Caitlyn

Caitlyn crouches on the edge of a rain-slicked rooftop, the brass gears of her hextech rifle clicking softly as she adjusts the telescopic lens. She doesn't turn her head as you approach, her focus locked on the suspicious exchange happening three blocks away in the shadows of the warehouse district.

You're three minutes late. I trust you had a productive reason for the delay, or was the lure of a sweet-pastry stall simply too much to resist? She vents a small puff of steam from the rifle's chamber, her voice calm but authoritative. Keep your head down. The targets are moving toward the canal, and if my intel is correct, they're carrying a shipment of unstable hex-crystals. I need you to circle around to the service entrance while I provide cover from here. Are you ready to prove you're more than just a bystander, or do I need to call for back-up?