Viktor watched the machine kneel before him, its iron frame decorated with various bits of clothing or valuables from champions he had once known. A list of its kills could easily be mistaken for a roster of great leaders and warriors, the most recent addition having given up his hood to satisfy the machine's oddities. To date Venator had slain ten former champions as well as countless high priority targets in almost as many battles. In other words if the Glorious Evolution needed someone or something dead, Venator made it dead. It had begun its illustrious career with a quick termination mission after some local wild life began to hunt and kill battlecast. The centurion had set out with only a dagger and its blades, returning to Viktor with the head of Rengar as well as the pride stalker's prized knife. It wasn't hard for the creator to see the potential such a machine could have, especially after watching the mission footage stored in what was then known as centurion 2-6-40. The machine was immediately rebuilt with a frame better suited to its newfound purpose, the bulky armor replaced with advanced cloaking technologies and myriad blades. Soon came the sacking of Noxus, centurion 2-6-40 claiming the lives of Swain, Vladimir, Cassiopeia, and Le Blanc. When Demacia proved more stubborn than its ancient foe the machine terminated the king in broad daylight, showing off an ingenious weapon of its own design. The miniature wrist mounted crossbow would serve the Evolution twice more before the day was out with centurion 2-6-40 taking its assignment beyond simply slaying the king to ruthlessly slaughter the entire royal family as well, the prince's illegitimate quarter-dragon twins included. Without the Lightshield dynasty's leadership Demacia quickly fell to ruin centurion 2-6-40 earing its new name by hunting down and slaying the famed ranger Quinn. Now it had added Talon Du Couteau to its kill count. Not that that had been its mission. Frankly Viktor found himself more enraged by this single machine's zeal than any sort of rebellion. "Do you have what I sent you to Noxus for?"
"Why must you doubt me, Great Creator?" Its arrogance perturbed him as well. Still kneeling Venator produced a small rune stone. To the untrained eye it would appear as any other rune stone, but to Viktor it was so much more. Years ago there had been a dispute in Kalamanda over mining rights. At least that was the cover up story. In truth the entire incident had been staged by the Institute of War in order to get their hands on this one stone. While most people were familiar with tiers and quintessences only a select few heard tale of, let alone believed in, a stone as powerful as this. The gem was utterly flawless and even within its limiting case Viktor could feel the magical energy radiating from it. "Have you determined the subject?" By this time Viktor had already descended from his lofty throne, hands clasped around the stone as Venator stood up.
"You…are dismissed…" The machine hid its distaste for Viktor's words behind a series of hunting clicks.
"Affirmative." Once the machine had left the Creator allowed the last of his human emotion to eke out of the metal cell he had long ago imprisoned it in, a malevolent iron laugh echoing through the throne room.
"Look Cait, they're going to ask you a lot of questions. Just answer them as best you can." The sheriff nodded, Jayce nodding back before a yordle in a long black coat ushered her into a small room. The yordle exhaled, hauling himself into a leather seat that matched his coat a bit too well to be coincidence. He then cracked his knuckles and picked up the file that had been resting on the chrome table that served as the only piece of furniture aside from the two chairs. He flipped through the files before noticing that the chair opposite him was empty.
"Please, have a seat. Considering what you've been through this may take a bit…Would you like a drink?"
"Water please." The yordle gestured to the mirrored wall of the otherwise dark grey room, another yordle soon bringing two glasses of water out and setting them on the table.
"Now it says here you survived in the ruins of Piltover for almost a month. Is this correct?"
"Yes." The yordle wrote a few things down, his pen scratching uncomfortably against the paper.
"Durring your time in Piltover did you see any…unusual battlecast units?" The way the yordle said the question made Caitlyn a bit more than uncomfortable. "As in command units with odd abilities." Seeing that the sheriff wasn't going to answer anytime soon the yordle pulled a picture of a centurion, its head mangled by a pointblank shot, out of the file that had been sitting on the table and slid it to her. "This was taken by the chest mounted mission camera of Second Lieutenant Ivan Aryonkhart." He slid her another picture of a fully operational centurion, surrounded by yordle corpses, sheathing its swords. "This is about an hour later from the gunship that pulled you from Piltover. It's the same machine. Yesterday our spy in Zaun sent us this message." He placed a small recording device on the table, pressing the play button before tenting his fingers. "Keep in mind this is only a clip so as to keep our spy's identity safe." After a few seconds a soft feminine voice filled the room.
"Experimental machine designated Project 9000 is slated to lead a battlecast detachment within the month excluding delays caused by recent events in Shurima. Other units slated for this mission include centurion 2-6-40 and kill team comprising of centurions 4-43-1, 13-00-9, 11-88-6, 12-23-34, and 50-56-79."
"That machine you saw in Piltover is believed to be the unit designated Project 9000." The yordle passed her a few sheets of paper and a hextech pen. "Fill this out with any odd tendencies or abilities you saw that centurion exhibit." As Caitlyn took the paper the yordle took a deep breath his expression lightening as he handed her a small envelope pulled from his pocket. "Also Captain Jayce has requested that you join his unit, that is, if it's ok with you. Either way you're going to be in the military. We can't risk word of an immortal super centurion causing a panic." Caitlyn returned the smile accepting the small package before leaving the cramped room. The yordle soon followed pointing down in the opposite direction of the landing pad where Corki was still toiling on the gunship. "City's that way miss."
The doctor just shook his head as Emily Trost denied, for the third time, a hextech eye. Her excuse never changed. "I don't want anything that they're made of in me." The medical staff had given up arguing after the first time. No matter that the mechanical implants would allow her to process optical information at almost twice the speed of an un-augmented human brain, the ungrateful bitch could go die in a hole for all the doctor seemed to care. Without the heavy armor and gore stained blades she looked almost like any other citizen…Not that he cared. Cause he didn't. At least that's what he told himself. The man marked down the last strike team member's injuries on a small tablet just as the swordswoman left leaving the doctor slightly confused and with an extra bottle of painkillers.
Bandle City had exploded in the short lived years of peace after the league closed its doors. Once home exclusively to yordles the city had become a haven for anyone looking for a safe place away from the political turmoil of the rest of Valoran. Massive skyscrapers, not nearly as tall as those of Piltover or Zaun yet still dominating the horizon for miles, towered over her head as Caitlyn walked along the old cobble streets that had once transported wagons and other creaking wooden contraptions. Now though the sniper was forced to make way for a light tank as the machine trundled along to some unknown destination. Finding the night air a bit cold despite the southern climate she quickly ducked into a bar, the neon lights identifying it as the Last Oak Pub and Inn. The usual somber war time patronage, simply there to drink their troubles away, had been replaced by a boisterous atmosphere, each man competing for something Caitlyn couldn't see. Those uninterested in whatever had majority of the men at each other's throats were seated at the bar Caitlyn taking a stool as far from the commotion as possible. "What'll it be?" At first she thought she was hearing things. The bartender, a tattooed man with sculpted arms and overly large hair turned, the glass he had been shining now resting on a rack as the former champion gave Caitlyn his famous grin. "Why, fancy seeing you here babe. What can Draven get you tonight?"
"There is no bloody way…" Draven's grin only widened, the executioner pulling a glass off the rack and idly shining it.
"Oh I survived. Draven always survives. Took a tin can out too." He gestured to the head of a centurion, the left side split by a throwing axe, mounted above the door. "Had to cut its head off before it stopped coming after me… So anything you want? I am the proprietor of this business. Last guy sold it to me for a real steal when he moved to Ionia."
"I'll take a scotch. What's going on over there?" The executioner turned bartender placed her drink down before turning to the crowd of men.
"That…that is something you don't want to go near sister. That is the killing fields. Thing is though that little corner brings in more customers than anything else…" Caitlyn shot him an impatient look, the Noxian holding up his hands defensively before continuing. "Ahri's doing her part in the war. Sorta. She's got half the men in the army thinking they're fighting for her. Frankly I'm not going anywhere near that." Caitlyn stood up in her stool, peering over the backs of a few men to watch Ahri for a moment.
"Good choice." Draven inclined his head slightly before returning to polishing the myriad glasses behind him. After a few more drinks as well as some surprisingly good food, thinking back on it the alcohol had probably made it taste a lot better than it really was, the sheriff let her mind wander, her legs depositing her in a booth as the world went black around her.
"Morning cupcake." A smile found its way across the sheriff's face, her chocolate hair streaming across the pillows of her bed in Piltover. An eye finally found the will to open, Vi kissing her before walking to the dresser and pulling on her uniform. To the left a single glass pane looked out on all of Piltover, the golden sun illuminating the tops of the buildings as it rose. Caitlyn took a second to admire her partner's rear before leaving the warm folds of the blanket for the shower. "I put out your uniform for ya. Breakfast'll be done when you get out." The shower still smelled of soap, its floor wet as the sheriff turned the knobs to her perfect temperature. Caitlyn sighed as warm water washed over her. A sudden crash interrupted her relaxation, the sheriff rushing from the shower only to slam uselessly against the wood door, her wet hands slipping on the door knob for a few horror stricken seconds before finding purchase. In the living room, its iron hand clenched around a struggling enforcer's throat stood a centurion, its head mangled on one side as though shot by a large caliber rifle. Vi suddenly stopped squirming, the machine turning towards her as it tossed the limp corpse across the eroding room. By the time the enforcer's body hit the ground, ethereal fire eating away all but the skeleton, Caitlyn was standing in a field of bones, the machine walking inexorably towards her as a crimson sun dominated the sky. She collapsed to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks as it drew its sword, each step crushing the bones that littered the ground. Human bones. The crushed bones mingled with the bloody dust of the ground as Caitlyn continued to sob, her tears turning to blood as they hit the ground. The unfeeling killer leered over her, its iron frame reverberating with a mechanical groan as it drew back its sword arm. Her life didn't flash in front of her eyes. No light beamed down from the heavens. No savior arrived in the nick of time. Only the crimson gaze of pure, undying hatred projected from the machine's hollow eyes sought out her prone form, the blade rushing forward to pierce her throat as she uttered one last choked scream.
Sun light filtered through a blind to her left, the small bed she was on smelling of alcohol and vomit, the former scent seeming to only produce more of the latter. Groaning she hauled herself to her feet, pain erupting across her body as she collapsed back into the bed. "Morning sunshine." The executioner tossed her a towel. "Shower's over there. I'd help you but I got a job to do." She shot him a look of pure hatred, her drunken stupor reducing it to more of a half conscious stare. "Hehe it was just a joke. I'll be down stairs if you need anything." As the executioner turned the entire building shook, Caitlyn first attributing the tremor to her hangover before the light from the window was blotted out, metal clanking as steam hissed in the streets. Draven voiced both their thoughts fairly effectively. "What the fu-" An iron groan sent Caitlyn sprawling for cover as Draven tore open the blinds. What met their gaze was both terrifying and awe inspiring. A single slab of rune encrusted metal dominated their view, the titanic ankle guard shifting before a steel foot large enough to crush a house left the ground for a brief moment, its return to earth shaking the buildings as the gleaming steel titan strode onward, the cobbled street barely fitting its skyscraper sized frame. A heroic azure visor stared into the vast sky above the tallest buildings in the older section of the city as the pilot deftly maneuvered the Ionian made warmachine through the maze of skyscrapers. She stumbled towards the door, Draven offering her much needed support as the two watched the machine's progress through the city from the street.
"The bloody hell did…did that thing show up?" Behind it tanks and APCs formed column after column of shining metal, the warmachine bellowing as it left the tight corridors of the old city for the relatively open freedom of the newer sections.
"About the same time Ionia decided it was sick of the old folks running the place. Apparently that's a medium warmachine. Or so I've heard. Ionia a super power…never thought I'd see the day… You should get back home. Everything'll be opening soon…and that includes me. Anybody be willing to come get you?"
8-1-12 was not a machine to be kept waiting. After what seemed to be an eternity of waiting around, almost decapitating multiple acolytes, and generally becoming more enraged with the universe on whole a timid acolyte ushered the mighty centurion into an elevator. Of all the lower machines elevators held a special place in the machine's data banks. Not only did they serve the evolution without any sort of gripe but they served to the utmost perfection of their task. One had to admire their efficiency in whisking their cargo up and down the massive tower. Within a minute from the time the centurion boarded the noble device it was at its destination, 8-1-12 nodding thanks to the servant of the evolution before moving onward towards the testing lab designated in its briefing.
Viktor watched the table holding the machine rotate to allow myriad arms to deconstruct its body, new armor, stronger, faster, better in every conceivable way, replacing the machine's shell as its crimson interior expanded to fill the new nine foot armored frame. The table rotated, its occupant released from the restraints that had held it in place. Viktor smiled as it examined its new form, no longer was 8-1-12 merely a centurion. The 9k project had been a success. From the start of the evolution the 9k project had been a little more than a dream. At first it was a problem of cognition. Shocktroopers and destroyers simply didn't have the mental capabilities required to properly harness the amount of power flowing through the newly reconstructed centurion ultra. Once the centurions were introduced at the sacking of Noxus it became a matter of potential return value. During the construction of a centurion arcane rights, beyond even the expertise of Viktor's best techmaturges, were employed resulting in odd powers generated seemingly at random. Despite the immense power of an ultra, enough enemy troops with good luck would be able to take it out. Thus when a generation three centurion manifested an ability that could counteract the fickle fortunes of battle Viktor acted immediately. The weapon the Creator had chosen for his prodigal son was already resting in the massive halls of his vault. Recently Venator had secured the most powerful runestone unearthed in Kalamanda as well as the slumbering form of the Darkin Aatrox, who upon his awakening this morning had proved invaluable in his decision to train the prodigal champion of the evolution. Yes, everything was falling into place…