Jayce watched the city grow in the plane's tinted cockpit. Had the pilot not been a decorated veteran of the Flying Yipsnakes Jayce might have questioned if this really was Piltover. The pilot fiddled with his moustache as the plane began to descend, Corki taking a second to check the myriad hextech gauges before turning to Jayce. "Looking at the way it is you might want to land outside the city…" Jayce tugged on his helmet, the hextech display lighting up as he pulled up an aerial map of Piltover. The old Piltover, the one with gleaming skyscrapers, infinite possibility, and all his old friends.

"No. Our target will remain the western block of the city. Scaling the wall will take too long."

"Well then I hope your team's as good as you say." The plane, a twenty year old twin propeller transport, banked to the left Corki shaking his head as Jayce returned to the cargo bay.

The past week had been the sort that made Caitlyn wonder if survival in the ruins of Piltover was worth it. Somehow the machines had found her hide out in outskirts and for one reason or another blasted it into oblivion with a prime, the massive machine ripping the skyscraper in half with a single lash of it iron tail before unloading its cannons into the rest. Now, although she had been able to find enough supplies to make her safe house somewhat home-like, her accommodations were decidedly less comfortable. Her door creaked open, the lopsided wood scraping against the ruptured marble of what was once the floor of a sanctuary for the wealthy away from the concerns of government and big business. Cait pulled her pack further up on her shoulders and headed down the first of sixty flights of stairs that spiraled around the now defunct elevator, the cable having broken at the hundredth floor and sent the only way of getting anything really heavy up plummeting to its demise.

8-1-12 was not in a good mood. The machine followed the abomination and his guard-toy through the halls of what had once been the seat of fleshling government in this pitiful shithole. Every line of code in its iron head revolted at both this city and the moronic flesh-thing in front of it. A good part of the centurion wanted to pull the collapsible swords from its hips and turn the disgusting thing into tiny cubes to crush under the treads of an alpha. [A machine that acts like a fleshling…odd] 8-1-12 nodded affirmative to 13-37 who had been shadowing the centurion since Faust and Elle had arrived. "Is this how it always was? I mean, was Piltover always like this?" If 8-1-12 had been a fleshling it would have wretched. The soft voice, clearly made to entice fleshlings coming out of a centurion? Disgraceful!

"Why of course not, my dear. No, it was much more beautiful before these brutes stormed it." Faust was more than a nuisance. That he dared to speak about the Creator's chosen in such a derogatory manner was…unacceptable! It was insubordination at the least! If 8-1-12 could have smiled the cruelest expression of joy Runeterra had ever witness would have slid across its face. Now was not the time though…[Terminate all comms out of Piltover]

[Affirmative] 13-37 immediately slid into a room to the left of 8-1-12, the machine's eyes flashing as a message from another unit positioned in the western sector turned its attention away from the stargazing fool and strode back down the hallway to prepare its trap.

The shocktrooper watched the plane flying into the city with a mix of trepidation and targeting systems. Was it right to inform the centurion? Despite their seemingly mindless brutality shocktroopers did have a basic (by battle cast standards) artificial intelligence. And that intelligence was smart enough to know that the centurion would be angry if it didn't have an enemy to disassemble. And if it was angry…the shocktrooper didn't want to think about that. Its metal legs pounded into the rubble that had once been the ground level asphalt streets of the City of Progress as it searched the ruined skyscrapers for anything that may afford it a better vantage point to take a shot at the metal box of a plane before the Valkyrie drones shot it out of the sky and took any glory that may be associated with the shoot down. Not that there ever was any. The machine resumed its post all thoughts of glory banished by the sudden realization that the department store it had been guarding was now missing a lock on the door. A quick report notified its sergeant of the break in before the machine settled back into its hiding spot.

The cargo bay barely held the twenty odd power armor clad men and women of Jayce's team. Their commander, his helmet once again in the crook of his metal-clad silver and blue arm, stood in the center of the steel bay. His blue eyes, hardened by war and washed of their gleam by hardship, scanned the soldiers who would soon stand by him in the hell hole below the plane. The comm system crackled to life as Corki's comm distorted voice filled the cargo bay. "Valkyries inbound. You kids better drop fast!" Jayce strode across the cargo bay to the door separating their yordle pilot from the armored soldiers.

"I'm not going to tell you that you will come home safe and sound. I won't even tell you that you'll survive the drop. What I will tell you though is that the fate of your families, your friends, your countries rest on your shoulders. They are strong, but so are we. Trust not in your weapons or your armor but in the soldier standing next to you. That is how we will defeat them. Thorin, would you be so kind as to impart us with some wisdom for the coming battle?" A man with a ragged brown cloak edged in Freljordian runes built into his armor took Jayce's place, the man called Thorin pulling the hood of his cloak back to reveal an aged face with pale blue eyes, the lower half covered by a ragged greying beard. His voice, strong, confidant and edged with the wisdom brought on by many years of survival in the frozen north.

"Today we bring the armies of Viktor a wonderful gift. Today we bring them the gift of pain." On the last sentence the grey haired mage pulled his hand axes from their holsters at his hip and held them in the air, lightning arcing across the blades as the soldiers cheered, assault rifles joining the charged blades as the bay door opened to reveal the picked-at carcass of Piltover, Jayce ramming on his helmet before plunging into the ash-clouded sky that would have veiled the plane from any human eyes on the ground. Unfortunately for the last five to jump and the dyeing machine that had flown them in from Bandle City no human eyes were searching them out. The iron fighter screamed past the transport, auto cannon fire raking the cargo bay as well as the left engine. The first man hit never had a chance, his chest exploding in a shower of gore and metal as his comrade to his left collapsed, the limp corpses falling out of the cargo bay as the crippled plane swerved, dislodging two more unfortunate soldiers as the Valkyrie swooped back around for another run at its crippled target. This time though the airborne machine was met with the barrels of a massive machine gun. The Zuanite wielding it smiled under his helmet, his blue and silver power armor reflecting the machine's burning red optics.

"This, comrade is Olga. She is my love, my life, and she will kill you now." If the machine had understood any of what the massive man named Ivan said through his thick accent it showed no sign of backing off, its engines roaring as it careened towards the open transport bay. It didn't make it much further, a curtain of armor piercing rounds ripped through its metal frame, the machine plummeting to the ground, a plume of fire and smoke its last farewell to the sky it had soared in for so long. Ivan stowed his weapon before leaping down after the machine, the crippled plane struggling to stay in its element as the veteran pilot wrangled it back on course for Bandle City.

Jayce hit the ground hard, his parachute collapsing behind him on the roof of one of the few remaining skyscrapers in his home city, his jump pack detaching from beside his hammer, the leader of the strike team pulling an assault rifle from his back and swinging it around towards the door to the interior of the building. Behind him the other surviving soldiers did the same, each taking their well-practiced position in the sweeping formation. Jayce checked the small interface of his HUD before engaging the built in vox systems in his helmet. "Trost, take a team south. Try to meet up with Ivan, he's still reading as alive and I'm not leaving anyone in this hellhole alone. Walt, Thorin with me" Six soldiers immediately left formation, Jayce signaling the rest to follow him into the building.

She had watched the drone hit the ground from the safety of a broken down bus in hopes of scavenging something useful. The aerial predator however had erupted into a crater the size of a small car upon impact, the sheriff soon finding herself in a less than amicable position as shocktroopers swarmed the downed Valkyrie. She pulled the clip from her rifle, ten shots remained. The sudden grating of sharp metal limbs against the bus floor startled her, the normally composed sheriff lurching backward and drawing the murderous machine's attention. Caitlyn moved fast, tossing a schoolbag at her would be attacker before bolting for the bus's emergency exit. Her heart threatened to rip itself from her breast as she dashed for the relative safety of a building, her flight suddenly cut short as her boot snagged on a protruding iron pole, Caitlyn falling to the cracked asphalt as a shining metal boot cracked the ground beside her. "Alow Ivan to help." The whirr of his weapon soon became the thundering report of a death spitting machine gun as the power armored Ivan scythed down the endless hordes of shocktroopers that had come to investigate the crash site. His accent reminded Caitlyn quite uncomfortably of Viktor the sheriff sending an outstretched hand towards her rifle with the silver and blue man happily handed her, remarking that it was quite a nice weapon and that no person should be without their gun in a place such as Piltover was now. Ivan wrenched off his helmet before extending an armored hand to Caitlyn. "Much apologies if I startled you…uh you don't happen to know exactly where we are? My helmet is cracked by that landing…"

Faust watched the footage with a look of pure horror. "A-a glorious Valkyrie downed by that...that rusty abomination? This is just awful. Centurion, you must find the fleshlings who are responsible for this!"

"Affirmative. 13-37 has located the insurgents in the southern quadrant of the city." Faust nodded.

"Then what are we wasting time with here?" the Centurion nodded, 8-1-12 striding out of the room followed by 13-37.

They had expected to run into enemies at some point, Trost's allies' assault rifles spitting death into the endless ranks of advancing shocktroopers. Trost swore, reloading the twin pistols that had proven so ineffective against the armored machines across the plaza. The man to Trost's immediate left fell backwards, a gaping hole in his chest evidence enough of the man's fate, as another soldier ducked below the rim of the crater to reload. "Ma'am we need to retreat!" Trost swore again, her armored hands reaching up for the twin swords on her back.

"If you want to make a run for it private be my fucking guest!" The private shook his head and muttered something about her being a stubborn bitch before a plasma blast took his head off. Trost unloaded her pistols again, the bullets dropping a few more shocktroopers as another soldier took a rocket to the shoulder, the blast rending armor and flesh as he collapsed, lifeless, to the ground. The swordswoman uttered another round of vulgarity before charging from cover, swords carving a path through her iron foes.

13-37 stepped forward. Despite the efforts of the fleshlings being somewhat entertaining enough was enough. It stopped just short of 8-1-12's raised arm the centurion sending 13-37 what amounted to a direct order to remain where it stood as 8-1-12 advanced on the now sole inhabitant of the square.

Trost flicked her swords, the last soldier crawling from the crater and tossing the empty mag away from his rifle. "Remind me not to piss you off."

"You all good, Corporal?" The man examined his armor.

"Ah, yeah I think I'm o-" the man was interrupted by a railgun round to the throat, the silent weapon receding from the shoulder of a crested battlecast unit. A centurion; the command unit strode across the plaza, its iron hands reaching to its hips to draw hilts that rapidly expanded themselves into twin, meter-long blades. Trost grit her teeth, the centurion stepping to within a few meters of the power armor clad woman. 8-1-12 spun its swords, the silent challenge bringing a slight smile to Trost's lips.

"So the tin can wants to dance huh?" 8-1-12's crimson eyes gleamed, the machine nodding before launching itself at Trost, the woman bringing her swords up and dashing into the centurion's charge.

Jayce watched the acolyte standing next to what appeared to be a centurion-class machine. Beside him Thorin considered the same figures. The mage fidgeted slightly, his grizzled beard finding a home between his exposed fingers, the rest of his body covered by the same blue, gold, and silver power armor that had been proven almost useless on multiple occasions by the plasma cannons, beam lances, and anti-tank rockets carried by shocktroopers and destroyers. "A centurion will make this harder…"

"You can say that again. Walt, can you still do what we came here for?" The ex-smuggler spun his hunter's knife.

"Of course I can. No guarantee I can take a centurion but the coggy's as good as dead." Jayce nodded grimly.

"That's all I need. Once you knock out the acolyte we'll take out the centurion." The smuggler nodded, Walt melting into the shadows as Jayce pulled the mercury hammer from his back, his armor already calculating the jump from the roof of the skyscraper to the balcony that housed his target.

Caitlyn watched the alpha trundle along the path she and the Zuanite, he had introduced himself as Ivan Aryonkhart, Second Lieutenant, had taken only moments ago. The big man watched the machine, his hard features riddled with concern as the massive scorpion demolished a phone booth under its iron treads. "Jayce would have sent some one by now. You have a radio?" She motioned to the police issue model on the table of her hide out.

"If you can get it to work. Wait, did you say Jayce?" Ivan nodded, his large hands encompassing the whole of the radio.

"I did. If I know him he'd send Trost to find us…er, me. You never told me your name."

"Caitlyn, I know Jayce. Well, I did anyway…" Ivan nodded.

"Yes he has changed much, even since I joined our little team. You were champion yes?" She smiled, the expression filled with all the nostalgia she suspected many ex-champions had. Brutal violence had never been her thing but things just seemed…simpler back then. Life in Piltover was a right, not a hard-won privilege. Everyone seemed to be…almost friends. Then the league was dissolved, Noxus and Demacia fought, Zuan became a mechanized horror, Jayce vanished, the unrest in Ionia…just thinking about it made her head spin.

"Something like that." Ivan pulled the machine gun from his back.

"Then I hope you are not rusty with that rifle of yours. Trost should be here by now."

"And?"

"And we had better get moving before whoever's holding her up stops her permanently."

Trost was panting. Blood dripped down the right side of her abdomen as the cold of a Piltoverian winter finally found its way inside her dilapidated armor. She grit her teeth, her right hand losing its grip on one of the twin blades she favored over traditional guns. The parking structure had been a good choice. In here even the machine would have a hard time tracking her amongst the concrete pillars. The crimson glow that spilled through each crack in its neigh impenetrable armor, however, made Trost painfully aware of the how much she had underestimated it. She forced herself to stand up, her legs screaming as she half dragged, half stumbled her way towards the elevator. After only a few steps she wrenched off her helmet revealing an eye-catching at least woman in her mid to late twenties, her blonde hair cropped short with a sweep across the front, covering her left eye. If she still had a left eye. Trost resisted the instinct to brush her fingers across the gaping hole in her skull that had once been a second emerald eye, carved out by Noxian torturers years ago. She swore colorfully as the centurion rounded the last concrete pillar, its sword spinning in its right hand as it advanced on her. A sudden noise made the machine turn, the massive bulk of Ivan, his signature idiotic grin plastered on his face as his favored weapon roared to life. "Now my friend, you die." Obviously the centurion had other plans. 8-1-12 dropped the sword in its left hand, its palm raised to the hail of lead Ivan so gleefully sent its way. Not a single bullet hit the machine, Ivan's grin turning to a snarl as he realized just what the centurion's palm was. If it could grin, he thought, now would be the time for it to display that quality. The bullets clattered against the floor as Ivan's machine gun spun uselessly. The machine sheathed its sword, the blade collapsing into the hilt before being clipped into its hips, metal sliding over the hilts as though they never existed in the first place, the face plate of the centurion showing the same sliding mechanism as it split to reveal a vox grill.

"I have no quarrel with you, fleshling. Drop your weapons and you will be spared." The Zaunite growled, his sidearm leaving its holster in a blur of grey steel.

"How about you die?" The loud crack of the high caliber revolver followed by a dull ting gave Trost little hope of survival. Ivan lowered his revolver, the loud report of a sniper rifle, fired in close range sent the machine sprawling across the floor; Ivan smirked as Caitlyn removed her signature weapon from her shoulder. "Nice shot rookie."

"Oh so I'm a rookie now?" The Zaunite laughed, his hearty exhortation booming in the enclosed space as he lifted Trost's broken frame onto her feet, the woman grunting as he helped her towards the exit, Trost taking a second to spit some blood on the crumpled frame of 8-1-12.

"That's for the corporal."

Faust leaned over the balustrade just a bit more, his augmented eye picking out every tiny detail of the shadows below him. If only he had look behind him. The hunter's knife found its mark with ease, Faust gurgling as Elle whirled around to bring her full, bone crushing strength against the power armor clad warrior who had slain her master, Walt easily defecting the iron fist off his gauntlet before ramming the bloody knife into her leg joint, the centurion collapsing to her knees as Walt brought his shotgun off his shoulder, the iron sight lined up with Elle's red eyes, the glowing orbs pleading with him to have mercy. "Think of this as a favor you metal bitch." A firm hand pushed the shotgun down to the ground as Jayce placed himself between the machine and the smuggler.

"This thing could be useful to us. Heimer will want it at any rate." Walt shot him a dirty look, but kept any caustic thoughts to himself, instead placing small restraining bolts on the machine's joints, Elle stifling any sort of reaction from the pain they caused as two power armor clad soldiers hoisted her between them.

Now it's getting longer XP