The Blades and The Gauntlets [Vi x fem!oc]

Chapter XIX: The Genuine, Invasive Terror

Pain throbbed at the edges of her awareness, sharp and insistent, drawing her closer to the surface of consciousness. She tried to resist it, tried to sink back into oblivion, but the ache grew, piercing through her like a knife. Slowly, reality pulled her back, dragging her into its harsh embrace.

As her eyes slowly opened, she was met with darkness. The air was heavy, damp, with a sour stench she recognized all too well - the Undercity. The smell alone filled her with dread, a cold wave of fear washing over her as she struggled to breathe. Her chest felt tight, bound by something rough. Ropes. They crossed over her torso, pressing down just above her chest, trapping her against a wooden chair.

The first wave of panic surged through her, stealing her breath. She pulled against the ropes instinctively, straining her shoulders, but there was no give. Each movement only seemed to dig the bindings deeper into her skin, bruising her with a relentless, indifferent pressure.

Her breaths came faster, quicker, as her mind scrambled to piece together what was happening. Her chest tightened, her vision blurring with a dizzying sense of confinement.

She blinked, desperate for focus, and that's when she saw them - cold, pink eyes, glowing in the dark, watching her with an unreadable intensity. Jinx's gaze held her in place, the strange, familiar face twisted with something Mila couldn't quite understand - mockery, perhaps, or something deeper.

"Morning, sunshine," Her voice cut through the silence, light, as if they were meeting under the most casual circumstances. "Miss me?"

Mila's mind stumbled, caught between the memory of the girl she had once known and the one standing before her now. She couldn't summon any words in reply, her throat dry, her voice trapped somewhere deep inside her. Her pulse pounded loudly, drowning out her thoughts.

But then, her gaze locked ahead, to where her old friend was holding a mirror, and everything froze.

A cold wave of horror washed over her as she took in the sight of her own body, bound in a familiar uniform - the dark, heavy fabric of an enforcer's clothing, adorned with the emblem that marked her as the very thing she despised.

"No..." she breathed, barely able to form the word, her mind reeling with disbelief, with terror. It felt like a nightmare, a twisted distortion of reality. The uniform clung to her, a grotesque mockery, a reminder of everything she had lost, everything that had been taken from her. It was as though the uniform itself was suffocating her, its very presence robbing her of air.

Jinx leaned in closer, her lips pulling into a taunting smile as she watched Mila's horror unfold. "Oh, don't look so surprised," she drawled, her tone laced with a cruel amusement. "I thought it suited you. You know, gives you that polished, Piltover look. That's what they want, right? An enforcer."

Mila's breaths turned shallow, ragged, as the reality of her situation pressed down on her like a physical weight. Her mind spiraled, grasping for an explanation, for something that made sense, but all she could see was her reflection - her broken, bloodied self trapped in a uniform she could never wear without betraying everything she held dear. Everything she'd fought for.

"Get it off..." she whispered, her voice trembling as she stared at Jinx with wide, pleading eyes. "Get it off me. Please..."

But she only tilted her head, her smile widening, her gaze cold and unfeeling. "Why? Don't you want to see who you're becoming?" She leaned in, her voice a harsh whisper. "Take a good, long look, Mila. This is who you are now."

Something in her broke. Her mind fractured under the weight of her own reflection, and she felt a scream building in her throat, raw and desperate. She couldn't hold it back. The uniform, the ropes, the suffocating closeness of it all - it was too much. She needed to get out. She needed to be free of this nightmare.