THE DREDGE

The doors opened as the towering figure of Security Chief Crimson walked out to see the result of the most recent attempted 'attack', if one could call it that, at the very front gates of the Dredge.

One would see something like this as madness. Not him, not Crimson. Being of Noxian heritage, he knew better to differ an act of madness from that of a message.

He and the prisoner from far below knew it too well.

Chief Crimson was named so, and rightfully feared so, due to both his appearance, size, ferocity and mercilessness, with most of his face painted red, save for his chin and eyes, emulating a helmet, or perhaps the crest of Noxus itself. His head sported dreadlocked hair all set backwards and tied into a ponytail. He stood almost half twice the size of any other adult guardsman in the Dredge, sporting a thick steel jacket, of Noxian design, meant to deflect direct strikes from blades or arrows, broad or thick as they could be, except perhaps a Noxian Ballista. His belt buckle had the symbol not of Noxus, but of the Dredge instead, or rather that which represented the Chem-Baroness responsible for the facility. Though Crimson wore trousers along with ironclad kneepads and boots, his belt held a red cape, almost akin to a broad skirt, as well as holsters for the twin axes he was always famous - and feared - for.

Crimson loomed over two of the Dredge guards, with their gas masks, rifles and trenchcoats with just a few plates of iron stitched to them, which pinned down with their boots over someone down on the floor. The other one down was left unguarded, and Crimson had enough of an intellectual quotient to know the reason why. His focus became the one pinned down, doubtlessly alive, and clearly altered, where he could see the forearms replaced with something else, made of iron. Limbs butchered for weapons, though Crimson always tried to wonder where the one from below managed to find the materials, let alone the specialization, to do these things to those supposed to have been... disposed.

"We checked them, sir.", one of the guards spoke. "Definitely his."

Crimson nodded and then gestured his head for the guards to stop pinning their 'catch' down and then back off, rifles pointed. Crimson glanced at the downed intruder, one of Urgot's 'hands' as they liked calling it, as that one tried moving in defiance, but that was difficult given the legs and arms shot. It seemed like the 'hand' barely could make it, but was attempting to make sure death wouldn't have it that easily.

Crimson could relate to that, it was the minimum expected. "Two Hands against the front door of the Dredge...", he said, amused. "What's he up to, now?"

"His release is imminent.", the surviving Nail answered. "Your hour is at hand."

"I thought that preaching bull was more the thing of your 'mouths'.", he said. "Your ilk are funny, you've been *so* up to the nerves of the Undercity folk you gave them some distraction. Guess that's why she and I tolerated you on the streets..."

"You must've seen the signs too, lapdog!", the Nail retorted, in a fanatical pride.

"If that's so, where's your so called 'god' to save you?", Crimson mocked, though in a serious tone, pulling out one of his axes.

"Don't make us for worms whom need divine intervention!", the Nail said. "Our strength is why we-"

Crimson readily swinged his axe towards the Nail, striking him down the head which cracked as would a watermelon. This made some of the guards look away. "Seems you weren't as strong...", he mumbled, before turning to the guards. "Find the fissure where they came from, and seal it.", he ordered, pulling the axe off the Nail's head and holstering it back after cleaning it, as he headed back to the main entrance doors, the only accessible entrance to the Dredge.

The entrance to the Dredge, as it was with any minimally decent 'correctional' facility, was a checkpoint consisting of two broad, solid doors for vehicles, in which only one at a time could be opened for safety during exit and entry. Crimson then crossed the second entrance, that opened as the first one closed, into the main entrance yard to the Dredge, clearly excavated with a room to fit a whole Noxian warship - large iron pillars with beams about as thick as a mine wagon extending to the roof, which had tubes with Chem-tech running across and going downwards, to the other two lower levels of the Dredge before the lowest of all, the Sumps, could be accessed. All sides of the Pillars had a spotlight to illuminate the vast chamber. The walls, from the floor up to 10 feet, were layered with iron and concrete as the remainder upwards was solid rock.

The floor, all of it concreted as well, was very much alive, with crates strewn about as well as motion from both the guards and the inmates, clearly too pale from deprived sunlight, tasked with organizing them for shipping to outside the prison. The cargo trucks were guarded by rifle-toting men, as well, always keeping a keen eye out on the routine of the workers. Some of the guards were too close by, with whips to 'remind' the inmates of their 'civic duties' to the prison. A specific corner of the yard was grated, into a corridor and then a hall, for the newcomer prisoners, with multiple gates that were raised upwards for 'processing' of the newcomers who wouldn't leave so soon. Beyond the chamber, past a diagonal borehole where a huge cargo elevator fit for a vehicle was, is where lied the residence and arsenal of the Dredge's guards, the Cantonment, meant to house the numbers and equipment needed for a facility of the importance only Crimson and his boss knew.

The Security Chief headed to the stairs, guarded by a pair of rifle-toting men, leading to an upper level catwalk which connected to a suspended steel-framed structure held by thick iron-beams just above the inner door, where Crimson headed to. He entered the structure, where a guardsman remained sit, with his rifle up close, something Crimson simply couldn't get, even if that one was the oldest of the guards, and a personal secretary which kept control of the accesses towards the office of the very head of the Dredge. Crimson walked towards the door to the office wordlessly, where the difference was explicit between the office itself and the rest of the place. The office seemed a bit rather too lavish and comfortable, in comparison to the rest of the place, with modest lightning and even a carpet. A large desk, with some papers, a lamp and what seemed to be a liquor bottle with cups dominated the center along with a carpet below. Bookstands shielded the walls as well as a small mirror table by a corner. The desk's two chairs at the front were comfortable in their own right as well, and the chair across felt like a throne for kings.

Or rather the unspoken-of Queen of the Dredge.

The very same Queen which was now by the window emulating the central iris of the Dredge's icon, observing the commotion below as the guards outside, by the frontal checkpoint, moved the pretentious 'hands' to their rightful place - disposal.

"They must've come from the poorest areas ahead, I've sent two of ours to look for the fissure.", Crimson reported.. "We'll have it shut soon, as with all the others."

"As with all the others...", she mused, in a serious tone, a second later. "And still they manage to find further ways out. A hole is plugged just for another to pop open. Else his 'mouths' would've remained shut."

"I plan to have a nightly search tomorrow, across all cells and the shaft tunnels.", Crimson replied, entering further into the room. "Whatever it is he's planning, we'll be ready, miss Voss."

"So you think.", the 'Queen', Voss, replied. "All this security, fortifications and to think he still can find breaches..."

"We both know he'd have to come through the Dredge first, like it or not, else it'd take a hundred years for him to dig a way out.", Crimson said. "If he's still the vengeful type, he won't take that wait..."

"That's why this attack worries me...", Voss said. "It was a probing, wasn't it?"

"I do wish to be wrong in this, I won't deny it.", Crimson said. "In all ways, unless he's desperate, it has to be impossible, he couldn't have anything or any help to have a-"

"Nothing we're aware of, you mean.", Voss said.

Crimson nodded, before taking a moment to continue.

"Say it, Crimson.", Voss ordered.

"Even if it's a false alarm, it wouldn't be bad an idea to...", he answered.

"Call for help?", Voss answered, turning around to reveal matured, scarred face, around her forties, under a loose, raven-like black hair going gray. "The others already have their hands full with this whole recent mess, if the reports aren't lying... We're on our own, and it's best that way. Else, it'd be a sign that we're not doing our job. And we *do* want to keep doing our job, don't we?"

"Yes.", Crimson said, nodding after a while. "Yes, miss Voss."

"Good.", Voss said. "Because I don't want to stress again what will happen if Piltover, let alone Noxus or... someone else even suspect we're not what they think we are.", she then waved to Crimson to leave. "Give me an update for when you've plugged that hole."

Crimson nodded, turning away to leave Voss with her thoughts.

Notes:

Crimson's design is largely based on WH40K's Angron. Minus, you know, the anger issues that come with it. In fact, most of the Dredge's guard roster drinks heavily from WH40K mythos, to demonstrate both their zeal and - couldn't put it well - desperation to the fact someone like Urgot must be kept locked at all costs.

In case you're wondering, there is indeed a Crimson that was slain by Urgot in the original LoL lore. Here, we're preparing to give more of a 'dignified' ending and at the same time preparing to establish Urgot as ACTUAL business...