressed up in his white scrubs, got a face mask and some gloves on while motioning at his assistant, "Get her ready."

So the assistant picked her up from the ground and placed her on the stretcher, quickly restraining her with straps around her ankles, legs, wrists, arms and torso.

She thought that maybe if she didn't fight, if she surrendered and went with the flow, they'd spare her and let her move on.

She didn't struggle as the doctor's assistant finished getting her ready, as the doctor finished getting ready himself.

"Good girl," The assistant cooed.

But she was not released.

Her heart kept pounding hard in her chest, making her believe that, maybe, if they all remained quiet for a second or two, they would all be able to hear it, thundering against her ribcage.

She feared it would break through.

"Okay, girl," The doctor said, turning around with a big syringe, a dark green, thick-looking liquid filling it up. "Let's begin."

The man brought the needle closer.

She hoped her heart would actually break through.

He got closer to the skin on the inside of her elbow.

She began to struggle.

"Stay put," He said in a monotone, cold voice. "It will only hurt harder if you don't."

Still she struggled, not letting him get a clean shot at the one vein that could be seen through her ill-looking, pale skin—

The assistant grabbed her arm and held it in place with all of his strength.

"Yes, keep her still," The doctor commanded as he was finally able to operate.

She hissed as the needle pierced her skin, but that pain was nothing compared to the one that came when the liquid began to be pushed into her bloodstream.

Her screams were ear-piercing, shattering, heartbreaking, but the doctor did not stop.

It was as if no one could even hear her.

Or maybe they did, but they feared they'd be next in line if they helped her.

She kept screaming, even as her throat became sore, as she lost her voice.

The doctor did not stop pushing the liquid into her, though. "Now, child," He said, the only acknowledgement she got, "Don't throw a tantrum. It'll end soon."

She kept on crying out, begging for it to end, begging for him to stop, slowly feeling her whole system being invaded by the strange liquid.

As seconds ticked by, she slowly stopped screaming, feeling as passing out yet not managing to, completely out of control of her body, of her senses, as it all was overriden by whatever poison the man that unjustly called himself doctor had just tainted her body with. Eventually, though, for all things must come to an end, he finished.

"Done," He said, before pulling the needle out, discarding it to a side as he took out his mask, his gloves. "I'm glad you brought her in the end. It will allow us to see flaws in these two strains by keeping a close eye on both subjects from cell one-zero-six." He let out a hum, "Maybe using this strain on the other girl would have counterproductive; it would have mixed the diagnostics."

The assistant nodded his head. "Yes, doctor."

"I think the other girl has already been showing secondary effects, hasn't she?"

The assistant nodded his head once more, "She's shown signs that indicate she's been going through the third phase of delirium trémens, doctor. It's hard to tell whether she's seeing things but, considering she seems to be talking to someone who's not really there, it would make sense to conclude this is the case."

"Delirium trémens, the excessive energy we've detailed before, shaking, mydriasis, perspiration, tachypnea, tachycardia and migraines." The doctor thought out loud. "Good." He said, before the doctor turned and looked at her, still on the stretcher, "Now, we must see whether this strain has secondary effects as well." He got closer, "So now she'll be the brain and you'll be the brawn." He smiled, "How does that sound?"

She simply looked at him in fear.

She saw his expression harden.

For a second, she thought she had seen display fear.

It made her feel good.

"Let's go and deal with the third strain," The doctor said, "We'll be back before it kicks in."

And they left, leaving her behind, still strapped to the stretcher.

She didn't feel okay.

She felt strange.

She felt her body heavy, weak, sluggishly slow.

She felt like she was drowning, like she was about to pass out.

The beeps from the machine that monitored her heart rate began to slow down.

She started to fear she'd die if she closed her eyes.

The beeps became slower.

She tried to breathe faster, tried to spur herself into life, but failed and knew she failed when the machine's beeping became even slower.

She was reaching death.

Her eyelids felt heavy.

Her body felt like it was not her own anymore, she felt as if only her head belonged to her, the rest being phantom limbs, parts of a body that wasn't hers, but someone else's.

The good doctor's.

She couldn't open her eyes for long enough, anymore.

And when the beeping became a constant sound, one that indicated there wasn't anything alive in her anymore, her eyes didn't open again.

She failed the one mission that she had in life; to survive it.

But then why can I still hear the beep?

She guessed her soul was trying to become a ghost, not ready to leave that world behind, eager to torment the good doctor into an early grave.

But then she felt a rush, as if the blood that had accumulated in her head had rushed to her limbs, making her feel renewed, her body completely hers again, in complete control once more, the beeping machine proving her deadly theory wrong as it quickly sped up, the constant beep turning into a rapid fire of them.

Suddenly she wasn't feeling sluggish, anymore.

She felt as light as a feather, yet as heavy as a rock if she willed herself to be.

She felt strong, swift.

Angry.

The adrenaline that had suddenly invaded her body, renewing her energy and making her feel stronger, faster and better than ever before made even her brain rush through a series of thoughts in the same fashion.

And when the thought of breaking free tried to pass by, she quickly caught it and didn't let it go.

She struggled a bit but, in the end, she ended up easily releasing herself from her restraints, pulling her limbs from them.

She felt unstoppable, high with the sudden power.

And she knew what she had to do.

She got out of the operating room.

She came face to face with the doctor and the assistant, as they made their way back to her.

They both looked at her with pure shock.

"Sound the alarm," The doctor said, "Alert the guards!"

The assistant ran—

She ran towards the doctor.

He couldn't do anything to stop her as she tackled him to the ground.

And even if she felt in control, it was hard to tell whether she was or not, for it didn't seem too controlled when she grabbed his jaw and broke it, almost taking it out of his face.

The sirens went off and it broke her out of her bloody trance, spurring her back to action once more as she ran away from the scene, from the broken, screaming man.

Towards cell one-zero-six.

The door was locked.

She thought she would be able to break it down.

She ran towards it and hit it with her shoulder.

It didn't budge.

She did it again.

It didn't budge.

She got angry.

She started hitting it, time after time, stampeding towards it, charging at it, growling in frustration—

It began giving way.

She kept on going, she kept on pushing—

The door fell down.

She made eye contact with the other girl, her eyes filled with fear.

Without saying another word, she offered her her hand.

The girl hesitated for a brief second, but took it anyway.

And just like that, together, hand in hand, both girls ran.

Knowing herself to be faster than the other girl, she quickly picked her up from the ground and kept on running.

"Left!" The other girl commanded, her order making her quickly turn on her feet, navigating the halls with ease. "Now right!"

And so on, and so on, and so on until—

They reached a dead end.

But there was a window there.

The sirens were deafening and they could both hear people coming their way.

So they shared one final, long look and, without hesitation, she sprinted towards the window and jumped through it, shattering it into a million pieces of glass as she did so.

They fell to the ground, two levels underneath them, but somehow they managed to survive it. She guessed that whatever they had injected on her made her more resistant, for she had received the most of the impact, letting the other girl use her as a cushion.

They could still hear the sirens, the angry shouting of the doctors inside, the only indications they needed to know that they couldn't stop and stare at the outside world just yet, they couldn't stop and breathe the outside's air just yet.

So, without another word, without another moment or second of thought, still together, still hand in hand, both girls ran into the night and finally managed to flee the scene.