Not that much longer but this story is just starting :)
A/N:Bracketed sentences are between two battlecast units and thus rather than being spoken are simply transmitted through on-board comms
The mid-day sun filtered through the now seemingly ever present ash as Caitlyn pulled herself from the ruins of an apartment complex. Her eyes, sharp as an eagle's and now used to the dim light and stinging particles in the air scanned the opening of her latest makeshift home for any of the iron inhabitants of the rest of what remained of Piltover. Since Vi had died the sheriff had taken care not to stray too close to the part of the city the enforcer had once lived in. That she had once lived in. The rumble of iron treads on the soot covered road sent her scrambling for the safety of some rubble as an alpha rumbled southward. It was soon followed by a full column of ten or so of the eight foot machines, their stingers raised another nine feet into the air as they rolled along behind the first one. The sheriff sighed before sprinting across the street, her keen eyes picking out the sign for the shopping center she had been using as her personal storeroom for the past week through the grime that hung in the air like a perpetual film of despair over what had once been gleaming steel. Most of what she had been harvesting from was now either overtaken by decay or decimated by a close scrape with one or more battlecast units. A few stores, food mostly, seemed to be untouched, ripe fruit and shelves loaded with useful supplies all too welcoming to any survivors that didn't have the detective's innate ability to detect a set-up. As tempting as the shelves may be Caitlyn had once seen an infiltrator in a moment of carelessness slithering into the store and melting into the myriad shelves. As she entered the main mall the sheriff nearly broke down. A small hextech radio was playing Vi's favorite song, the upbeat tune echoing through the cavernous expanse of the mall, drawing the sheriff in as though she were magnetized to the simple device.
8-1-12 watched the fleshling carefully its crimson eyes pulsating as it ran various tests and scans on its captives. The small fleshling exuded a strange pheromone that seemed to coincide with its incessant noise making. 8-1-12 did not like the small one. It curled too close to the one with the large chest, almost as if to eat the strange armor configuration off of the one identified as 'honey'. Lastly was the one that resembled it. 8-1-12 found this one the most odd. Although it was built very much like 8-1-12 it was very squishy. Prodding it with a combat knife made it secrete an odd red liquid and make loud noises. 8-1-12 did not like loud fleshlings. 'Honey' had begun to also make loud noises as a clear fluid leaked from the fleshling's optical devices. 8-1-12 suddenly lurched forward, grasping the fleshling by the head and squeezing slightly. As predicted more of the strange fluid flowed from its optics. Clearly something in 'honey' s head had begun leaking. Leaky soldiers are not efficient ones. 8-1-12 tilted its head as it squeezed harder, 'honey's head eventually collapsing in its iron grasp as shards of a hard material cracked apart. The machine wrenched the lifeless body from the grasp of the other fleshlings causing them to make more noise than previously. Clearly it had been a faulty unit and removal was the only correct course of action. These things were altogether quite ugly. Not only did they leak but they cried out incessantly and refused to recognize basic faults in their comrades. 8-1-12 would not stand for such stupidity. The machine plunged its knife into the head of the smaller one first in hopes of discouraging such behavior as it had started. Unfortunately it had not considered this action becoming martyrdom on the part of the small fleshling and was soon forced to silence the large one as well. As 8-1-12 finished its inspection of the remains another voice, monotonous yet wise in nature clicked to life within its vox systems. [What is the status of the fleshlings?] 8-1-12 noted the small hints of almost paternal nature within the query of 13-37, the destroyer that was now floating behind 8-1-12's crimson glow silhouetting 8-1-12's iron frame against the blood splattered wall of the skyscraper it was using as a base of sorts. Its response was minimalistic, as 8-1-12 was eager to find more…interesting fleshlings than these but still held the reverence due to the veteran destroyer.
[All subjects terminated. Directives?] The destroyer seemed taken aback by the query of 8-1-12. As a centurion 8-1-12 was second only to the Creator meaning that the lowly 13-37 despite its years of service to the Glorious Evolution and countless battles it had fought in was in no position to dole out directives to the younger machine. The destroyer however obeyed the order-query with proper promptness.
[Advised: Deploy all primes and alphas to the southern front with the exception of 1-177-16. Continue experiments in fleshling utility.]
[Affirmative. Deploy infiltrators to find fleshlings.] the destroyer glided out of the dilapidated and blood stained room as 8-1-12 considered the splatter of red liquid produced by squeezing the fleshling's head. How strange that so much of what 8-1-12 could only guess was a lubricant of some sort was stored in the head with the fleshling's main computers.
Caitlyn turned the knobs on the small hextech radio, the crackle of static slowly becoming a world news channel. Her accommodations were, by post-apocalyptic means, quite nice the dirty apartment featuring running water and the occasional burst of electricity which would bring with it much needed heat. The reporter, a fellow ex-champion, Janna's warm voice filled the dingy room as Caitlyn poured the contents of a can of soup into a pot suspended over an open fire on the dilapidated porch that had once been a major selling point of the now slightly leaning condominium. Below her lay a swimming pool, now more of an ash pool than anything else, the remains of a bayside golf course and the wreckage of a warmachine, the valiant defender having taken at least one prime down along with it. This had been carted off by a group of alphas and taken towards the center of the city, for scrapping or repairs most likely. "Good afternoon Valoran! This is Janna Windstorm here with your latest on world news. Shurima has pushed the battlecast hordes back out of the desert and is pushing to liberate Mount Taragon within the month. In Ionia politics took a turn for the deadly in a long awaited coup against the placid Ionian council. The elders are currently under the protection of the new regime. For those of you still trapped in occupied or contested territory please attempt to find a radio or other means of communication and transmit a rescue signal to this hot line. is 702-888-434. From everyone here at RGN merry Snowdown and happy New Year!" A small popping noise went off in the background as Snowdown music began to play, Caitlyn pulling a blanket around herself as sleep tugged her into its warm embrace.
8-1-12 stared into the red hologram of a machine seated next to a fleshling-machine abomination in an old fashioned carriage. The machine had identified itself as unit 51-21-25, Elle. Already 8-1-12 did not like it. It talked too much. 51-21-25 had given the centurion a full briefing on the freljordian campaign as well as making the all too fleshling-esq remark that the Freljord was very cold and 51-21-25 was looking forward to meeting him. Him. 8-1-12 had almost sent the sole remaining prime in Piltover, 1-177-16, to disassemble the bitch and 'her' master. The 'master'was an acolyte known as Fuast. The cyborg had replaced 51-21-25 as the speaker and 8-1-12 was beginning to miss the talkative machine. Behind it 13-37 stood, floated to be precise, at attention. [This fleshling is…odd.]
[Affirmative. The Creator did not mention this...]
Faust watched his companion his eyes gleaming with a light that many humans would describe as unhealthy. Not that Faust didn't always look that way. In truth the machine seated next to him, metallic hands placed in her lap as crimson eyes stared out the window of the eccentric acolyte's carriage, had been a great aid in keeping the usually sickly biomechanical-engineer in good health. Elle was no product of the massive factories that had churned out the centurion he had recently notified of his impending visit to Piltover. He smiled as she turned her armored head, his thoughts more focused on the smooth, enchanted steel that lay beneath the deadly exoskeleton than the actual machinery inside it. He had built her himself, the acolyte desiring a more…human companion than a shocktrooper or destroyer. A centurion would have sufficed but Elle provided a bond that no factory-made, heartless killer, no matter how intelligent, could give Faust. Recently some other acolytes, learning of what lay beneath Elle's iron armor, had besieged the aging man with requests for their own companions and so he had, at the suggestion of Elle, taken a small vacation of sorts to tour the recent conquests and such. As the carriage bumped along he took a brief moment to ensure his numerous augmentations were in good condition, each metal component replacing his slowly failing body had only seemed to increase the amount of time spent ensuring their proper condition and for the first time since leaving Zuan Faust began to wonder if this trip had been such a good idea. Upon seeing pictures of the ruined hulk of Piltover Faust counted himself correct. Although the ash and smoke had cleared the city was still a burnt wreckage, the once majestic towers of the skyscrapers now seared and crushed. The work of one of those damn primes no doubt. Faust had always hated those brutes, ruthless killers in nature and with frames the size of skyscrapers to help enact the murderous consciences embedded within their brutish skulls.
"Are you alright, Master?" He turned to Elle, smiling under the rebreather that had replaced his decrepit lungs in the task of taking in oxygen.
"Yes, my dear. I am fine." He despised the hint of metal in his voice. Frankly he despised all his augments. And yet a part of him wanted more. More steel, more until it coated every last bit of his weak frame. Elle sensed the strife with in his mind, the machine removing her gauntlet and placing a soft hand on his shoulder. If his shoulder hadn't been coated in metal he might have sworn her touch was a human's. She was essentially human. Well in a way. Her conscience and inner frame were as human as possible, the steel enchanted to be smooth and supple like a living being. Even her voice sounded human, putting the rebreather that Faust wore to shame on a daily basis. She even breathed, despite it not doing anything but fill her mouth which of course lead nowhere. He had based her design off a machine from before the evolution b the name of Orianna, a champion of the league, making improvements such as the enchanted steel and physical strength as he saw fit. What Viktor made served the spread of the evolution quite well but when it came to creating items of a…less business-like nature Faust was the best in the field. He had personally tested his design on multiple occasions, whenever his more human instincts had reared up within him. He shot Elle another smile as the machine turned back to the window.
Caitlyn had been growing bolder in the past few days. A lucky find of some armor piercing rounds for her rifle had given the sniper a new sense of security which combined with her recent finds of a supermarket and a pair of binoculars had made the center of the city a very enticing gathering ground for her supply runs. After a few days she had been able to find a suitable shelter which she had begun stockpiling the less essential materials in. Now though, with the military-issue backpack on her shoulders filled with the likes of twinkies and a few necessities scavenged from the supermarket, she ascended the stairs of a half crumbled skyscraper with a slow determination, her legs burning by the time the sheriff reached the hole in the curtain wall of the building that provided her with a clear line of sight to what had once been the central plaza. Her new found binoculars magnified the two machines standing in the window of the government building, the massive skyscraper the only untouched structure left in Piltover. One she recognized as a destroyer, its crimson body providing a red glow to the room it stood in, the other though…it was new. She had heard of the artillery units, the mayor had shown her pictures of the odd waddling cannons and she had seen firsthand the devastation brought on by their weapons as they shredded Piltover's once majestic skyline. This one was like no other unit she had seen. It was at least as tall as the destroyer floating behind it, the crest on its dull silver head reaching to the top of the destroyer's helmet. The machine tilted its head, Caitlyn's blood freezing over as its hateful gaze passed over her, the sheriff absolutely sure that the machine had seen her.
8-1-12 watched the fleshling in the building, its mechanized eyes zooming in on her pale form amongst the crumbled wall of the skyscraper. As of now it was of little concern. 13-37 pressed a series of buttons, a red hologram of a metal masked man wearing a trench coat, the Creator, bursting into existence above the holocaster, 8-1-12 saluting the image as Viktor inclined his head slightly. The centurion's mouth piece slid open as it knelt, the metal helmet parting to reveal a vox grill in place of a mouth. "What is your will Creator?" Viktor's normally metallic voice further distorted by the vox systems incorporated into the holodevice as well as some interference that 8-1-12 would have cringed at if it could.
"Centurion… keep guard…double…rebellion…Storm…." The device suddenly cut out 8-1-12's metal faceplate shutting instantly. [Bring an engineer to fix the holocaster.] 13-37 nodded slightly before gliding into the shadows, taking its crimson aura with it.
The power armor clad man watched the ruined city with azure eyes, his helmet placed in the crook of his powerful arm, hammer mag-clipped to his shining silver back. Home, sweet home…
A/N: if some sentences look weird then Fanfiction doesn't let me use brackets :(