Chapter Text
“I think it’s going to rain,” Claggor muttered.
Vi repositioned herself behind their hiding spot and looked up at the fog and downcast sky. What if it really does rain?
It would certainly be a problem if their two rifles were dampened and put out of use. Abandoning them would mean possible discovery. Lugging them along would mean slower movements and less supplies brought back with them.
They were standing behind an ancient abandoned food stall on a dingy street leading up to a port. The small town’s buildings didn’t rise past the second story and exuded a uniform gray tiredness from their wood and stone facades. Now and then a puff of smoke would rise from one of the chimneys, dimly reminding Vi of home despite the persistent wind and cold. She assumed this small town was as close to home as it was going to get, considering most of the Resistance’s civilian lodgings were located here. She refused to pursue that line of thought. You left Zaun with your own two feet . She stamped down that thought too.
Vi glared at the smattering of boats lining the small dock, as if a figure would crystalize from the frigid air and whiteness. Not many people were out so early by the water, except for two Noxian workers moving between the streetlamps and the quiet lapping of the grey sea. In the corner of her line of sight a ship had been warming up for departure, its black metal hull and puffing smokestacks rising above the treetops like the walls of a city.
“How much longer until the ignition?” Vi murmured back.
“3 minutes max.”
–4 days ago
“Looks like Mylo will be late again. I was hoping he’d be here considering how important it’ll be today…ah well. Meeting commenced–”
“1700!” Mylo cried, barreling through the door. “Not late.” He made a show of stamping snow off his boots, making Vander, Vi, and Claggor wince at the loudness.
Vander shot him a tired look but bade him to sit down with a wave. They were gathered in Vander’s first civilian lodging, the second floor of a dying bar. Despite the sparseness of the room, the presence and energy of friendly faces made the air seem slightly warmer.
“What’s your excuse this time?” Vi smirked.
“Shut up, Vi. It’s legit this time because today –.”
“Mylo, enough,” Vander sighed. Mylo opened his mouth to protest but snapped his mouth shut when Vander gave him a pointed look. Vi had to sympathize with the old man. One meeting a week for the last six months, and every time at least twenty minutes were spent as the leaders of the Outside Resistance’s armed squads got over throwing each other jabs and bickering.
“Fancy seeing you here, Ekko,” Claggor said to the boy sitting across from him. Ekko, their communications specialist and cryptographer, flashed them a grin. “You haven’t brought anything interesting to the table in weeks. Thought you’d lost your job.”
“He is here, Claggor,” said Vander, raising his voice. “Because today he has brought important intel. If you three would let me talk.”
Vi, Mylo, and Claggor sat up straighter. A pause followed as the biweekly Outside Resistance’s meeting began in earnest.
“First, I regret to inform you all that our chief liaison Grayson, leader of the Unified Resistance, has been killed.”
Three pairs of eyes widened in shock.
Vi stared hard at Vander. She had never met Grayson before they left Zaun, but she knew the sheriff and Vander used to have some sort of agreement, something about keeping Zaun robberies off Piltover streets and Piltie enforcers off of their own. Then she had been the one who sent them coded messages about the Noxians, other Resistance movements in Zaun and Piltover, whether supplies could be smuggled to them and whatnot. If more wrinkles lined the face of her adoptive father and General, she couldn’t tell. Her mind was already racing a mile a minute about what her squad would do without periodic supplies and news. Last she heard from Claggor, they had three weeks’ worth of gunpowder. Bullets that would maybe last another two months if they went without a raid. As for cloth–
“Mel Medarda, the new leader of the Piltover Resistance, has sent us this news. She says they have lost contact with the Zaun faction, which is now being led by Silco.”
Frozen shock now gave way to vocal indignance.
“Mel Medarda ?” Mylo’s thick eyebrows were quirked in disbelief. “As in Ambessa Medarda’s daughter?”
“Can she really be trusted with Resistance information?” Claggor asked. Everyone over the age of five knew that Ambessa Medarda had spearheaded the Noxian invasion against Zaun and Piltover–with massive, cataclysmic success. Mel, her daughter, had been a Council member since before the Occupations, but most suspected her to be a proxy member sympathetic to the Occupation.
“Despite being Noxian, Grayson has vouched for her before. Mel is merely stepping into her role as second in command.” Dissatisfied looks were exchanged across the table.
“And what about Zaun? Silco? Obviously she didn’t have the authority to keep them unified,” Vi said.
Vander gave another sigh and rubbed his graying temples. “Yes,” he admitted. “But I never expected Grayson to go undetected for long under the Noxian regime while keeping her position as sheriff. Nor did I expect Zaun’s Resistance to submit to a leadership without any present or previous Zaunite ties. Silco is an old friend of mine. I trust him to do what is right.”
Vi deliberately slouched in her chair, unsatisfied. “So what now? Has Silco contacted us yet? Can we still expect supplies or news if it’s just the Pilties?”
“No word from Zaun yet, but as for the supplies, yes,” Vander said. “And since the Piltover Resistance is more at risk now that Grayson is gone–and since Mel is eager to prove herself worthy–she has offered us an interesting proposal, should we succeed in taking it.”
“What do you mean?”
Vander grinned. “How would you like to add a sniper to your squad, Vi?”
–2 months before the meeting.
Vi held her breath as she and her squad crouched behind bales of hay. Her nose twitched with the smell of earth and frost. In the silence between gunshots, only the cold moonlight shook the air between her squad and near certain death. Her eyes drew an invisible line right at the foot of their cover and tracked it over the distance of an open field before them that sunk into sinister darkness. Definitely over 100 yards; too far to reach with any of their firearms. The Noxian forces seemed reluctant to emerge for closer combat when they clearly were at an advantage with distance.
“Vi,” someone breathed. She couldn’t even remember his name. “We’re never going to make it over. I’m going.”
“No!” she whispered sharply. But it was too late. No sooner had the man stepped over the invisible line than a sharp crack of a bullet hitting bone was heard. The man fell, bleeding too much and screaming, right at Vi’s shoes. She cursed aloud. Now the enemy would know exactly where they were.
“Fall back!”
– 6 weeks before the meeting
“They positioned guards here too after our last raid. We need to take them out before approaching.”
“They’re too far for the guns that we have, even for the ones we stole from the Noxian base last time.”
“They know we don’t have long range shooters. This positioning clearly took that into account.”
“Any good cover we can use to–”
“No. I even saw them fill that one trench two days ago too.”
“I’m not risking six dead for a routine supply run.”
“Guess our supplies are frozen then, unless we hunt more and until the next shipment arrives, which will be in–15 days.”
“Fuck.”
– 3 days before the meeting
Vi slid into the freezing river with a shudder. She always hated crossing the river since that one night. But she didn’t have much of a choice if she wanted to make it to headquarters by herself and in one piece. She pushed down a wave of panic and pushed forward. She was still a good swimmer. Swimming was not the problem.
But as Vi treaded the water, the unmistakable sharp crack of something hitting the water beside her had her flailing. More irregular movements that showed where she was. How had they found her already? It must be the fucking hair.
Fucking snipers she thought, as she went underwater and swam behind a large boulder.
Vi’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Sure, it’d be nice, but a sniper? Where have they been hiding a sniper this whole time?” She wouldn’t be surprised if Topside had been holding onto some remaining loyal special forces in case key figures were targeted, but from what Vander had relayed to them, it seemed Grayson had been pulling out all the stops to help those fighting the Noxians outside the cities.
Why was Piltover Resistance only coughing up a sniper now, when she, Mylo, and Claggor had been near immobile due to Noxian long-distance shooters for the last few months?
Vander hesitated, rubbing a large hand over his beard.
“It was my understanding that they would be sending the Vampire.”
Mylo and Claggor’s mouths fell open in shock while Vi scoffed. “I’m too old for this joke.”
“You mean the Vampire? Chest-or-neck-shot-with-every-assassination Vampire?” Mylo asked. Vi glared at him for being so gullible. There was no way Piltover would willingly hand over such a valuable asset to some ragtag armed force outside the cities.
“My squad told me their first kill was somebody on a moving train,” he continued, oblivious.
“Even if it’s a sniper other than the Vampire, they would be a nice addition to take out some of the enemy snipers,” Claggor said quietly. Damn Claggor for being the voice of reason.
No one even knew what the Vampire looked like, although rumors claimed they were six feet tall and had long hair. Sounded like an asshole to Vi, if such a person ever existed. She still thought it was some successful assassinations bunched into a boogeyman in an anti-Noxian trench coat.
But she took a deep breath and slouched forward instead, propping her arms up in reluctant interest. Claggor was right; they could really use a sniper, real or not. Hell, any sort of long-distance shot would improve their raids dramatically. “They’d better send some supplies too and not just a promise of an urban myth.”
“Oh yes, she said they would be coming with a medic and enough supplies for them and ourselves.” Vi narrowed her eyes. See? Pilties, always heavy on the false promises.
“How’re they going to do that?”
“You see.” For the first time that evening, Vander looked extremely tired. “That’s where our problems begin.”
–The present
Vi blew away a clump of mud-slick hair from her face and Claggor snickered. Every Noxian gunman now knew to zero in on Vi’s bright pink hair, so she was trying to find palatable ways to mute it somehow. She flipped him a finger.
“I still don’t get why they wanted us to ambush a whole ass shipment instead of sticking with the usual method,” Vi grumbled. “Afraid undercity blackmarket routes will get dirt on their shiny little donations I bet.”
“Cheer up Vi. You planned half of this raid yourself.”
“Because they gave us four days to plan an ambush and no one else had any better ideas.”
Claggor glanced at the smokestacks. “It was a solid plan and we’ll prove to the Pilties that we’re tough shit. If it works, that is.” It was past departure time for the ship–it still hadn’t moved. Its entrance still hung open like a gaping black mouth. One of the dock workers looked their way and the two sank down lower behind the food stall.
“Oh, I know it’ll work,” said Vi.
Distantly she saw herself walking away to these snowy mountains five years back,
–shivering at her lack of warm clothing but not daring to look back at the city. After a lifetime of navigating vertical stretches of city walls, the flat horizon stretching all around her felt wrong, twisted. She probably had to find cover soon.
Something behind her exploded hard enough to send hot gusts of air rushing past her wet face.
Vi! Listen to this: if the packing for a centrifugal pump is placed at an angle,--pay attention!--it says oil won’t be able to get to the bearings and cause overheating! Maybe with enough resistance from the oil itself it can even cause a minor–
“Fire!”
Claggor grinned and clapped Vi’s shoulder and got his gun ready as the dock workers began running to the ship.
“Time to go find Mylo.”
As it turned out Mylo had disguised himself as one of the eleven crew members on the ship. Vi saw him take down two other crew members by surprise before diving behind a metal fixture to avoid bullets.
Claggor positioned himself behind a smaller boat to shoot. A yell was heard from onboard.
That left seven.
Vi collared one of the dock workers and knocked him out quickly with her gun. She saw the other workers run to land or dive into the water, all unarmed. Good. Their squads waiting behind would make sure they wouldn’t cause trouble.
As she ran up the gangplank she heard Claggor shoot another– My knee!-- and saw Mylo emerge to tackle his assailant.
Distantly she heard the static of rain starting to blanket the small harbor.
Five, probably unarmed.
Inside the hull she punched another in the stomach and head, promptly shooting the one behind him point-blank in the chest, then stabbed her bayonet into the man behind.
Her gaze didn’t waver as she saw his baby-cheeked face drain of color.
“I got one more!” Mylo whooped from outside.
One.
She heard Claggor make his way up the gangplank behind. His gun was probably shot from the rain’s moisture. The last crew member must be inside the ship.
Vi flipped her gun and began its reloading process, cursing for the thousandth time that these models demanded sixty seven steps, a live flame, and actual shooting ability.
She fumbled the last steps as someone emerged directly in front of her–decided to punch his bearded face instead–and with a grunt, slashed him with her bayonet, spraying her with a shower of blood from his throat. Belatedly she looked down and noticed the deep blue of a Piltover captain’s colors. Huh.
And now there were none.
“We got her, gang!” Mylo cheered.
Mylo was in good spirits and whistled long and loud as he cranked open another crate of Betadine. “Damn! Looks like we actually might have enough for Thieram’s leg.”
“Thought they already cut it off.” Vi grunted with reluctant appreciation as she saw yet another crate full of army rations. Mel Medarda had put in some effort. This was easily twenty fold their usual regular supply from Piltover and Zaun. Might mean enough time to let them lie low after this incident.
“Nah, that was the other Thieram: died two weeks ago. Bad stomach pain, no one knew why. This Thieram just has this long cut our squad’s been trying to keep from infection.”
“How’d that happen?”
“Fell off a stolen horse we were trying to sell to Shurima.”
Vi stood up and stretched, scratching her muddy head. Her fingers came away with dried blood. Great. “Speaking of. Our job is done and the supplies are here, but no medic or six-foot sniper. ‘They vanish into thin air?”
“Vander did say look for the boxes with the keys on them.”
“Why’re you the only one he told that to?”
Mylo shrugged. “Guess he wanted me to make sure they were okay ‘cause I’d be the first breaking and entering. Kinda forgot about it though. Wasn’t possible anyway.”
“Hmm, bummer.”
She left Mylo laughing in the storage room as she descended into the lower hull of the ship. As little as she expected the medic and boogeyman to actually be on board, Vi was a little concerned whether the captain that she had killed had been the sniper himself. It could have been–he had been pretty tall, she thought. Maybe it had been a bad idea to take out all the crew immediately. But it had to be on Mel Medarda for being vague.
The lower hull was very dimly lit and filled with smaller boxes. Vi breathed in deep and was satisfied with what she smelled: rope and gunpowder. But tucked away in a dark corner were three large coffins, two with dim gold imprints of keys. She raised an eyebrow in curiosity. What were they playing, guess-which-hand?
She pried open the coffin closest to the door. In it was a man alright–one with a gaunt face and a leg brace. She groaned. Leave it to topsiders to send an injured doctor to the Outside Resistance.
“Is something the matter?”
Vi jumped at the sudden low voice and singular eye the medic was now observing her with.
An accent the mix of Zaun and Piltover.
“Nothing, just happy to see a fellow Zaunite hop from fissure gas into this foggy hell frozen over.”
“You must be Vi,” he said. “My name is Viktor. Medical professional for the time being. But I suppose you might be more interested in our friend over there.” He gestured at the second coffin.
Vi heaved at the lid of the second coffin as Viktor coughed and got his bearings. At least a half-Zaunite would be easy to get along with. As for this sniper, who presumably did exist–
Vi forgot about her half-formed expectations as soon as the lid fell open.
The sniper was six feet tall, with legs that seemed to go on forever in a soft-looking white dress. Long midnight black hair framed her slim figure, set shoulders, and aristocratic cheekbones that cut straight into something within Vi. She focused on her lips: it and half of her front were covered in blood.
“Uh,” she said, turning to Viktor. “Is she–.”
“Might I remind you, Caitlyn, that I said the blood was overkill?”
Vi looked back down into two piercing orbs of sapphire blue.