Viktor nods in understanding and beckons to the table opposite from the one he stands near. Snapping his metal fingers, the surgical table is replaced with what appears to be a tanning bed (like one you'd find in modern society), however its purpose was to scan the structure - internal and external - of any creature or man that lies upon it.

"There will be no pain, but merely a bright beam of infrared which the device will use to generate measurements of your biological functions and the condition your are in. Ideally, you will be confirmed to be healthier than 20 men combined, though additionally elements such as muscle mass, heart rate, blood pressure, and even mental and spiritual aptitude will also be given values."

Pantheon pays no attention to the last part of what Viktor said and just climbs onto the table

"Anything goes wrong, and I will disassemble you myself."

Viktor merely nods once more and points at the scanner.

"Then all you need do is lay down and remain calm. It will only take 60 seconds for a complete scan. If it reassures you, throughout my evolution I have used this very device to remain informed of the condition of my remaining biological functions - to ensure my flesh accepted my hextech modifications."

Pantheon relaxes a bit as he waits for the scan to begin

"Just hurry up"

((I have to go to sleep. We'll continue this tomorrow))

Viktor said nothing more as the mighty warrior climbed onto the bio-scanner, expressing his desire to speed things along. The Herald understood this enough, and stared intently at the device before him. The top part slowly lowered itself over the well-built man, hissing with the effort, then began to hum slowly as the beam traced down, then up, Pantheon's form from above. After exactly 60 seconds, the humming stopped and the lid lifted, freeing the man within to leave at his discretion.

"I thank you for your cooperation, Artisan of War. If you wish, I will inform you later of what the readings entail."

Summoner Pack wheeled himself in, marveling at the laboratory, as Viktor set to work on scanning Pantheon. The summoner looked on with mild disinterest - Pantheon had never been one of his champions, and as such while he had respect for the so-called Artisan of War, the champion's reputation preceded him. As the scan began, Pack took his leave and looked around the laboratory, the industrial music coercing him into humming a quiet tune of his own as he looked at the various piles of parts and hextech pieces that dotted Viktor's laboratory.

As Viktor turned away from Pantheon, not caring what the warrior did from thereon, he turned his attention to his first client and slowly approached with his hands held behind his back. He seemed to carry himself forward with a smooth grace not expected of a machine, but then he was one of the more deceptive champions of the League - a powerhouse if what you wanted was death and a schemer if you prefer that he keep your enemies at bay.

And his genius was attested to by the contents of what laid at each of the four corners of his laboratory. What appeared to be clear glass boxes - or perhaps singular storage facilities - held within many devices and projects that the Machine Herald had either abandoned development of or discontinued progress on - such items as gauntlets with dark veins which seemed like they could illuminate, a visor that took the form of a single band (one size fits all) with a thin peripheral line along its center, and even his prototype multiple-jointed shoulder-mounted arm.

"So......You wish for two simple modifications; firstly you desire equipment empowered by the circulatory system, and secondly you want to regain the use of your legs - or as close to such as possible. I assure you that you have come to the correct place, as I can indeed grant you these enhancements. The procedure will be painful, however the results may prove to be worth the brief agony you will experience. Additionally, I can assure you of a 0.1% chance of successful surgery....If you still wish to undergo this operation, then approach the table."

He then beckoned towards the surgical table opposite the scanner with his right hand, standing motionless to let Summoner Pack past.

The Honorable General sat for a moment, pondering his odds.

If Viktor failed, his chances of survival were none.

But if he walked away from this operation alive, he had a life ahead of him. One that didn't involve dying in three years from nervous system breakdown.

The odds were good, in that regard. He wheeled himself towards the table, picking himself up onto it with his arms. As he sat down, he looked towards the Machine Herald.

"If you can't fix my nervous system," he said, "Put me down. I'd rather not be reassured with new legs while my nervous system collapses..."

Viktor merely watched The Honorable general, his optic receivers glimmering dimly as if he were in contemplation. If he was thinking anything, it was expertly concealed whether or not he was. Though ultimately, his client decided for the better way and set upon the table to undergo the operation that would renew his lease on life.

"There is no such thing as reassurance, General. I can fix your nervous system and I will make you walk again. There is only one question I must ask you - how high is your pain threshold?" the Herald's voice was cold, but assertive. An odd manner of charismatic gravity.

He stepped up to the side of the table and crossed his arms in front of his chest, awaiting the answer his subject would give. There was one of two ways he could set it up - both involved pain, but one may have less pain than the standard.

The summoner thought for a moment, recalling all his previous experiences as a mercenary. None had exactly put him in harm's way, so to speak, but he'd had his share of tough scrapes. None worth recalling, however, when it came to pain threshold. He merely shrugged.

"Can't really say," Pack replied, "Do your worst, I suppose. Can't be that bad."

Somehow he knew he was going to regret those worse immensely in the next few days or so.