A/N: The timeline will be nonlinear sometimes, just a warning. If you have any confusion, just leave a signed review or PM and I'll do my best to explain!

I'm going to try to delve into the backstory a little bit (my style of writing is kinda slow, sorry). I'm more about mystery than action, but I'll try to get around to some action eventually.

But until then, half of this chapter will be flashbacks. Each champion's past will be revealed to be a LOT more twisted than previously thought, so look forward to that ;) And to those who know me as mainly a romance/cheesy writer, well, this is going to be different…

Chapter 2: Theory

Caitlyn's POV

Five hours earlier…

The streets of Piltover are cobbled and narrow, a relic of older times. Before technology, my father would say, a disapproving look in his eyes as he regarded the news, eager to condemn the slightest misstep of a modern corporation. He reserved a special hatred for Piltover's overwhelming growth, a hatred that would be the death of him.

I shiver; I had not thought of my father in a long time. And with good cause.

I reach the Piltover Police Station and Courthouse, my home away from home. At this time of night it appears dark and deserted. Normally Vi would be here waiting for me, an enthusiastic "Yo, cupcake" and a grin on her lips.

But things aren't so normal anymore, are they?

The automatic door slides open as I approach, warm air wafting towards me, pushing out the brunette locks that frame my face. Indeed it is empty inside, evidence of underfunding. I frown and walk a familiar path to my office, a path I've walked dozens, hundreds, thousands of times before. The building is nice and toasty, but I can't shake off this feeling clouding my heart and mind. A foreboding feeling, the kind that ruptures the senses and drives one mad.

Aren't we being dramatic? I roll my eyes at myself.

The door to my office is open, giving me pause. I'm in there fifteen hours a day, and when I'm not, I make sure to lock all five of the locks I've installed. Better safe than sorry. Today was the first exception in a long, long time—four years of time to be exact, ever since I inherited my title as Sheriff of Piltover from my father at the age of 18, a year before his death. Murder, I correct myself. A murder yet to be solved.

And yet here it is, open door and all. I am suddenly all too conscious of my precarious position in the darkened hallway, unarmed and unaware. Don't be silly. Go on, you're just wasting time.

I tell myself that I'm right, that I'm only wasting time. Time is money was one of my father's favorite things to say. I cannot get him out of my head today.

My self-urging warms me up and I step forward into my office, slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. Only at the moment, I feel a lot more like prey. Tersely, I flip the light switch and blink as my world is bathed in an incandescent light. My office is just as it always is, scattered papers and aging coffee cups. All that worry for nothing. I want to laugh at myself but settle for a relieved giggle. It was probably the afternoon shift after all; maybe I forgot to lock the door in my rush out of it and a curious rookie decided to peek in. That's all.

Think, Cait, think. Did you really forget to lock the doors? Have you ever been that foolish in nearly half a decade?

I shrug unconvincingly. Stranger things have happened.

Why was the front door unlocked anyways? If the building's really as empty as you think it is, why's the door open? The afternoon shift would've left over three hours ago. Kevin was on that shift; do you really think he would've left the door open for any common criminal to wander in?

There were times when I greatly disliked my inner voice. Sure, it's helped me capture plenty of criminals—my version of a gut feeling. But at times like these, I could definitely use a stress-reliever, not to mention a gun and reinforcements.

I make my way over to the main alarm system near the front of my office, grabbing a pistol from the holster on my coatrack on the way.

Gun, check.

I kept the alarm system in my office for a variety of reasons, most of them starting with "I don't trust my coworkers." But it gave me assurance in times like these. No criminal scum could get into my office—or the station—without setting off the alarm system and the system couldn't be disabled without knowing the exact sequence of three-dozen switches to flip. One wrong move and the entire building would lock down.

It is with this knowledge that I make a careless mistake; I relax. Because at that moment, with every fiber of my being, I believe that there is no way, no how that any intruder could successfully breach my securities, my overly-safe and never-sorry securities. At that moment, I am unbreachable.

But instead I am slammed into from behind, my gun-holding hand roughly seized. My head slams into the edge of something sharp and my vision pools. I kick out helplessly, connecting with nothing but air. And as I lose consciousness, the last thing I see is the alarm system, all thirty-six switches flipped perfectly into position.

Zed's POV

Present time…

I stare at the man sitting a few feet away. Jayce, the Defender of Tomorrow. A pompous title. I had dismissed him for an airheaded fool, a good-looking clown. Cannon fodder. But appearances deceive, and I find myself somewhat admiring of his observation.

"Someone from Zaun."

Of course; out of all our hypotheses, this is the magnum opus. Zaunites, I find, are vastly underrated by the majority of Valoran. The justice-wielding Demacian tools regard them as mad scientists, pesky but no real threat. The battle-happy Noxian brutes look to them as weapons-suppliers—mostly illegal, of course—but not fighters. Piltover, Zaun's neighbor to the Northwest, hold contempt for the poverty-ridden, unhygienic citizens of Zaun. And in Ionia we rarely, if ever, think of Zaun, instead focusing on the main enemy Noxus.

But I have found on a brief 'visit' (read: assassination) to Zaun that Zaunites are a scheming, malicious bunch, not without their threats.

And their 'experimentations,' oh their experimentations. I am not one who is easily disgusted. I am no weakling. And yet the cruelty, the curiosity, the sheer inhumanity of the Zaunite scientists…

In spite of myself, I shiver.

"Scared?" Jayce's voice pulls me out of my reverie. He looks amused, which in turn makes me angry.

"As if."

"Can't you escape?" He asks hopefully.

I tug pointedly at my metallic noose.

"No, no. With your, you know, shadows?"

As if I hadn't given thought to that? I sigh. "These…things. Look closely." I raise my neck to give him a better view of the band around my neck. "You see the silver inscriptions?"

Jayce leans in, reading and recognizing the silvery runes. His eyes widen, adding an element of surprise to his normally smug demeanor. "It can't be… arcane magic? But how?"

"There is only one man known to us, alive, that is capable of arcane magic powerful enough to contain my shadows."

"Ryze…"

A/N: Hehe, did you catch Cait using her catchphrase (the one Jayce mentioned last chapter)? Just a little easter egg for you readers!

I'm trying to give each character his/her own unique voice. For example, Ashe is more serious, observant, and descriptive. Jayce is more humorous and thoughtful. Caitlyn is troubled and has her own inner monologue. Zed is…Zed. Nothing too dramatic but hopefully somewhat noticeable.

I really liked writing the end of Cait's POV. Hopefully you liked it too and it wasn't overly rushed :D

Please leave a review! They are my fanfic-writing bread and butter!