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Chapter 32

Police Negotiation

"Are you sure about this?" Riven asks.

Ephrial responds flatly, "Nope."

The two follow a police deputy through the halls of Piltover's law enforcement headquarters. Pictures of distinguished men and women of the badge decorate the walls. Soon, the images turn to the ink and parchment of framed newspaper clippings, each covering the same officer in numerous detective cases. A top hat and sniper rifle become more and more of a local icon as the printed dates count toward the present.

"Then what are we doing here?"

"We cannot advance our investigation without aid of those involved in crimes concerning hextech. Can you think of anyone better to ask?"

"…And if they try to apprehend us?"

"Then you get to say 'I told you so'."

"In here," the escorting officer directs them to an office door.

A frosted window of reinforced glass has 'Sheriff' labeled on it. The worn hinges tell of repeated abuse by being slammed off the frame, then being placed back again.

"Thanks," Ephrial says, reaching for the doorknob.

The two warriors enter a room heavily furnished with objects of various origins; most likely trophies of past cases. Wooden floorboards creak underfoot, and the mixture of classic wooden furniture and hextech fixtures gives off a modern, yet rustic feel to the space. In the corner of the room, a custom-made boombox loudly plays a punk rock song, created by a famous band of yordles in Piltover.

At the end of the room is a large desk, littered with various case files, paperwork, and an open box of doughnuts. An undisciplined officer eyes them, leaning far back on a large chair, with a relaxed comportment. Her feet rest folded on top of the desk, one hextech hand on the back of her head, and the other holding a confection clad in pink, sprinkle-studded frosting.

"Well, well, you two are far from home," Vi says with her mouth full, a tone of apathetic carefreeness.

"You don't exactly seem surprised to see us," the mercenary-knight approaches, noting her disposition.

"Why should we be?" the cool, posh accent of a well-known marksman appears. "You left destructive traces of yourself all over that delivery depot. Rather, what remains of it."

Caitlyn gives a quick glare at Vi, who responds with a roll of her eyes. The Enforcer swings her legs off the desk, and dismounts a large, comfy chair, grabbing another doughnut on the way. The Sheriff brings the spinning seat to a halt, and sits down, tending to her rifle with a clean rag.

"Apologies for the mess."

"What are you doing in my city?" the interrogating voice of a veteran officer demands.

"We're here for information," Riven says coldly, taking a fast disliking to Caitlyn's demeanor.

"One count of breaking and entering, twenty-two counts of obstructing the delivery of post, and thirty-eight counts of destruction of police property, just to name a few. To top it all off, grand theft of a parcel belonging to a Mister Heimerdinger, head of the Yordle Academy of Science and Progress, and fellow combatant of the Institute of War. The diplomatic immunity the League offers can only stretch so far, Vigilante."

"You work rather swiftly. Tell me, then…do you know of the current situation of the League?" Ephrial inquires.

"Our hands have been full with the series of attacks in all our districts. I haven't had any time to bother with the League's affairs other than when I am contractually obligated. Now that that's out of the way…" steely eyes of a woman in uniform turn sharply in their direction. "Tell me why I should not take you into custody this very moment."

"We need your help. The Revered Inventor himself has, more or less, directed us into seeking your specialty."

Raising an eyebrow, "Heimerdinger sent you?"

"He had sent us to collect a tool for him; an implement necessary to help us in turn. We were at the depot to retrieve his parcel; not to steal it."

"…You have five minutes to explain," the scope of the firearm reflects a beam of light that seeps through the window blinds.

"The League is under attack by an unknown entity. No doubt that despite your heavy workload, some mention of the Institute's closing has reached your attention. I'm sure the cover-up has been well thought out, but it's a charade meant to draw out time for whatever their plan requires. Whoever is responsible wants a good majority of the League's champions dead first, and there's no telling just how successful they've been in that particular endeavor so far. A handful of us managed to survive an encounter with one of their…surprises. It provided us a lead that directed us here."

"You mean it directed you to Heimerdinger? I suspect you found something of hextech design?"

"Yes. Without him, our find would have been just another piece of scrap. He aided us in making use of it, and now we need your assistance in making sense of it."

"Even if I were to take your word for it, that doesn't explain why you trespassed a restricted area, and nearly leveled a building that had been evacuated."

"We were attacked," Riven defends. "While most of your forces attended to the commotion in a remote area, we were sneaking into the depot. A man was there already, searching for something."

"There weren't traces of anyone else there. Even if there were, I can't imagine they would be able to fend off our prototype without some sort of sign of their presence."

"…There was no trace of a third person at all…?" a thought of concern grows in the back of Ephrial's mind.

"If there are, we have not found them yet in the heap of wreckage. More than that, what was it this supposed perpetrator was looking for?"

"We don't know. However, we did turn up something of interest," the swordsman holds out the parchment they had found. "His name was Slater Thatermauge, a name you are no doubt familiar with. That's also his blood on the paper—evidence of him on the scene."

Caitlyn receives the article of parchment, and looks it over a moment. "A work order?"

"Seems harmless at first sight, I know. Yet, I am hoping you might confirm a connection with all those locations listed on it."

The officer's eyes snap back to Ephrial with a sharp glare from underneath the shade of her hat. "These are places that have been struck by the seemingly random explosions in my city."

"I thought as much. Are there any on the list that have not yet been attacked?"

"No. The last one was struck seven hours ago."

"When you so conveniently caught your most wanted?"

"…It is only that fact that you have acquired my attention. Everything else is but a flimsy alibi with the blame pinned to a man that has been dead for years. I will have one of our top investigators put on the matter, but with our most colorful culprit in custody, the case might as well remain closed. In the meantime, I will have you escorted out of Piltover and inform you of the results in due time," she lets her rifle down, leaning it against the desk.

"I'm afraid that is not quite going to work out."

"I am letting you leave my city instead of locking you away, and you are refusing? What did you think you would get with a piece of paper, a vandalized building, and a name that has long been buried?"

"With all due respect, this wouldn't be the first time we've seen someone come back from the dead. This is but a mere courtesy, as it concerns only Piltover. What I have brought to bargain with is far from your jurisdiction. However, I've no doubt it'll pique your interest beyond explosions and bloody parchment."

The mercenary-knight pulls out the frazzled circuitry, and places it on the desk in front of the stern policewoman. She picks it up, turning it over to get a view from all angles.

"This is your find that brought you all the way to Piltover?" an unimpressed Caitlyn scoffs.

"Take a closer look."

Her eyes narrow at the confident response, receiving a notion of earnest intention in his voice. She pulls out a small magnifying glass, kept in pristine condition since she had received it from her parents, years ago. The detective shifts the lens of her trusty tool, an air of sophisticated curiosity mixed with a passion for turning up results. As birds are to flying, Caitlyn is to solving mysteries. It is simply in her nature, rendering her unable to ignore questions that beg answers.

The experienced cunning of the Blazing Swordsman recognizes this, and has played his cards well. As the magnified gaze of Piltover's finest detective scans the surface of the burnt-out wires and circuits, she comes across the exposed panel only recently revealed. Her eye widens to fill the capacity of the glass' blown up image of her, from the other side of the desk. There, crested within the journeyed piece of hextech, lies a simple, singular character, mocking her. A lonely letter, with nothing at all to decipher it. Since the dawn of her career in the police force, she has been taunted with many cases by the mysterious "C."

Known as the only criminal that has left her clueless, her endless pursuit has fostered a deep wanting inside. A borderline obsession has grown inside of her over the years, opening and shutting cases like clockwork. Yet that simple letter laughs at her, day after day. Never a shred of evidence, nor the slightest hint. The perfect criminal eludes the renowned investigator, only letting her find something she is purposely allowed to find. Here it is again, the same, simple signature left behind every time. Nothing more, nothing less. Even the font is kept consistent, no matter what form it takes, from spray paint to burning fuel on the road.

There is one thing different this time… Unlike previous instances, this was delivered to her. As a detective, it is her job to get inside of the mind of the criminals, deducing their methods, motives, and where they will strike next before they themselves even know. Yet, "C" has always turned the tables on Caitlyn, invading her mind instead, and underneath her skin.

"Oh man. This guy's got your number, Cupcake!" Vi leans over her partner's shoulder, her voice muffled behind a chewed-up dessert. "Or, should I say letter?"

Sharp eyes turn back to Ephrial, understanding now the level of his seriousness. Neither of the swordsmen in front of her would be broken for an answer as to where this clue had been recovered, and without some information and a scene of the crime, the evidence in her hands is as useless as a roadrunner without an engine. Caitlyn's accent and polished mannerisms keep her collected, but a seething desire to catch her culprit flares.

"What is it you want?"

The mercenary looks at her with conviction of his own. "An exchange of services."

"You came here asking us to help you, and now you are aiming to help us? If I recall, you said that this matter concerns only Piltover," tapping the work order before her.

"That remains true…yet it is not known for how long."

Caitlyn lays down the fried chip and magnifying glass, and leans in, resting her elbows on her desk, and her chin on folded hands. Her eyes narrow with a discerning mind, listening intently to the proposition.

"Heimerdinger had revealed to us that this brand of Hextech remains unknown. It is a manner of mind-control through technology. Though we have no sure answers, we both agree that this sounds like Zaun's handiwork. Additionally, when Riven and I encountered Slater, he was more machine than man. Of course, that in its own sounds like Zaun entirely, yet he was far different than what any of us have seen. His mechanical body was far too articulate. This brand of augmentation was more advanced, and it was definitely not made in some run-down lab with scrap metal and spare parts. Whoever performed such a feat would have no lack in funding."

Riven crosses her arms, now understanding why Ephrial had persuaded her to come to the police station. If there is any link between the incident at the Crystal Scar and the delivery depot, it's a unique brand of hextech that would have devastating consequences if allowed to continue. Perhaps chasing one lead would turn up another in their favor…in everyone's favor. If the creator of these abominations is one in the same, they can use him to track down the others at fault to the attack on the institute.

"…A work order of this size would have to be issued by a high-ranking official. It is not unusual for these places to require maintenance, but to have it all done in such a short time must mean something. We can track down who signed for this order, and question the owners of these establishments as to who came in for these jobs."

"I've only confidence in your skill as a detective, but we are too pressed for time to do things by the book. You yourself work fast, but the system works a bit…slow, to say the least," recalling his last visit to Piltover. "The trail remains hot, but it's cooling rapidly. For this, we need a different kind of specialist. One as unpredictable as these events."

"Exactly what are you trying to say?"

"Come now, Detective. You did not get this far in your career without knowing how to read in between the lines."

Caitlyn leans back in her chair, a grave look setting upon her face. "…You do realize you are asking me to go against my very oath as an officer of the law?"

"Laws and paperwork don't protect anyone. People do."

A simple truth pierces the last barrier of a badge, reaching the person behind it. The Sheriff of Piltover surrenders her oathbound limitations in favor for the greater good. Risking her position in the force is a small price to pay to protect the citizens she has been serving for years. Though she might lose her job, she would not lose her career. This is her city. She is the law, and sometimes, the sheriff of a town has to take the law into her own hands. After all, how can she protect a city if regulations are the very thing that bar her from doing just that?

Caitlyn glares. "…What I am about to do, I do for the citizens of Piltover. This is my city, and we will be doing things my way."

An abrupt smashing silences the music in the corner. Everyone's attention turns to a fuming Vi, her giant fist crushing the boombox and table.

"YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!" the enraged Enforcer yells.

"Settle down, Vi."

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" taking a big step towards her partner.

"What needs to be done. We have a responsibility to uphold."

"Bullspit! Letting her out is the least responsible thing you could possibly do!"

"She would be under our supervision at all times. If saving lives means we have to take big risks, then so be it. You taught me that yourself."

"Oh-ho! The esteemed goodie-two-shoes Sheriff of Piltover finally bends a rule! I've waited a long time for you to loosen up a bit and stop being such a stiff, but this!? This!?"

"Not all problems can be solved by hitting them."

"We've gone through hell to catch her, and just like that, you want to let her loose!?"

"She will remain in our custody, and will return to imprisonment when the case is closed."

"Have you forgotten all we've been through to catch her!? How many catastrophes could have been prevented if we were only that much quicker!?" narrowing two large, mechanical fingers very close to each other.

"Don't think of me so foolish as to not take that into consideration! If I recall, there was one such criminal I had apprehended on a spree that caused almost as much mayhem as her! I bent the rules back then, too, for the greater good!"

"Are you comparing me to her!?" Vi, getting in Caitlyn's face.

"I am not comparing anyone. I am merely asking you to trust me as I have trusted you."

The two lock eyes, both fueled by trials they have endured together, but reflecting their own demons that separate them.

Vi's gritting teeth turn to an angry smile. "Heh. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

The disgruntled officer storms out, barely restraining herself from punching a door through the wall. No doubt there will be reports of beaten and crushed dumpsters and various constructions nearby.

Three champions of the League remain in an uncomfortable silence.

"She'll be back," the Sheriff sighs. "Returning to the matters at hand. We will have to do this as quietly as possible. The last thing we need is for rumors of that madwoman running free once again. Getting her out before she is transferred to the maximum-security facility should not pose too much of a problem, but we will have a very short time to conduct this investigation before we are found out. Convincing her to help will be another effort entirely."

"I don't think that will be too much of a problem," Ephrial eyes the utterly crushed doorknob where Vi had departed.

"She is currently being held in the cells below, and is scheduled for transportation tomorrow. This will give us the necessary time to make preparations. Come back at seven o'clock, sharp."

"Thank you."

Ephrial and Riven turn to leave through a door barely remaining on one, dilapidated hinge. The pair walks down the decorated halls once again, off to make preparations of their own for the coming night ahead.

"Do you really think they are connected?" Riven asks about the two distant pieces of evidence they had turned in.

"So far, some of the most destructive forces we've seen on our way have been at the fault of hextech, much too advanced to be necessary for practical use. The mind-control device at Kalamanda, Slater's superhuman capabilities, and even that prototype police unit."

"Are you saying that people have infiltrated Piltover's police department, too?"

"Not necessarily. I am merely stating that all this technology has to come from somewhere. The only places that could possibly lead us to are Zaun and Piltover. All the resources required for such creations are located in these regions alone. To ship them elsewhere would cost a hefty amount, take too much time, and above all, leave the risk of a big trail. Additionally, our mysterious 'C' left a calling card that has significant meaning and history right here in Piltover. We're either heading in the right direction, or being led away. Regardless, our only clue points us here."

"I see… And your plan is to use an insane person to locate another insane person?"

"The very premise of leaving such a small clue that could be so easily missed, and just as easily destroyed while trying to uncover it, barely makes any sense, if at all. Whomever we are tracking down is working on a different sense of comprehension. Sometimes, to grasp an understanding of people, you must toss aside logic itself."

"Seems like you've met a lot of crazy people."

"It takes all kinds in this world."

"It sounds as if you are trying to make sense of the senseless."

"No one is born insane. The way thoughts are processed and the results that follow vary, sure. However, the information and experiences themselves are a product of this world. Thus, a person's mentality, habits, personality, and so on are byproducts of environment. Some people can turn into monsters, but it serves not to forget that they were still people at one time or another."

"So, what truly separates man from monster?"

"How they bare their fangs."