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scrapclad · 2 years

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A Moment's Break

Careful steps across copper pipes, before a gentle thud marks the sitting of the menace from Bandle. Stub meets lips, and lighter sparks. A few minutes to reflect, and to take a break from cutting metal strips and forming new pieces to his greatest puzzle yet.

Zaun didn't quite have the weather appeal of the gentle evening sunlight that Shurima had often brought, but the sharp sting of acid and metal in the air helped one focus, and the little fellow felt far more at home amongst the industry and mechanical harshness than he ever did the cultural bliss of the evening markets. It wasn't his first choice, but a lack of proper funding and license meant that setting up a workshop anywhere in Piltover was out of the question - His reputation didn't exactly help matters. And for all his love of the desert city..

The need for him was dwindling. Modernisation efforts were being overtaken by a focus on agriculture and growth rather than the mechanical. In time, Shurima would grow to need his work, but between that and the dwindling need for initial yordle relations, he felt.. Held back there. His plans, his projects, they needed a bigger space. Away from prying eyes, from confused and concerned locals, and certainly away from any scrutiny of any of the nobles.

Where else would he go but Zaun? The city of No Questions Asked, where many a friend of his already resided. It was through the efforts of the carnal beast that roamed these chem-stained streets alone that he'd managed to locate the place for his new workshop, after all.

And what a workshop it was! No longer restricted to a couple rooms, the abandoned storage facility that he'd been shown had been emptied out and refurbished into the lab of his dreams - A fully working forge, drawing blistering heat from the chemical concoctions of Zaun's sump to fuel the metal shaping he needed for any weapon, any suit and any construct. Storage space for any scrap and junk he'd scavenged, forming his own little pile he'd lovingly dubbed 'the heap' in homage to his old, beloved home back in Bandle. And, of course, parking spots for each and every one of his prized suits - Tristy was front and centre, resting securely in a chain-whinch system that make deployment and repairs a synch.

Scattered about were desks covered in blueprints, salvaged books and borrowed tomes from Piltover University. He'd even gone so far as to set himself up a little resting area, fit with tiny bedroll, and a small, rickety fridge-like unit of his own construction for snacks, drinks and the occasional chemical flask.

What a productive couple months he'd had. A few years back, he'd have considered it all he wanted, all he needed. But, things still needed to be done - Deadlines loomed, and he still had to prove his thesis held merit to the council. Sure, they'd accepted his original literature review and project proposal.

Praised it, even.

A means to control machinery remotely, not through wire and power, but through mind and mana. A soul-link with the very tools they intended to use. A theory he'd already proven possible with the skeletal suit experiments back in Shurima, a basic frame that could imitate rudimentary movements with partial precision. But it wasn't enough.

Where was the practicality? The limits? How far could it go? Questions he didn't really have answers for at the time, much to his irritation. A deep drag of the cig comes with the wince at the awkward memory of how that interview went, before Rumble pulls it free and exhales the smoke, wafting it away with an agitated swing of his hand.

So what if he didn't know right now? He intended to find out, the impatient jerks.. His head shakes, before a stifled laugh leaves his little frame.

"..Whatever. They'll see in time.." The yordle mutters, before placing the end back between his lips. Sharp eyes watch as the trail of whispy white drifted into the tinged green air, adding to the industrial concoction that would choke the lungs of any unused to it. Oddly homely for him.

The plans he had in motion ensured that he'd prove it more than a theory, indeed. But such big plans required bigger preparations - With two months in isolation spent building a larger facility for his own testing and creations, his focus could turn to recruitment. No way he could do this alone - And why should he anyway? If that hot-shot Heimerdork could hire a few lab assistants, so could he. And with them, The Big One could begin to take it's true form. He could picture it now, looming over the steaming industrial plant in all of it's heroic glory and prowess..

The thought brings a grin to his face, and forces him to pick out and flick the stub away. Why the hell was he sat around doing squat? Fuck breaks. Pushing himself to his feet, he'd path down his workpants and turn on his heel, before hopping back down into the flame-lit workshop below.

He had work to do, damn it!

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scrapclad · 2 years

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A New Purpose

Deep breath in, then out. Be brave.

Words repeated internally as old bandages are slowly unravelled, dried in blood and dirt tugging at the matted fur and flesh beneath as it peels away. The pain is dull, but enough to set Rumble on edge as he works, his arms trembling through the entirety of the process. It wasn’t pleasant, but it needed to be done if he wished to avoid an infection – Yuumi’s treatments served well to remove the immediate threat of the wounds riddling his stomach and torso, but extra steps still needed to be taken to ensure his safety.

What a pain. How he hated being like this. Another stupid risk taken, another set of scars to add to his collection. As once white fabric lifts free from his body and the extent of the damage is revealed, his eyes can’t help but drift to those very same scars. The cuts the doctor had oh so kindly left him in his attempts to strip away the flesh from bone.

The night he became the man he is today.

A flash of crimson, and suddenly he can feel it all again clear as day. The burning of the blade as it lifted her flesh. The draining of his strength with each struggling step she took, desperately scrambling through copper-addled streets and chem-filled alleyways. Panic and fear, not knowing if that day was to be her last. How was it that she survived that night...? Fingers tighten on the fresh cloth he’d prepared to replace the old, and as he sets to work, he allows his mind to wander once more down the rivers of time, and a life he’d long since considered dead.

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Gentle rattling of gears and chains would be the first sounds that fade in from the haze of silence, abruptly interrupted by a gasp for breath as Ginnie jolts upright. She was alone, propped up against the elevator’s console, her lower body and legs a grotty mess of dried yordle blood and sweat. Pain echoes through her every breath, shaking down the length of her spine, her chest shuddering with each wheeze. Alive. Fucking hell, she’s alive. And from the looks of it, she’d evaded those seedy bastards and was on her way to the surface.

A claw raises up to pinch her sapphire brow, her face scrunching up as she tries to focus. Her mind races – it all felt like a horrible nightmare. And yet, the wounds, still aching and oozing precious life fluid, confirmed that it was far from that. How the hell had she survived? Vague images of a claw reaching out for the lever to pull and send her on her way were there, but… Whether or not she’d managed to reach it or had the strength to do so was harder to say. Forget it. Just breathe. In, and out. As the rusty contraption she rests within climbs the line towards the upper city, the chemicals in the air thin. Fresher, free of smog and smoke. It’s enough to grant her the strength to calm the panic and fight off the questions for now. Plenty of time to mull it over later. Priorities were obvious – close the wounds, then get the HELL out of this dump.

Easier said than done, she’d think to herself. Alright, what have we got to work with, here? With a grimace and a grunt of effort, her tiny, fragile body shifts to allow her to look around the suspended pod. A small pile of metal pieces in the corner, no doubt left from a worker performing regular maintenance, and fragments of a broken bottle from a brawl that ended poorly for one party. Nothing of use. Damn it all.

A fang squeezes her lip, trying to fight back the setting in dread. Think, Ginnie. Improvise. It’s what you’re good at!

The pod shudders suddenly, passing a checkpoint. The motion causes her to let out a yelp of pain, only for the sound to be drowned out by a sudden outpour of steam from a pipe to her left. The noise causes her ears to flatten for just a moment, and an eye to close in a wince. As the pressure is lost, and the vapour torrent turns to a light hiss, her expression shifts. Opportunity, if she has the nerve to seize it. She could feel the heat of the copper surface from here. Just a few moments of contact, that’d be all that’s needed.

Deep breath in, then out. Be brave.

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With one claw gingerly rested against her side, cautious eyes peer out from the alley she’d tucked herself into to rest after such an ordeal. She could still feel the white-hot metal warping her flesh, and her throat was ripped raw from the screams that had left her. Limitations bred creative solutions, but this was a new level of risk even for her. Still, at least the bleeding had stopped, and with that, her chances of survival could only grow from here. Just needed to secure a ride out. Such a need had drawn her to the outskirts of Piltover itself – a city she’d sworn she’d never step foot in again following the incident at the University. But needs must, and if this was a steppingstone to escape the clutches of that mad bastard and his money-grubbing cronies, it was worth taking.

As ever, the streets were abuzz with activity. The coming and going of supplies from all across Runeterra, documented, stamped and pushed through fifteen layers of bureaucratic bullshit. Young workers removing crates from the belly of the ship, sharing laughter and ribbing their stern superiors, who barely raise uninterested eyes from what was no doubt the hundredth form they’d filled out today. All the while, just beyond the main dock, dithering nobles waffled on and on – ‘had you heard that what’s her face had dared to show up in those shoes with that top’? The yordle can’t help but scoff, her blood boiling as she takes it all in.

A people oblivious to the world around them, the bones and pain they’d built their perfect little city on. Never struggling for a moment in their lives, not having to fear where the next paycheck comes from or worry for their lives. Content to live above a safety net of familial ties, blissful ignorance and barely hidden apathy. Bastards, the lot of ‘em.

The small figure dips back into the alley once more, gritting her teeth and clenching a shaking fist before herself. None of them had a clue what the hell it was like down there, nor what she’d been through. All that pain, all that fighting, and they were up here just... Thriving. She had to show them, one day. To make them understand what it meant when all those conveniences were stripped away, and they had to work for comforts and survival.

One day. For now, she had to focus. Bide her time. A few minutes pass, and then, a whistle would mark her chance to make a move – one of the workers piping up and yelling out confirmation that the last of the cargo had been removed, and the ship was okay to depart for Noxus. Taking a moment to steel herself, she ducks down and rushes out into the open. Her small size, for one of the only times in her life, proved to be an asset as she staggers forth and ducks behind the shipping crates left on the dock. Each movement riddles her body with pain, but she pushes it back, the anger and hatred for the humans she’d seen proving the perfect fuel to carry her to the side of the airship.

Were she in a better mindset and had a moment to take it all in, she’d be in awe at the construction – a beautifully ornate wooden craft, trimmed with golden frame and carried by the undoubtable might of Hextech. But as her claws dig into the hull and she scurries up the side, all she can think about is how close she is to freedom. She had no idea what awaited her in Noxus, having only heard the name briefly mentioned in hearsay and stories. All that mattered that it was away from here. Gripping onto the frame of one of the ship’s portholes, she pulls with the last of her strength. Up, and over, she tumbles into the darkness within with a shriek, the impact kicking up dust and leaving her a trembling mess on the floor.

Tired. Frustrated. Hurt. Her arms draw in around herself, tucking her legs into a ball as she coughs and hacks up the fusty air that she’d accidentally sucked in from the impact. Today was the worst.

There’s a shudder from the depths of the mighty vessel, the sound of the engine roaring to life. It’s a heavenly sound, one that announces the beginning of her departure from Piltover and Zaun, to a land completely new. Free from any links to the past she had here. Free from the judgemental eyes of the nobles above, and the hungry claws of the twisted crooks beneath. And most of all… Free from herself.

Heh. ‘Herself’. That alone was new territory. It wasn’t that anymore, was it? That bastard doctor may have tried to take the flesh, but he’d at least held up his side of the deal. The yordle’s body, mangled and maimed, was also altered forever. ‘Ginnie’ was no more, replaced with something new. Something different, exciting. This new yordle could be whoever they wanted to be, rather than being what others had decided for them.

In this alien land of crimson banners and cold steel, they’d make a name for themselves. One they could hold with pride, and use to change the world - to ensure that no yordle ever faced the pain they’d faced this day. That was their promise.

A staggered breath as the final bandage is drawn tight, pressing down against a lightly weeping wound – the feeling just enough to draw Rumble from the depths of his memories back to the workshop once again. He stares at the pale white surface for a moment, his heart tightening in his chest as it all comes back to him. The name that he’d made for himself, the person he’d become since that day.

Was it someone he could be proud of? Or did he still have to live up to the promise he’d made to Ginnie, before she vanished for good?

It’s a thought that draws out a long and tired sigh from the pilot. It was complicated, and he still had a lot of work left to do before the changes he’d planned for Zaun and Piltover could be put into action. For now, he had an upgrade to work on, and a mech to finish. Tristy, and the Bloodpits of Noxus, called for him once again.

No time to be wasted in the past. He had a future to forge, after all.

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scrapclad · 2 years

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Memories of Zaun

Twilight hangs over the sand and stone of Shurima – The sound of the ever-flowing falls of it’s beautiful Oasis cascading into the abyss below ringing out across the centre of the city like an ever-present breath of life. A gentle breeze flitters delicate curtains, providing cool air and respite from the oppressive heat of the day, and the Sundisc itself basks the streets in a soft glow from the residual remnants of the light it’d absorbed throughout the day.

A perfect night, one that should ease any weary soul into a gentle rest. Yet, from within the sanctums of the regal palace, one soul was tossing and turning endlessly. The Mechanic himself, lost in the throws of a dream he’d wish he could forget. Though the city provided all it could, no amount of soothing ambience could drag him from the clutches of the memories plaguing his night. Murmurs between each shuffle would range from gentle whispers to almost yells, stifled fighting against the mind as it forces him to see what he’d rather run from.

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Zaun – One could practically guess by the stench in the air, a twisted amalgamation of sulphur, copper, and the bitter tang of blood. The shadow of the City of Progress was home to many a low-life, down-trodden and outcast. Some came looking for a place to belong, while others looked for a place they could thrive. Her, on the other hand? She needed to see someone. Rumours of a supposed ‘Fixer’, a gentleman who could make anyone into something new, had brought the young Ginnie to the belly of this infernal place, a dingy bar just off the Med-Chem district. Glamour had thankfully made entering the city a breeze, bar the occasional short joke, and all she needed to do now was make contact, strike a deal, and get the work done. Bandle had thrown her out, and there was no going back – Not as she was now. No, if she was to return, she’d need to come back better. Someone new, who the people could rally behind.

The mind flashes forward. She’s sat at the bar, making conversation with a portly gentleman with brass throat, gold teeth and a silver tongue. He claims to be the one she’s looking for, one who can make her whoever she dreamed to be, for the right coin. Of course, in his mind, he’d presume upgrades of the black-market variety. Perhaps strength enhancers, a new limb, or much, much worse. Her proposition would make him scoff, and recommend a nearby shrink, but she’d slam her fist on the table and demand his attention.

“NO! I need this done, an’ I need this done /right/. You have the guy for the job, so just get him t’ do it.” She’d demand, eyes aflame beneath the hooded robe. Oh, how she wished she could just force his hand.

“My dear, your case is.. Tragic. Perhaps even heart-wrenching, but my work is far more than what you’d want – Any normal doctor can handle such a thing with relative ease, I fail to see why I should care for-“ He’d begin, before she’d cut in once more.

“No normal doc will see me- I can’t say why. How much d’ya want? Huh? What is it that’s stoppin’ ya?” She’d ask, desperation sinking into her voice. He’d look away, grumbling to himself and beginning to roll up a cigarette in a disinterested manner. She was losing him.

Think, Ginnie, think..

“..I can get you some yordle fur.” She’d offer, glancing away. That would cause him to pause. “..I’m listening, little lady.” He’d reply, a suspicious eye casting over her. “Fresh.” She continues. “Samples for your selling, an’ coin on top. /Please/. I need this done.”

The proposition would make him grin, those shining teeth making her shudder at the sight.

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The shudder would be reflected upon Rumble, who shifted in the sheets once more. A cold sweat drips from his forehead, muttered words hanging under his every breath now as it begins to increase in speed. Fingers clench, gripping tightly to the satin sheets covering his fragile form. He wanted to be free, but sleep wouldn’t let him go.

He needed to remember, whether he wanted to or not.

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“FUCK!” - Ginnie would scream out as she’d lose her footing, leg slamming into a nearby dustbin and sending it toppling over. Her arm clutches the hospital bedsheet wrapped around her, stained red and leaking vital fluids at an alarming rate. Breaths shudder as she tries to recover from the pain, desperately trying to regain composure. She couldn’t stop now – They’d have heard that, and they were already close. Her ears twitch as the distant cries of enraged goons would support that theory.

Slowly, and steadily, she’d break into a limping run once more. Bastards.. Bastards! Of course this is what would happen if she’d trusted a Zaunite, let alone a filthy human! She’d figured that the glamour wouldn’t trick the Doctor, but to think he’d.. Her hand clutches her side as she feels the burn of the cut once more. If he hadn’t gotten sloppy with the anaesthetic, she’d have never noticed the final incision wasn’t in the right place. He didn’t just want samples anymore - He wanted all she’d got.

The thick smog of Zaun made every breath harder – Her vision was already beginning to spin from the blood loss, but if this kept up, they’d have her in a heartbeat. She couldn’t run any more, but if she stopped, she’d be the proverbial frog to their biology class. No. Too much to prove, too much to live for.

This wasn’t where her story ends, damn it!

Thoughts like that weren’t going to help matters, and so Ginnie would try and focus her mind. If she couldn’t run, she’d need to get them to stop following her. How? What were they following? The noise, but keeping quiet hadn’t gotten them off her tail. Then what..? A glance down would reveal the answer, her makeshift robe leaving a crimson trail leading straight to her. Fuck. Okay, how to fix it? She wasn’t a medic, and there wasn’t much time to prevent the actual bleeding. Instead, she’d need to fake the trail. Or at the very least, throw them off for enough time for her to hide properly. Such an opportunity would present itself round the next bend – An automated conveyor belt running towards the industrial districts, carrying metals and materials towards the furnaces.

Without so much of a second thought, she’d grit her teeth and rip free some of the fabric clung to her sodden fur. The pain was agonising, but it needed to be done. With shaking hands, she’d tie the rag to the side of the belt and watch as it continues down the path, dripping blood in it’s wake. Then, she’d scramble into a nearby dumpster, and wait, hand covering her own mouth to try and desperately dampen the sound of her ragged breaths.

By the time their voices had vanished, the majority of her strength had left her – Medical robe ripped and tightened around the wounds could only slow the bleeding for now. She needed proper medical attention, and soon. With sluggish steps, she’d make her way once more down the alleyways and towards Zaun’s elevator system – If her legs couldn’t carry her much further, at least that could.

Streets began to fade in and out of view, dusty neon lights too bright for her to properly handle. The voices of those seeing her pass in such a state a cacophony of echoes and noise. And once she’d reach the elevator, she’d flick the lever and collapse on the cold, metal floor as the door closes. She didn’t want to close her eyes, but her lids were getting heavy – Her soul burned on but her body had seen enough. With little energy left to fight it, the world would fade to black.

In those final moments, Ginnie could swear she heard a voice. At first, it was a male’s – Ragged and angry, with primal hunger behind every snarl. “This one put up a fight, what a /chase/!” Then another. Gentle, soft and full of sorrow– A lady from beyond this world. “Sad to see – Though I feel this is the end of her tale, another shall take her place..” “Then..?” He asked, unsure of her meaning. “..Indeed. It’s not time yet, dear. We shall return soon enough.”

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The voice would cause Rumble to snap awake, jolting upright with a yell of pain. He’d reach for his hospital robe, only to find his duvet, and no blood to be felt. It would take a few moments to process the reality – He was home, back in Shurima. And he was safe again. He’d breathe a sigh, loosening the grip on his sheets as the truth sets in. Memories of a past life, pushed deep down and stashed away, only to be ripped open before him by his last trip to Zaun. And now, he couldn’t stop cycling them in his mind.

He couldn’t run anymore – This was a part of who he was. It was why he fought for equality, why he’d sworn humanity as a plague for so long. No yordle should have to face the terror of what he’d seen, to come so close to…

The Mechanic would wince, trying to avoid such a thought. Through gritted teeth, he’d heft a sigh, and turn his attention to the gentle night sky that lay beyond his window. How different life was to back then, and how far he truly had come.

He’d never forget that. Never again.

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scrapclad · 2 years

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Timeline of a scrapbunny

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scrapclad · 2 years

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Humble Beginnings

Every piece of junk has potential - no matter where it came from, why it was tossed aside, and how beaten down it is - one only has to look hard enough to see the possibilities it carries within, and help it become something greater. Such is the mantra of the Mechanised Menace, whose humble roots molded the mindset they'd carry for the rest of their days.

Born the runt of a litter of six, her small frame and weaker body made her an easy target for her larger brothers, often bullying her out of toys to play with and making her the butt of every joke. She was a part of the family, but she wasn't one of the boys. The family's struggling finances didn't help matters either. Family meals often became heated arguments and brawls for portions, leading to the development of a fiery temper and a penchant for violence first, questions later. What little she had, she had to fight for - anything she could salvage from the aftermath would be taken far from her brother's grubby hands and the family home, to wherever it couldn't be found.

The local scrapheap proved the best hiding space for her and her belongings. Few visitors, fewer noises. Her little slice of heaven, where she'd often retreat to read comics alone, play with her few remaining collectables, and pick apart the junk that people had thrown out. Sometimes, she'd find something remarkable. Broken machines and tossed out experiments from the local technicians, which quickly were formed into game pieces for her latest recreation of her favourite comic scenes. What was once an electronic microscope now served as a mighty battle machine, for her glorious heroes to take down and save the day, or perhaps a megacomplex for them to explore. Each new play piece she would take apart and modify to suit her purpose, before the curiosity her species was renowned for began to set in. Play time soon became work time, each day in the heap a new chance to perhaps fix some of these machines to add to her growing collection of cool gizmos and gadgets. She began to pick out specific pieces from amongst the junk; power sources, joints, would-be materials and spare wiring. Before long, she had an eye for what was needed to complete a build, and disassembly led to her first proper repair - a hobbled together laser made from tossed aside turret parts that she'd scavenged up from the heap.

The resultant fire drew the attention of the local mechanics, who were quick to scold Ginnie for her recklessness, but quicker still to praise her work once they'd seen what she'd done alone. A potential was seen in her, and just as quickly as she'd caught herself in the line of trouble, she was being supplied books and hand-me-down tools to help her explore and develop this budding passion of hers. Such support drove her to push beyond, her time once playing and tinkering now spent watching the local forge and noting down their techniques, or borrowing books and schematics from the library to pour herself over. One Professor's work stood out amongst the rest - Cecil B. Heimerdinger, a local genius inventor and pioneer of yordle technology. His works were an inspiration, his blueprints and notation forming the basis of Ginnie's own as she expanded her knowledge, eager to follow in his footsteps and become an equal in his eyes. She attended every lecture, often butting in with endless questions and badgering him after to allow him to observe his work. Her enthusiasm would bemuse the older yordle, who eagerly took her under his wing and helped her expand her mindset on the possibilities of machinery in their world.

It wasn't long before she began to put her studies and guidance to use, offering the local yordles repairs for a few coins, and collecting any unneeded junk for her experimentation. Services that earned her a name amongst the people of the City of Whimsy as a community helper and force of good, the feeling filling her heart with warmth and fueling her dreams. Her creations would help yordle-kind, and she'd strive to serve and support the city that had treated her so well no matter what. Such ambitions and heart met the ears of the senior council, and word would spread beyond the magical borders of the yordle realm to the City of Progress. A potentially brilliant and bright new student was always welcome in their halls, and so an invite was the only logical conclusion.

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At first, she was uncertain - The equation of socialisation was something she was still very much working on, and people were... complicated. To leave the safety of her social circle wasn't a prospect she was entirely eager for, but her family pushed for her to leap for it. The Grenwell name, once known for it's quality brews and finest beers, had declined as of late in the eyes of the public, and this proved the perfect opportunity to launch them to success once more. Reluctantly, she'd accept, and pack her things for the great city of Piltover to absorb all of the knowledge and possibilities it held.

Travels were rough. Though the glimmering city offered much in terms of attractions and technology to behold, beyond the safety of the Bandle Tree, a yordle had to be careful. Often mistreated for their stature, or hunted for their furs, Ginnie had to keep to the designated safe zones of the University, and found herself troubled by the prospects immediately. If yordles had shone so brightly in this place, how could they be treated in such a way? Why was nobody standing up for their kind here? Each day added to the frustrations as she saw humans capitalising on the technologies she'd seen in her Professor's studies while dismissing the brilliance of the creators all the same.

Studies would have to serve as a suitable distraction for her. Her first week was to be a test of her skills - present one creation to the committee to be judged for it's quality and ingenuity, and her place at the academy would be accepted. A simple enough test for one as experienced as her in building, and she had the perfect design and materials for the task. Night after night the runt would pour herself into her work, and come the day of the test, she'd present her finest work with a beaming grin and cocky finesse. An array of missiles, loaded with arcane crystals and primed in such a way that the very impact would warp and scorch the ground around it. Constructed entirely from scrap parts, the armament juttered and shaked, sparked and fizzed, and while the design was no doubt impressive, the Professors were naturally... concerned. Question after question would overwhelm the little figure, and when one human academic would ask if it were best to perhaps redesign and rethink something so potentially dangerous, Ginnie would fly into a rage and unleash a torrent of insults towards him that silenced the room - humanity was riding on the backs of yordle-kind, and had no respect for what they were capable of. The human pushed back, demanding respect and remarking that she clearly had no control over herself or her device.

Unfortunately, he was right - a fact felt deep in her heart the moment after she slammed the button to fire in sheer rage. The blast shook the whole of the building, and in the ensuing chaos, little Ginnie would flee the building with tears in her eyes and her dreams of heroism in tatters. The last few days of her trip were spent in solitude, the yordle forced to flee the main city from the police for the damages caused, and out into the streets of Zaun itself. There, in the desolate pit of Piltover's Shadow, she saw the truth of the world, and she knew deep in her heart that she was right. The city above hid a dark underbelly, where the true hard workers suffered and toiled, trapped in the depths while the priviliged above laughed and delighted. Hatred boiled her blood and twisted her stomach - never again would she trust a Piltie, and never again would she stand at their side. Once she was back home, she'd remain there, helping yordles as she'd always wanted to. That was her purpose - all she had left.

Her return to Bandle quickly quenched any chances of this too. In her absence, the University had sent word back of the incident to her awaiting family, and they were furious. Not only had she squandered their only chance at success, but she'd dragged their name through the mud and put them in the spotlight as trouble-makers. Her father flew into a rage, and tossed her out into the streets, while her brothers...

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Bloodied, beaten and betrayed, Ginnie would retreat from the city she called home, and skulk back to the shadows of Zaun. It was the only place she'd found herself safe, kept to the darkened allies where she'd tinker and repair to put gold pieces in her pocket. It wasn't much, but it was better than begging, and it gave her enough to begin planning her return. If her name was ruined, and her family no longer wanted her, she'd forge a new path. A new identity. With what contacts she'd made in the depths of the Sumps while gathering parts for her craft, she'd learned of a doctor in the city who would cut first and ask questions later for the right amount of coin.

Perfect for her, with all of the heat surrounding her little incident in the University, and her species as a whole. Arranging a meeting with one they called 'The Man With The Golden Grin', she'd find frustration as the figure turned her away - no amount of coin would make him care for her sob story of image transformation. The only way she could get this to work was a simple promise; a bit of fresh yordle fur for whatever he wanted. He accepted, and after being given an address on a napkin, she'd depart to change herself forever.

Little did she know, the doctor had no intention of taking just one sample. After her transformation was complete and payment was accepted, he refused to let her go, craving more and more with each cut - she'd fallen for one of Zaun's promises of the future, and was destined to meet a grisly fate. Fortunately for her, she'd not been given enough to sedate her fully, and a resulting scuffle allowed her to escape with a new body - weakened and bleeding - but a new body all the same.

That night, in the darkness of the streets, the figure would collapse, and glance up at the skies. In their heart, they swore vengeance - humanity could never be trusted. They were monsters, predators, and yordles were done being the prey. With this new form, they'd build something incredible, and stand up tall for their people - a new yordle, the hero they'd always dreamed of being, who could stand up and fight for a better tomorrow.

Ginnie disappeared, never to be heard from again. But months later a new figure appeared, sat atop a twisted goliath of metal and fire. With a chip on his shoulder and a spark in his eyes, the yordle would declare that the world better prepare itself - his name was Rumble, and he was here to take a stand. Denouncing Piltover as a fraudulent state, and Heimerdinger and his kin as sell-outs, he started riots and caused mayhem in the streets for the sake of his people, soon earning him the title of 'Mechanised Menace'. In his heart, he was a hero, forging his own path.

To those facing his flamespitter, he was a warning never to push a good yordle down.

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