8-1-12 strode between the rows of shocktroopers lining the helipad jutting from the upper floors of the massive government building that served as its base of operations, the jet black ceremonial cape attached to its shoulder pads catching the slight breeze. At the end of the platform a dropship sat perched, a guard of two lower level centurions, their helmets void of crests, carrying plasma rifles standing just inside the bay of the iron aircraft. 8-1-12 ignored them instead addressing the dropship. [ETA?]
[2 hours at top speed]
[Acceptable. Proceed with designated task] the machine sent a short quip of data about the projected turbulence and other menial information as its cargo of centurions sat in the seats along the sides of the dark cargo bay, crimson lights supplementing the dust obscured sun of Piltover as the rear door closed. The vox grill at the end of the bay rattled off flight information before the machine lurched forward, 8-1-12 immediately compensating for the movement, its guards doing the same as the centurion shut down its optics.
Trost slipped her side arm form her hip, removing and replacing the sixteen bullets for the hundredth time since they had been pulled from Piltover. Her side had stitched itself together, the healing potions injected by her suit doing its job. Ivan was asleep, his machine gun resting across his lap. Thorin had busied himself with a scroll of lightning magic. A few seats away Walt was busy sharpening his knife, the grating sound eating away at Caitlyn's sanity over the past half hour. Occasionally Jayce would smile slightly, his eyes never quite returning to their old gleam despite the gesture. "We fucked up bad, huh?" The entire cargo bay turned to Walt, the armored smuggler sheathing his knife and continuing. "21 of the best trained and equipped soldiers in Valoran go into Piltover to kill one man. Five come back. And that's only after a team of twelve Megling Commandos pull our asses from a roof suffering 75% casualties. We thought we could fight them…we were fucking ants beneath their boot. This war is over… we lost." Trost placed a worried hand on his shoulder as Jayce's comms crackled to life.
"Cap, we got a problem." Jayce walked towards the cockpit, the metal door that protected the pilot from any shrapnel that might get in the gunship's bay sliding open just long enough for the rest of the soldiers to watch Jayce sit down in the gunner's seat.
"What's wrong?" Corki simply pointed to his HUD, the three crimson dots telling the story well enough. "Shit…think you can shake them?" The pilot checked the HUD the angry red blips speeding up as attack orders were finalized, his gaze switching to the cloudless sky.
"Can't outrun 'em but we sure can give 'em a nice hello."
"Do it. We can't risk them finding out where we're going." A grin played at the long whiskers that framed Corki's mouth as he flicked the fire control off safety.
[All units auto cannon fire. Prioritize engines.] The two Valkyries at the wing leader's sides pulled off slightly the wing leader's wings splitting slightly as auto cannon barrels peeked from the gaps. The machine to the wing leader's left suddenly erupted into flames, the sponson mounted turrets of the silver target unleashing a stream of red hot lead at the Valkyrie, the wing leader diving as the third machine took a shot to its left engine, its crippled form becoming smaller and smaller before saluting its commander with a plume of flame and smoke. The sleek Valkyrie ignited its after burners, its thrust vectoring systems pulling it into a rapid climb, missiles dropping from the fuselage as targeting systems built into the glowing crimson eyes and maw locked on to the target's wings. [Now you die.] It never launched a single missile, the small dome on the bottom of the fuselage of the gunship flashing blue before the Valkyrie halted its assent, engines sputtering as the machine tipped backwards. Its red eyes flickered as the magic drained from it, the blue dome pulsating as the iron fighter met the earth in a spectacular plume of vibrant orange.
The other machines and acolytes parted as the centurion strode across the sunless outdoor landing complex attached like a great leech to the side of the towering structure whose peak pierced the ever present layer of smog that had clouded the skies of Zaun since time immemorial. Not that it bothered the machine. It was the populace of Zaun that had 8-1-12's iron hands constantly on its blades. Allies of the evolution or not some of these damned fleshlings would have to die soon. Perhaps it would have some sport with them, so long as the creator approved. After all what good was a fleshling when a machine could do its job a hundred times better? That and machines did not piss their superiors off with incessant blabber about trivial matters. Automated doors large enough to fit a house parted for the centurion as it ordered the guards to remain outside. A quick scan of the building's registered schematics occupied the machine as it crossed the threshold of the tower, its crimson eyes scanning the massive hall lit with hextech lights of the same color and decorated with dark iron pillars between which hung crimson banners bearing the emblem of the armies of the Creator. The centurion noted the architect's fascination with red as it scanned the carpet it trod on, the fabric being a slightly lighter shade than the banners and lights. All the buildings in Zaun were like this now. Clearly this had to be the singular reddest city in Valoran. The machine was unsure if it cared much about that though and thus continued its trek across the four block long hall to the elevators that would bring it to the peak of the massive building. The pinnacle of which sat thirty odd stories above the smog layer and, as the now deceased obnoxious fleshling had stated, possessed a 'nice view'. 8-1-12 stepped into the industrial elevator made to haul small trucks to the other levels of the building, the machine standing in the direct center of the square floor as it was lifted further into the sky.
51-21-25 examined her new frame with disinterest. As far as she was concerned what she looked like mattered very little so long as her mistress still approved. The acolyte danced around her chortling to himself about something 51-21-25 didn't much care to hear. Before shutting off her audio receptors the machine had picked up something about coitus and a fleshling named Abagail, the machine shuddering slightly as memories were dredged up from places 51-21-25 would rather never have gone again. As the acolyte left her to her musings a small white rose popped up in her view, the machine groaning inwardly before accepting the encrypted call. [Elle, it's been a while]
[My apologies, Mistress Rose] The yordle giggled at the title.
[Tell me you have something good]
[If good is an almost indestructible self-repairing centurion with the conscious of Jack the Ripper then I do]
[Shoot…try to stay in touch. Hiemer is going to have a fit when he hears this…]
[Yes, Mistress.]
The techmaturge watched the Creator for any signs of approval. Of course the iron mask gave few signs of anything except the hissing that indicated Viktor's continued survival. The small box the two men occupied had been made of blast resistant glass for protection against the experiments that took place in the lower levels of the massive tower. Below them a soldier, his body encased within the silver, blue, and gold armor of the invaders at Piltover squirmed against his restraints. "Release the seed units." The techmaturge nodded, the man pressing a small button on the panel in front of them, Viktor crossing his arms as a small burst of pulsating red spores dropped from the ceiling. Those that fell on the power armor clad man immediately drilled into the armor, the man seeming to slump with relief as they stopped just short of flesh. Viktor turned to leave when the room flashed a deep crimson, screams of pain turning to an odd mechanical gurgling as the noble power armor morphed into an iron monstrosity, the Creator turning with renewed interest as the helmet contorted in a mechanical maw, hateful crimson eyes burning through what had once been a visor as the rest of the armor reconfigured to the seed's specifications. Within a few seconds the hideous transformation was complete, the odd machine sporting razor sharp claws on elongated fingers, the armor had warped into a darker metal, the same material used in the creation of a battlecast unit, which had twisted itself into shapes almost reminiscent of a plant. The shoulder pad looked more like a human deltoid laced with the same bladed plant motif that adorned the rest of the armor than any real protection. Its legs were elongated and thinned, canine in appearance and tipped with flexible claws each the length of the cyborg's hand. Between the cracks in is armored frame crimson light spilled forth, the trait common to factory made battlecasts manifesting itself to perfection. Viktor nodded, left hand raised to what would be mouth level. "And what of the man?"
"Disintegrated. This is where the…interesting stuff we discussed in our report starts happening." The machine looked at the restraints holding in to the floor in a standing position. For a moment it simply stood, arms relaxed, head cocked. After Viktor once again made to leave it dropped into a battle stance, arms seeming to liquefy and reform as massive blades replaced its forearms before the machine tore the restraints from the floor, iron maw opening as it howled rage at the ceiling. "Shall I end the test?"
"I've seen enough." A panel in the wall opened up to reveal a destroyer, plasma lance charged. The seed born machine roared, tendrils flying off its back to latch onto the frail destroyer before pulling the floating machine into reach of the massive blades that had replaced its forearms. As the destroyer flicked out of existence Viktor moved to the door, the air lock popping open as he twisted the knob. The techmaturge look horrified, the man reaching out only to be shoved back by a glare from Viktor, the deadly beam weapon resting on his shoulder swiveling with his gaze. "Perhaps I can end this test."
A red haze filled its vision; the odd mechanical gurgling that seemed to coincide with its operation enraging it beyond that which stemmed from its sudden existence. Something clanged against metal behind it, the machine whirling around to see a man in a thick trench coat wearing an iron mask stepping down the stairs which led to a glass box above it. The red haze became thicker, the monster leaping at its new prey as it deployed an odd device.
Viktor watched the machine struggle against the gravity field for a few seconds before the sleek laser mounted in place of his third hand cleaved it in two. Now Bandle City will burn…
Tristana watched the gunship's engines wind down as landing gear protruded from the hull. The balcony she stood on had afforded her a good enough view of the exiting soldiers to know the hell the soldiers had been through. Beside her Teemo shook his head. "Trist I…I need to talk to you."
"Go ahead Tee." Behind her the scout shuffled a bit Tristana realizing the topic immediately. "Tee I already told you, I'm not supporting your suicide mission." The yordle looked shocked, the papers he had pulled from his satchel dropping to the floor.
"That's not what I was going to say! Although since you bring it up…"
"No. Can we please talk about something that doesn't involve one of us sneaking into Zaun and assassinating Viktor?" Teemo smiled, handing the Megling commander the papers he had been holding.
"How about that general arms meeting you skipped? Rumble reported that the city's mechanized division is fully operational and we have received the Ionian warmachine although the engineering corps is still reconfiguring it for a yordle pilot. Also the president called another meeting of the armed forces."
"When?" Her flippant tone made the scout general think about not telling the former champion the last part.
"Today. Oh, and Jayce brought someone back. A…mutual friend of ours." Tristana whirled around, her eyes lit with joy as Teemo nodded yes to the unspoken question.
The machine watched the small house in the middle of the woods surrounding what used to be Noxus from its perch atop an out cropping. As soon as the sun had set it moved through the underbrush, silent as a specter, its crimson visor emitting a slight pulse as hexagonal tiles along its humanoid frame bent the light of the moon around it, the iron killer fading into the stillness of the forest.
Talon watched the redhead sleep with a satisfied smile, the grating of his blade against a whet stone halting just in time to hear a scraping on top of the roof. Gritting his teeth to hold back any obscenities that may spill out the assassin stepped outside, a slight breeze ruffling his cloak as the door shut behind him. "Shit, of all the fucking times to start hearing things…" he shook his head. Lack of sleep was definitely getting to him.
"Talon Du Couteau? My, my, the little ranger bitch spoke highly of you." The odd metallic voice was soon accompanied by a series of clicks and a slight thump as the monstrous centurion landed between Talon and the door to the cottage. "Your whore sister didn't put up much of a fight, although she also spoke highly of both you and the wench inside." As the machine stepped into a shaft of moonlight Talon was able to discern an odd array of trophies hanging from its armor including a bright green scale set just above its crimson visor. Noticing Talons interest in the scale the machine pivoted slightly gesturing to two royal blue feathers attached to a leather band around its right arm. Valor's feathers. "What's wrong gutter rat? Did I hurt you famiwee?" The baby voice really drove Talon insane the grating laughter that followed only serving to amplify the assassin's rage.
"Shut the fuck up and die!" The machine instantly countered his rush with twin blades sprouting from its wrists. Blades sparked as the hooded man was shortly overpowered by the machine, its odd hidden weapons retracting as its hands returned to a passive position.
"I like your aggression fleshling. It's really no fun if all they do is run away." Talon let his knives do the talking, the Noxian losing a volley of throwing knives to rake at the machine who deflected each one with deft precision. "Perhaps I shall let you watch your sister die…you already missed both the ranger and the whore." A series of clicks followed as the two killers circled each other, Talon outclassed in both size and strength, the machine being almost six inches taller than he was as well as at least twice as heavy. As for strength he quite simply could not lift a car over his head and toss it like he had seen other machines of the centurion class do. Thus his only chance was agility. If only it would give him an opening the Noxian was confident he could take it out. Until it literally vanished into thin air. Before he could act on the machine's disappearance he grunted, surprise mixing with pain as the iron palm rammed into his back, the seven and a half inch retractable blade below it protruding slightly from his chest. "Tsk, tsk, little birdy. Hear I thought I might finally have a kill worthy of the proclamations of coming vengeance spewed by your dying loved ones…" He felt the hood of his cloak being ripped from his head as a mechanism opened up within the machine behind him, its blade retracting to allow Talon to slump to the ground. "When you wash up on the shores of the Shadow Isles tell them Venator sent you."
The machine fashioned the cloak hood to its left shoulder, the torn end pointed at the ground so as to give better purchase for the odd clamps on the bottoms of its shoulders. It quite liked the way the purple cloth settled to just below its elbow joint, the machine taking a second to admire itself before the cottage door came crashing down, an irate fleshling standing in its opening, twin curved blades drawn. A short burst of clicks followed the redheaded sister of its latest kill's appearance. If it could have smiled the broadest grin Valoran had ever seen would have crossed its face as Katarina collapsed to her knees, horror plain on her face as the machine stepped aside to allow her a better view of her last family member. A sigil Venator hated almost as much as an easy target blinked into existence in its vision, retreat: effective immediately. Clicking off its rage the machine turned north, its iron frame melting into the darkness leaving Katarina to her sobbing.