...I was always afraid to die. I knew well before any official prognosis that I would not have long, and threw myself into my work as a result. Desperate to leave some impact, some sign that I had existed at all. When the Hexcore started to develop, I- [It defied words. Viktor could never quite articulate the compulsion it held, how it spoke to him, not even when pleading with Jayce to destroy it. How could he even begin to explain the weakness in being manipulated by his own work?] ...-surrendered to it, out of my own fear and desperation. Its power was addicting, and it was the only glimmer of hope I had to potentially survive. But its power killed someone in the process, and...you already know the rest.

[He hadn't dared speak about Sky all this time; the one death that was truly, entirely, and completely on Viktor's own hands rather than softened by his corrupted intentions. He still didn't dare acknowledge what the resulting phantom of her truly must have been--just another lie.]

There was nothing after that, once the heartache of my argument with Jayce over my resurrection faded. No more guilt, anger, fear, sadness...I truly, honestly thought I had managed to build something peaceful. And I was finally simply not in pain, in a way that had never before happened as a human.

[He shifted slightly on the cane at his side; even as a machine his leg ched from time to time, but it had never been so bearable before.]

I do not deserve to have survived everything. But I have, and perhaps that is right in its own way. There is no atonement if one is simply dead, and living with these deafening emotions straining a metal form is as karmic as I would assume punishment can get.