Chapter Text
Act I
"The empire, long divided, must unite; long united, must divide. Thus it has ever been."
Romance of the Three Kingdoms—
A monstrous figure stalks through the pawnshop, her heavy footsteps creaking across worn floorboards, each thunderous movement sending display cases rattling, their contents casting dancing shadows illuminated only by the neon glow filtering in from Zaun's streets and the distant stars above. In her scarred left hand, she clutches a crumpled manifest revealing her targets:
- Chemtubes injection valves
- Pressure regulators
- Chemical reactor core
- Esophilters toxin filters
Her gaze locks onto the prize, lips curling into a predatory smile beneath her mask.
With a sharp gesture to her waiting crew, she advances on the safe while they scatter to ransack the store's remaining treasures.
She raises her right arm – completely augmented; a lethal spray mechanism protrudes from what’s left of it, pressurised nozzles housed in amethyst-hued glass chambers weeping toxic vapours that curl and dance in the stagnant air.
The Chemtech Putrifier hisses as she unleashes its corrosive spray from its amethyst glass reservoirs. The safe's metal surface bubbles and dissolves, revealing her prize within - a chemical reactor core pulsing with swirling shades of green and purple behind its reinforced amethyst-tinted containment vessel. Pure Shimmer-enhanced Chemtech, now worth a fortune since the factories had gone dark months ago.
But as she reaches for her bounty, a metallic click pierces the silence. The trap springs to life beneath her feet, steel jaws snapping shut. She turns, virulent green mist hissing through her mask's vents with each laboured breath.
In the toxic darkness of the sprawling pawn shop, only the whine of Atlas Gauntlets fills the silence. Blue light spills – and they're here.
The first thug, hidden behind a tall shelf of pawned electronics, barely has time to turn before a flash of Hextech-powered steel connects with his jaw. There's no cry of pain, just the dull thud of a body hitting the floor. The blue glow emanating from the gauntlets swings through the darkness like deadly pendulums, marking the red-haired lieutenant's path of destruction through the labyrinthine store.
One by one, they fall. No warnings. No screams. Only the mechanical whir of the gauntlets and the dull thuds of unconscious bodies hitting the ground pierce the silence. The shop's labyrinthine layout becomes the lieutenant's hunting ground - the scattered crew never sees the enforcer until her steel fists find their mark.
Through her mask's filtration system, the leader watches in horror as her operation collapses in mere seconds. Her breathing becomes laboured, panic rising in her chest as she realises the gravity of her mistake. Piltover's Finest—here, now. She should never have accepted this contract. The pay isn't worth this. Her crew lies broken around her, just bodies on the cold floor, testament to her poor judgement. The famed enforcer's reputation hasn't been exaggerated—those gauntlets are as deadly as the stories claim.
"Freeze!"
She spots the enforcer, rifle raised with perfect aim—a weapon whose reputation she knows all too well from the wounds others have returned with. Her body stiffens, muscles locking in place. There's a certain finality to it, almost a relief. The masked woman knows the drill: no one escapes Sheriff Caitlyn Kiramman. The gleaming barrel of that infamous Hextech rifle aligns precisely with her masked face.
Through augmented eyes, she watches her carefully orchestrated operation crumble before her.
But sod that. She hasn't invested in all these upgrades merely to surrender. Her hand darts towards her hidden compartment. Her Chemtech—enhanced by the one and only...
A sharp crack splits the toxic haze as the blue-haired sheriff squeezes the trigger, ending her thought before it can finish.
"You're under arrest for theft, possession of illegal Chemtech, and destruction of property," she announces, her voice carrying the weight of authority.
The specialised round deploys in flight, stabilising fins extending like the wings of an aircraft. The trapped woman raises her arms desperately, trying to shield herself, but the projectile spins mid-air, finding a gap in her defences. , the round strikes her temple with surgical precision, despite her desperate attempts to shield herself.
Her eyes roll back, and she crumples to the floor along with her fallen crew.
Caitlyn scans the pawnshop, confirming Vi's safety—of course she's safe, why wouldn't she be? A familiar itch crawls across her remaining eye, and she rubs at it with the back of her hand. The sting from the toxic haze intensifies, making her blink rapidly. Despite the discomfort, she focuses on procedure, tilting her rifle to the side and removing the magazine, then pulling the bolt back to eject the chambered round. She catches it mid-air and slots it back into the magazine before reloading it into the Artemis Rifle.
The irritation in her eye has worsened recently—a result of the year spent relying solely on her right eye. After sacrificing her left eye in a decisive battle that ultimately won the war, she'd grown accustomed to the constant strain, but lately it had worsened. The spike in coordinated robberies across Piltover had her pulling double shifts most nights, scrutinising crime scenes and studying patterns until dawn. These night operations are her best chance at uncovering the string of robberies plaguing the city. The eyepatch covering her left socket feels very restrictive tonight, its leather band digging into her skin where sweat has made it cling.
Caitlyn watches as Vi appears from the aisle, dragging all three thugs by their collars. With a grunt, she drags them behind her across the floor, their limp bodies leaving trails in the dust. The Atlas Gauntlets whir softly, hextech energy pulsing through the mechanical joints as Vi pulls the deadweight with surprising ease. Blue light from the gauntlets casts eerie shadows across her face as she hauls them across the room, their unconscious forms groaning in protest as they bump over the uneven floorboards. Reaching her destination, she releases them with a casual flick of her wrists and dusts her gauntlets off with a satisfied smirk.
"Don't think she heard her charges," Vi calls out.
Caitlyn slings her rifle across her back, feeling the familiar creak of her well-worn leather holster as she retrieves a set of handcuffs. "You're going to throw your back out," she warns, watching Vi drag the unconscious criminals across the floor.
"Probably," Vi admits with a shrug. Her Atlas Gauntlets power down with a soft whir as she sets them carefully against the wall.
Caitlyn finds herself smiling despite the situation. "And yes... I suppose I should have recited the charges before pulling the trigger, but she was clearly reaching for a weapon," she muses, unable to keep the dry humour from her voice as she surveys the scene before her.
"What?" Vi kicks the unconscious leader with her boot, the thug's body rolling limply to the side. She crouches down and yanks the massive chemical weapon from the woman's augmented arm. The amethyst glass tubes click as they disconnect, the deadly apparatus now safely in Vi's possession.
Caitlyn watches with a mixture of amusement and disapproval. "Stop that. That's police brutality now," she says, unable to keep the laughter from her voice despite herself.
"Well, she deserves it," Vi retorts, examining the weapon with dangerous curiosity.
Caitlyn shakes her head, her professional instincts taking over. "Just... secure the prisoners. Hopefully their testimonies will give us more information during questioning," she says, her eye still scanning the scene for any details she might have missed.
Caitlyn's gaze drifts to her partner, studying Vi as she wipes sweat from her brow with bandaged hands. The enforcer uniform hugs Vi's muscular frame - a fitted navy vest emblazoned with Piltover's crest; sleeves casually rolled to expose the cotton wrappings Caitlyn had upgraded for Vi from her previously disposable ones. A strip of purple-striped fabric, reminiscent of Jinx's old pants, remains tied around Vi's right thigh - a uniform modification that the Sheriff quietly lets slide. The handcuffs dangle loosely from Caitlyn's fingers, momentarily forgotten as her gaze lingers on her partner, thoughts drifting into dangerous territory.
"Cait?" Vi holds out her hands expectantly, waiting for the cuffs that should have been tossed her way.
"Right." Caitlyn shakes away those distracting thoughts, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. She's working now, after all. "Here."
While Vi tosses the thugs around with grunts and muttered curses—handcuffs clicking with metallic finality as she secures each criminal, Caitlyn scrutinises their leader. Her hands move with hesitant precision as she attempts to disconnect the obviously illegal Chemtech on her, only to discover they're fused permanently to flesh and metal. With careful movements, she disconnects the purple-tinted glass tubes and valves snaking across the woman's face, halting the flow of chemicals into her systems. It's a temporary solution, but it will have to suffice.
Steeling herself, Caitlyn removes the helmet. The sight beneath makes her breath catch - a grotesque fusion of mangled flesh and steel. She quickly replaces the helmet, her jaw tight with determination.
Focus.
Caitlyn lifts the reactor core with careful hands, its surface unblemished despite the violent arrest. Her eyes narrow as they scan the manifest, each line deepening the furrow between her brows. The paper trembles slightly in her grip as implications of what she reads sink in.
She doesn't need Ekko this time to know that the materials they're gathering are either going to be used to build Shimmer machinery again - or some Noxus warlord has piqued their interest after what happened on their shores a year ago and is planning to start their collection of potential weapons.
But it’s still an another dead end. Though they've stopped this theft and arrested four more criminals, she's still no closer to finding the mastermind behind it all. The head of the snake remains frustratingly elusive.
From the corner of her eye, she notices Vi slapping cuffs on each perp, then yanking out her beat-up notepad. The scratch of Vi's pen against paper fills the silence as her partner documents the scene.
"Four dirtbags caught at..." Vi squints around the dingy shop before poking her head outside to double-check their location. When she returns, Caitlyn can hear her jotting down the street names and details before rolling the paper into a message tube.
Vi waves the tube in her direction. "Yo, sending this back."
Caitlyn barely registers the words, too absorbed in the manifest's contents to respond. She's vaguely aware of Vi's gaze lingering on her, but doesn't look up from her work. The document holds answers—she just needs to decipher them. Each lead is a datum without a context. She refuses to force a pattern that the evidence hasn’t earned—that’s how investigations go wrong. Still, the frustration persists: somewhere in this spread of thefts is an organising hand, if only she can isolate it.
A cheerful whistle breaks Caitlyn's concentration. She looks up to see Vi skipping toward the nearest pneumatic message tube. A smile tugs at her lips as she watches her partner, marvelling at how Vi maintains such boundless energy even after a gruelling raid. When Caitlyn had started pulling double shifts to investigate these robberies, Vi had stubbornly matched her schedule hour for hour, insisting, "Where you go, I go, Cupcake." What Vi didn't know—what Caitlyn would never admit aloud—was that she would have abandoned these exhausting night operations weeks ago if not for Vi's presence. The irony wasn't lost on her; Vi's insistence on matching her punishing schedule was the very thing keeping Caitlyn committed to it.
Caitlyn lays the manifest on the ground beside her, meticulously arranging the new theft list alongside her existing notes. She produces a small leather-bound notebook from her breast pocket, its pages dog-eared and filled with her precise handwriting. Flipping through, she begins cross-referencing locations, dates, and stolen items.
She opens another page in her notebook, where a crude map of Piltover and Zaun shows pins and markings tracking the string of robberies. Adding today's location with a quick notation, she steps back mentally, looking at the bigger picture. What connects these thefts? Who benefits from this peculiar collection of components?
A ragged cough shatters the tense silence. Against the wall, one of Vi's victims slumps forward, consciousness returning in painful fragments. His restraints rattle as he shifts, muscles still weak from the enforcer's devastating blow. Shadows dance across his face as he struggles to form words.
Caitlyn's sharp eye narrows.
"What was that?"
"I..." His throat constricts around another cough, his broken ribs causing the words barely a whisper in the dimly lit shop.
Caitlyn's rifle slides from her shoulder into her waiting hands with practiced ease as she chambers another non-lethal peacekeeper round. The toxic air irritates her right eye, drawing a single tear that tracks down her cheek. She blinks rapidly, refusing to let the discomfort break her concentration. With controlled breathing, her muscles coil with tension as she settles into a firing stance. Her keen eye remains fixed, tracking every subtle movement from the restrained criminals before her.
"Consider your next words carefully," she commands as her gaze sweeps across the four bound figures. "Cooperation now could work in your favour."
But even as she maintains her vigilant watch, her attention catches on a detail that draws an exasperated sigh - Vi's gauntlets lying discarded on the floor nearby. Despite all her gentle reminders and stern lectures about proper equipment maintenance, Vi's perpetual habit of leaving a trail of personal effects in her wake remains one of Caitlyn's daily challenges.
A wet cough echoes through the shop. Despite his hands being bound behind his back, the thug leans forward, voice barely above a whisper. "We're just the muscle," he manages through bloodied lips. "I can tell you who's really pulling the strings."
Caitlyn's pulse quickens, her instincts screaming danger even as hope flares in her chest. After months of dead ends and false leads, could this finally be the break she needs? Every fibre of her being warns against approaching the bound criminal, yet the promise of answers proves too tempting to resist.
Her heart races as she leans forward toward the last thug. Without warning, his legs snap up, delivering a vicious double kick to her shins. The impact sends her stumbling forward, and she crashes to the ground. Rolling sideways, she finds her back against a shelf. In one fluid motion, she raises her rifle and fires. The shot rings out, followed by the sickening crack of more ribs breaking as the round finds its mark in the aggressor's chest.
But the distraction has served its purpose. The second thug's cuffs fall away with a metallic clatter, and he springs to his feet. From within his jacket, he produces a syringe with a purple-tinted glass barrel filled with an ominous liquid of the same hue.
Shimmer.
Caitlyn reloads, quickly chambering another round as she swings her rifle toward the second thug. She squeezes the trigger, aiming for his leg—but her shot goes wide. Her eye widens in alarm as her vision suddenly blurs. The world before her smears into indistinct shapes, her target becoming nothing more than a hazy silhouette.
"Vi!" she calls out desperately, her voice echoing through the empty shop.
A cold terror grips her heart. This isn't just fatigue. Her father had warned her about overuse - his stern voice echoing in her memory - but she'd always assumed it would happen in her forties at the earliest, not now. Now, as darkness threatens to consume her remaining vision, panic claws at her throat.
Not now. Please, not now.
She blinks rapidly, and mercifully, her sight partially returns—enough to continue the fight. By the time she recovers and pivots back toward the first thug, the amethyst glass syringe is already plunging into their leader's neck, the most augmented criminal among them. Desperate, she manages to squeeze off another shot at the freed thug, this time finding her mark at his collarbone, the softest and weakest bone to break - the impact sending him spiralling into the wall.
"VIOLET!" she screams, her voice breaking with desperation, echoing off the walls of the pawnshop. "VIOLET, WHERE ARE YOU?"
She kicks away just as the Shimmer takes hold. The leader convulses violently, her muscles expanding with unnatural speed. The handcuffs snap like twine, and the trap around her feet shatters as her leg swells beyond its constraints.
Maniacal laughter echoes through the shop as Caitlyn fires her 90-calibre net. Electricity crackles across the mesh, but the leader only laughs harder, the current seeming to fuel her transformation. The rifle's powerful recoil propels her backward, giving her the momentum to regain her footing. She sprints for cover in the streets, her fingers already working to swap out her current magazine for lethal rounds.
She reaches under her arm plating - and Caitlyn curses herself for not checking thoroughly enough. Her vision blurs again, and panic settles deep in her chest. She's burnt out, her eye failing her when she needs it most. The woman produces another syringe from a hidden compartment Caitlyn completely missed. With reckless abandon, she plunges it deep into her thigh, the needle piercing flesh and metal alike as she injects more Shimmer directly into her system. Caitlyn watches in horror, thoughts racing - she's going to die here, and Vi will blame herself for not double-checking the prisoner as well. The woman's veins illuminate beneath her skin, pulsating with such intensity that she becomes a walking neon sign, each heartbeat sending waves of purple luminescence through her mutating form.
The Shimmer transforms her into a nightmarish fusion of metal and mutated flesh. Her augments whir and crackle as they expand, the purple-tinted glass tubes now pulsing with a sickly glow instead of their previous toxic green. Muscles bulge and twist beneath her skin, which takes on an almost metallic sheen. The mechanical components of her body groan and reshape themselves to accommodate her new mass, pistons and gears grinding as they adjust. Her already imposing six-foot frame stretches upward until her head nearly brushes against the pawn shop's ceiling, her grotesque form now towering over everything in the room.
Caitlyn watches in horror as the woman raises the Chemtech Putrifier with a theatrical flourish. The weapon's amethyst glass reservoirs flood with a corrupted mixture of enhanced chemicals and Shimmer. From its nozzle sprays a horrifying cocktail of caustic chemicals that devour everything they touch—metal, wood, and stone dissolve into bubbling puddles before her very eyes.
A thunderous sound reverberates through the shop as the monstrous figure turns toward the exit. Caitlyn watches in horror as each footstep leaves craters in the floorboards. The criminal's laughter grows more unhinged with each step, the sound mixing with the sickening hiss of corroding materials as she carves a path of destruction toward the door.
"I do hope the little piggie has better last words than to call for your missing lover."
The words pierce Caitlyn's consciousness as the creature's distorted laugh fills the Zaun air. Cold dread courses through her veins, her mind snapping into sequence—cover, angles, distance, exit. In this moment, clarity strikes her with brutal force—she's going to die here. And worse still, she's going to die alone.
Vi smiles widely at the satisfying suck of air as the tube closes with her message sent to headquarters back in Piltover. Perfect. The raid has gone without a hitch—no mishaps, no injuries—and now she's finally alone.
It's not that she hates Caitlyn, but her partner never lets her drink on the job—even during those mind-numbing stake outs. And if Vi sneaks too much, Caitlyn's nose picks it up immediately. Vi swears that Caitlyn's senses have only grown sharper since losing her eye, as if being blind on one side has somehow amplified her remaining faculties.
She slides down against a cool stone wall and pulls out her flask. She can wait—after all, it's just a short walk back to the crime scene, and she has no intention of returning to Caitlyn smelling like booze.
Vi slumps against the wall, feeling the warm flush of alcohol spreading through her body like a hug from within. Her vision softens around the edges as the liquor works its magic, muscles unwinding from the tension of the raid. This—this is what she needs after a night like tonight. Not paperwork. Not protocol. Just a moment of peace.
She takes another long pull from her flask, only to find it empty. With an annoyed grunt, she tilts it upside down, watching the last pathetic drop fall to the ground.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," Vi drawls, stretching each syllable like warm toffee on her tongue, before screwing the cap back on with a resigned sigh.
Relax.
She can't believe she forgot to refill it this afternoon despite reminding herself. Typical. She sighs and leans back, letting her own advice settle in. The fatigue and alcohol are already doing their work, spreading warmth through her limbs, numbing the ache in her shoulders from the fight. The pain ebbs away with each heartbeat, replaced by a pleasant heaviness.
Her eyelids grow heavy as the warmth settles deeper, making her limbs feel pleasantly leaden. Images of her home flash through her mind—her unmade bed calling to her, the comfort of kicking off her boots and collapsing into those rumpled sheets. She longs for the rare mornings when she wakes naturally with Caitlyn still in her arms, instead of finding the bed already cold, her partner long gone before dawn. No matter how exhausted she feels tonight, she knows she'll have to arrange her boots and gear properly, or Caitlyn will either nag her about it or, worse, tidy up after her—making Vi feel like a complete failure. No criminals to chase, no reports to file, and just for once, no Caitlyn hovering over her shoulder with that disappointed look that cuts deeper than any knife.
Vi sighs, eyes closed, head tilted back against the cool stone. The world spins pleasantly as the liquor dulls her senses. Just five more minutes, she promises herself. Five more minutes of blessed solitude, then she'll head back to Caitlyn and those bound thugs, ready to escort them to headquarters.
She tucks the flask back into its hiding place with reluctant fingers, patting it securely into position. The warmth spreads through her limbs, making her muscles feel heavy and her mind deliciously foggy. The distant sounds of Zaun fade away as she sinks deeper into this moment of peaceful escape.
"VIOLET!" The name slices through Vi's alcohol-induced haze like a blade. Not "Vi" or "Lieutenant" - but "Violet." Her full name. Her heart stutters, then thunders back to life with renewed urgency.
Caitlyn never uses her full name unless something has gone catastrophically wrong, or Vi has catastrophically fucked up. The unmistakable crack of the Artemis Rifle confirms her worst fears - it's both this time. She lurches to her feet, sobriety slamming into her with brutal force. Gunshots reverberate through Zaun's depths, each blast pulsing with accusation. Her boots pound against metal walkways as she races back, every step a desperate apology. The flask's warmth still burns in her veins, slowing her reactions, clouding her judgement - precious seconds wasting away while Caitlyn faces danger alone. Another gunshot. Then silence. Vi's stomach plummets as Caitlyn's voice materialises in her mind, that familiar mix of exasperation and concern: "Protocol exists for a reason, Vi. Never leave your equipment behind."
Her jaw clenches as she sprints through the narrow passages. She can already picture the lecture waiting for her, assuming they both survive this. Channelling her mounting dread into pure momentum, she pushes through the toxic haze that clings to Zaun's lower levels like a shroud.
She catches a pole mid-stride, using her momentum to whip around the corner with practised precision - and freezes. Before her stands a nightmare made flesh: a hulking figure whose body pulses with purple veins, Shimmer coursing through her like liquid lightning.
Her stomach drops. Shimmer was supposed to be gone - they'd made damn sure of it. The factories had been destroyed; the supply chains broken. Yet here it stands before her, a testament to their failure.
The brute unleashes a torrent of chemicals, dissolving metal and stone as easily as rain melts sugar. The street below fills with bubbling pools of liquefied debris, releasing toxic fumes that sting the eyes and burn the lungs. Caitlyn weaves between cover points, her rifle cracking in precise bursts as she darts from shadow to shadow. Each hiding spot dissolves moments after she leaves it, the caustic spray eating through solid matter in her wake.
Vi sprints at the situation – running at full speed – launching herself as she aims a devastating knee strike at the mutant's spine.
But the ten-foot frame spins - pivoting with unnatural velocity, letting Vi sail past her into the acid-soaked street.
Her laughter echoes off the corroding walls, a deep, distorted sound that reverberates through the caustic air.
Vi rises from the acidic street, her muscles tense with determination. Something's different about this variant of Shimmer - she's never seen it grant such heightened reflexes before. Her gauntlets, still lying uselessly in the shop, mock her carelessness.
A predatory smile curves her lips.
"Hey big girl," she taunts, her voice carrying across the toxic haze. "How about we dance a few rounds? Seems like your aim could use some work."
"VIOLET!" Caitlyn's voice cuts through the chaos, sharp with concern.
The behemoth's laughter rumbles like distant thunder as Vi watches her lower the weapon. The Putrifier remains firmly attached to her arm—Vi notes how her finger hovers away from the trigger—a silent acceptance of the challenge.
Vi raises her bare fists, falling into a familiar fighting stance.
"Trust me, Cupcake," she calls back, eyes locked on her massive opponent. "You'll figure out what I'm doing."
The mutant's massive fist crashes toward her like an oncoming train. Vi raises her arms instinctively, but the impact sends shockwaves through her entire body. Her forearms slam into her face with bone-crushing force, stirring memories of past battles she'd rather forget. Stars explode across her vision as she staggers back.
Catching herself on the uneven ground, she forces her combat-trained mind to focus through the pain.
"Gotta move, Vi," she mutters, shaking off the numbness creeping into her arms. "Dodge – no more blocking."
Fresh waves of agony pulse through her compressed vessels with each heartbeat, a stark reminder of her vulnerability. Without her gauntlets to take hits, she's on the edge of disaster.
Caitlyn's rifle thunders through the night, but even her expert marksmanship barely scratches the monster's Shimmer-enhanced hide. Thin rivulets of blood trace meaningless patterns down its hulking form, like rain on a window.
The creature's augmented skull and helmet proves impenetrable even to Caitlyn's specialised rounds, the complex maze of metal and tech deflecting every attempted killing shot. But Vi notices something else - something that makes her lips curl into a predatory smile.
Despite its terrifying strength, the monstrosity moves with an amateur's clumsiness. Vi can't help but grin.
"What's wrong, big girl? Those fancy augments throwing off your balance?" she taunts, ducking under a wild swing.
The monstrosity roars, her voice distorted by Shimmer and rage. "Stand still, you insufferable pig!"
"Make me," Vi laughs, weaving between attacks like a bullfighter. Each movement is calculated, though the dodges come closer as the Shimmer pushes her opponent to inhuman speeds. "Getting tired yet?"
"I'll crush you!" The monstrosity’s fist slices through the air like a meteor, colliding with the metal pole in an explosion of sound. The steel warps and crumples like tissue paper under the devastating impact, missing Vi's head by mere inches as she executes a graceful weave, her movements fluid and precise in the face of certain death.
"Heard that one before," Vi quips, noting how each telegraphed punch follows a predictable pattern - the right cross, the obvious hook, the wild haymaker. She just needs to hold out a little longer, trusting Caitlyn will see the opening she's creating.
But she’s fought against Apex Shimmer before. This one is still too slow.
Her back leg brushes the wall - a perfect setup. She deliberately drops her guard on the left, and as expected, the brute takes the bait, launching a devastating right straight.
The behemoth's laughter turns cruel. "Ms. Glasc sends her regards."
The wall erupts in a shower of debris as the massive arm – Putrifier and all, embeds itself deep into the concrete, leaving the monstrosity momentarily trapped.
Vi seizes her chance. She launches a calculated right hook, not aiming to knock the brute out, but to dislodge that dented helmet - the same spot where Caitlyn's earlier shot left its mark.
A perfect target.
Caitlyn's rifle barks once, the sound echoing through the street. The round pierces cleanly through the exposed temple, its trajectory halted by the reinforced skull. Instead of exiting, it ricochets inside the cranium, doing its grim work.
The behemoth slumps forward, her trapped arm preventing her from collapsing on Vi as consciousness fades. The purple glow of Shimmer dims in her veins, leaving only the hollow shell of what was once human.
Vi's hands hang limply at her sides, her fingers twitching with residual adrenaline. Her body already anticipates the rainbow of bruises blooming beneath her skin, possibly concealing more severe damage. Each breath sends sharp needles of pain through her ribs, but she forces herself to stay focused.
Emerging from behind the fallen brute's massive form, she drops into a crouch, her laboured breathing echoing in the sudden quiet of the streets she’s sworn to protect.
Caitlyn appears like a shadow at her side, wrapping Vi in a protective embrace. A hiss of pain escapes Vi's lips as the contact awakens fresh aches across her battered body, but she doesn't pull away.
“Excellent shot babe.” Vi murmurs into her ear, her voice rough with exhaustion.
Tears boil up in Caitlyn's eyes, staining both her face and eyepatch, as she pulls back, her hands ghosting over Vi's arms to check for injuries. "Oh, you shut the fuck up, you fucking idiot," she whispers fiercely.
A weak smile tugs at Vi's lips – making Caitlyn lose her composure always fills her with a peculiar warmth.
That’s cute, Vi thinks – and she loses consciousness.
Her body goes limp, and she collapses into Caitlyn's waiting arms. Together they remain, the harsh lights paint their intertwined shadows across the cold street. On the roads below, Enforcer wagons rumble through the stonework, filling the air with blue and red, while sleek hoverboards slice through the air above, their emerald taillights carving brilliant paths through the toxic haze as they converge on their position.