My mom was Mexican...

Victor had bad dreams a lot. Maybe it was some glitch in his neuroprocessors, maybe it was non-cyborg-issue-related psychic damage from seeing his mom die, but -- whatever. Bad dreams. Generally he just rolled over and tried to forget them.

But when he woke up, it didn't take him long to realize this one didn't feel anything like a dream. For one: No Lillie in it, and she seemed to have a featured role in every damn dream he had. For another, it just felt ... real. The Tony Stark parts, the Topher parts, the Chamber piece from the end ... oh god, especially the parts with Billy and some guy in a flying suit he didn't even know -- they all tasted and moved and stank like the real world. It was some alternate reality, some timeline hijinks, something, but he almost instantly knew it was a real place where he'd really been.

He gave the briefest thought to deleting the entire file from his brain without examining it further. But that wouldn't be fair. No matter what he did, the part of his programming that allowed him to be evil would always be there, just waiting for the right coaxing to bring it out. He owed it to himself -- he owed it to the people who might have to deal with Victorious someday, if he wasn't careful -- to remember everything about the last week, so he could avoid something like it happening in this world.

Even if keeping the memories meant that he still really wanted to punch Topher in the face.

[OOC: Door closed, post open.]