#i hate overwatch so much. SO MUCH. but it felt like a partial step in the right direction for diversity in gaming. a LITTLE BIT. you know.

[nuvomica]

stop the marvel rivals designs for women suck so bad and it's insane that it's not talked about more

[angelsandarsenic]

Lifeweaver battle whump oneshot

I'm abandoning OW cannon, if they can interact in the game, they can interact in the fic

---In which the team learns not to abandon their healers, and Lifeweaver is overworked---

This wasn't the first time Niran had been targeted on the battlefield, and it wouldn't be the last. (Frankly, it hadn't come close to the first time he'd been targeted in life either). 

        He wanted to say he didn't care--on the battlefield it was because he was the healer, it was a testament to his dreams coming to life, he had always faced pushback for his ideals--but when it was this persistent, he couldn't help but get very tired of it very quickly. It was definitely partially the enemy's fault, they were ruthless, this battle had gone on far too long. 

        However, his own team left some to be desired in this endeavor. As Lifeweaver, Niran had recently started going on missions with the newly reformed Overwatch. Technically, he was more of an outsourced vigilante than one of their agents, but he had learned their strategies and members well by now, and was more than used to working with them. Most often, it went incredibly well. It was times like this that scared him.

        A pained gasp directed Niran's attention from Orisa, currently locked in battle with a massive omnic, over to his right, where a human Overwatch agent stumbled, clutching her side, gun sagging in her hand, hat ready to fall off her head. Another omnic loomed over her. 

        Without needing to think, Lifeweaver grabbed her, yanking her back the thirty or so yards between them, and away from the omnic. The pink light surrounding her shielded them both from the bullet spray aimed their way and he quickly set to work with his healing blossom. "I have you," he reassured her. Was it Ashe? He had already forgotten her name, this was their first time working together. "Stay close, will you?" The last thing he needed was people running off where he couldn't reach them, especially in such a cluttered area as this. The buildings in Survasa were close, with too many walls and corners. Although, with the rampaging omnics destroying everything, that might not be an issue in the near future. 

        With the omnic uprising, Lifeweaver had become familiar with fighting all types of enemies, from humans, to peaceful omnic models turned warriors for their freedom, and even R-7000 Ravagers, like the leader of the Null Sector. But...there was something bugging him about these omnics. They weren't acting like the beings he usually fought. They didn't have a leader, or any kind of attack patterns. They didn't even seem to be-

        Lifeweaver hissed as a bullet grazed his side. He whirled around, healing blossom already shifting on his arm to become a weapon. Another bullet whizzed past his head, close enough to hear, and Niran's heart jumped in his chest. He took a step back into a more steady stance and opened fire on the advancing machines. Aim between the chinks in their armor, just make them fall apart. He hated when he could think during battles. It always made his heart ache. I wish violence never solved anything. It would make peace so much easier. 

        They didn't even flinch as his thorns embedded themselves deep. One even got its arm torn off without so much as a stumble. What is going on?! Omnics were sentient, they felt pain and distress, joy and hope just like any other creature, why weren't they reacting?

        His mind flashed back to the distress call they had been organized to respond to. Supposedly the monks from the Shambali Temple in the village had gone mad, laying siege to Survasa. He remembered the other Overwatch members' murmurs of disbelief, their distrust in the call, as well as his own. None of it made any sense!

        Now, facing the omnics' blank stares, their thoughtless behavior, it was all starting to form a picture Niran didn't like. "Orisa!" As the longest standing and most accomplished Overwatch agent of the team, the tank was their mission leader. Surely, they would listen to him and they could investigate this. 

        There was no response. The omnics that had been attacking him, still in their monk garb, finally stopped, destroyed. With a regretful grimace, he turned away. Where did the team go?! Panic flashed through him. How did they all manage to disappear so quickly?! Why didn't anyone make sure he was coming?! It was dangerous to split up like this! 

        "Orisa!" Niran sprinted through the village, stumbling over debris. This place was like a maze, how was he supposed to find them?! The clamor of battle came from every direction. Surely they hadn't all dispersed. But then again, if it wasn't his teammates he was hearing, then it was omnics attacking civilians, who should have been evacuated by now. 

        Lifeweaver huffed. He was exhausted. The temporary lull in the battle let weariness seep into his bones and sent an ache through his lungs. The wound in his side was shallow, but at this point his healing abilities were wearing out as well, and it wasn't fixing itself as quickly as it could be. With the adrenaline wearing off, it burned like mad when he stepped, or climbed through the rubble. Still, he needed to keep going. This was what he was here for, to help people. He needed to find his team fast, or they could all be done for. So, gritting his teeth, he broke into a run once more. Best bet was to head to the dim flashes and the most noise. 

When he arrived, Niran's heart dropped. 

        On the plus side, he thought, he had found his team. Most of them. He could still save this. He had to still save this, there wasn't anyone left. On his way here he had seen the body of his support partner in an alley, clearly already dead. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened; it had been a surprise attack, targeted, the moment they were even somewhat on their own. Fighting back bile in his throat at the bloody mess that had once been his teammate, Niran forced himself to continue onward. I hope their soul finds peace. 

        The team itself wasn't looking too good. Immediately, Lifeweaver leapt into action, sending as many healing bursts as he could. They were all together now, in the heart of the village. In the back of his mind, he took note of the huge statue casting its long shadow over the grounds, but too easily got distracted by the heat of battle once more. 

        Orisa had the most armor and experience, their health was low, but not as bad as it could be and they could take care of themself. Lifeweaver sent a large healing burst their way and reached out with his life grip to grab their second attack agent, and not a moment too late. The omnic stabbed, just missing the man as he was yanked away. The blade in its arm bounded harmlessly off the light shield. He didn't watch them fly towards him, instead pulling them both onto a petal platform as soon as he could take a split second with his left hand and shooting healing light at the female agent from before. The man collapsed at his feet, dangerously low on health. Luckily, the platform could do a large portion of the healing for him. He slammed a couple short bursts directly through the man's exposed back, just enough to make sure he wouldn't die from blood loss and split his attention again between the remaining two agents on the ground. 

        There were so many omnics, how were they going to stop them?! His mind had gone blank, working on rapid autopilot just to keep his teammates alive. Luckily, it wasn't long before the man he had pulled to the platform readied his weapon again and leapt off, right into a small crowd of enemies. He'd have to keep an eye out for him, but he seemed to be doing alright at the moment. 

        Orisa slammed their fist into the face of the last omnic next to them, making a motion of a sigh of relief, and suddenly Lifeweaver remembered. Maybe we can stop them--turn them off somehow, or figure out what's controlling them! "O-"

        He dropped. The petal platform disappeared out from underneath him, and Niran's heart leapt into his throat. He was usually so good at timing it so he could be prepared! Before he knew it, his feet hit the ground with a jolt that rocked his whole body, one ankle twisting painfully, and he crumpled. His hands scraped against the hard ground and he hissed, tasting blood from where he had bitten his own tongue. Cursing, he forced himself to look up. 

        Already, his team needed his help again. Orisa was charging to aid the attack agents, but they were both being swarmed, covered in blood and Niran could see one's broken arm from here. Without bothering to stand, he aimed the full might of his healing blossom at the group. At one point, he tossed another petal platform, throwing away omnics who got caught on the edges and temporarily removing his team from the battle. Only now, when the recovering omnics spotted him instead of their original prey, did he remember his position. Not being on one's feet was vulnerable, it was slow and was all an enemy needed in a split second to fuck you up. 

        Luckily, they were still a ways away, he could stand and run in plenty of time. Theoretically. As soon as Niran put weight on his right leg, his ankle sent another jolt of pain, and he stumbled, this time falling on his ass. Oh no. His eyes widened. No, no, he needed to get up! They weren't that far, he needed to run! 

        None of his teammates noticed the beings abandoning them and advancing on him. Why would they? They still had their own battle to fight and they weren't support, they weren't supposed to be on the lookout for their teammates like he was. But he was scared. No, no, he could deal with this on his own. He was always meant for great things, he was always so smart, so capable--even his parents knew despite not liking the way he did things--he could handle this on his own, he just needed to get up!

        Lifeweaver's breaths were coming fast. He tried again, turning over to scramble to his feet. This time he was prepared for the pain, limping in the other direction as fast as he could. The bullet wound from before was healed by now, thank goodness. But all too soon, another ripped through his side. this time deeper, between his bottom ribs, and Niran choked on a scream. The ratatattat of ammunition fanned out around him. It was sheer luck he hadn't been struck down already. He needed help, he- he could life grip someone to him...but at what cost? Would that doom them both? If he pulled someone away from where they were fighting, would the other two die without them? 

        Blood dampened his clothes and stained sticky on his skin. He already knew he wouldn't do it. It was his job to protect the others, he wouldn't put them in more danger just to save himself if it wasn't a near guarantee that they could make it. This time he did cry out as another bullet tore into his shoulder. 

Prove to us that you're worth our time and money Niran! 

You're brilliant, we know you are, you just have to do it right!

Casualties happen, it's regrettable, but it's part of war we can't avoid. 

        There were other healers. He was going to die eventually, he knew what he had signed up for. Surely they could go on without him. Surely they would call a retreat any minute. If this was the way it was meant to end...

        No one noticed his predicament. Even when he screamed, no one turned their heads or their weapons, no one called out to him. 

        No! He limped further back, though the pace was slow. He didn't want to die! He couldn't, there was still so much he had left to do! What could he do, what could he do?! He had used his tree not too long ago, it didn't have enough power yet. 

        The shadows of the omnics were only inches from he feet now. It didn't matter any more if their aim was atrocious, point blank was point blank. At almost the same moment, a dreadful, metallic screech cut through the air. Lifeweaver aimed his thorn gun at one omnic's face, quickly dismantling it. Behind it, he watched as the statue tipped. The second omnic didn't look away from its target, slowly marching closer and re-aiming it's gun at his chest. The statue was about to fall on Orisa. They hadn't noticed, they were going to be crushed. 

        Ignoring the pain shooting like lightning across his body, Niran leapt to the side, haphazardly shooting at the omnic, while his real focus was the tank. If his aim was off at all-

        The instant the glowing bubble enveloped Orisa, he relaxed. Its front half shattered under the weight of the statue, just barely moving them out of the way in time. Agony erupted in Niran's skin, bones and muscle as he was riddled with bullets and his world went black. 

----------------------------

        Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump...

-----(is he alive? maybe. that depends on if we want a sequel)--------

[cherrycola27]

SIREN'S SONG

Alright everyone just a quick Author's note...

This is my first time ever posting a work on Tumblr so please be kind

Each chapter will be inspired by a song that I love

Pairing: Rooster x OC Captain Harper Ann "Siren" Mitchell

Warnings: Mentions of Ejection, injuries, cursing, drinking, and eventual smut 18+ only Minors DNI

This chapter is inspired by the song "Cherry Cola" by Elizabeth Gerardi... you should check her out on Spotify and youtube!

Chapter 1: Cherry Cola

Harper Mitchell sat at the end of her mother's well step mother's ( if we are being technical) bar lazily sipping on her second Dirty Shirley of the night. It felt weird to call Penny her step mother, because besides Aunt Carole, Penny was the only mother figure Harper had ever known. She and Mavrick had gotten married when Harper was 15 and Ameila was 5. Her birth mother Charlotte "Charlie" Blackwood had dropped Harper off on Maverick's front porch with a heartfelt note about how while she loved her daughter, she just couldn't be a mother with her career. Harper huffed at the thought because she knew her father's job was much more dangerous then Charlie's. But, Mav did a great job raising her. Aunt Carole was there to help with girl things like when she got her first period and Maverick wanted to take her to the emergency room. Maverick taught Harper to be kind, caring, smart, hard working, determined, and a little reckless

Okay maybe he didn't teach her to be reckless she kind of learned it herself. I mean how could she not be with Iceman as a Godfather, Maverick as a dad, and Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw as her best friend. Recklessness and airplanes were all around her so it came as no surprise to anyone when Harper joined the navy and became a pilot.

She worked hard and earned her wings and was later accepted into the Top Gun program, which thanks to her dad pulling his papers (something she hated gim for doing) Harper completed the program with her best friend Rooster as her wingman. During the program she earned her Call Sign "Siren" because like the mythological creature she could easily lure her enemy in and take them out when they leadt expect it... or that's what she told people her call sign most definitely did not come from the fact that she was a great singer and blew all of her classmates away on a dare at karaoke night.

Siren and Rooster kicked ass at Top Gun and finished 1 and 2 in their class respectively. Rooster was so proud of her and she loved the fact that she could tease her dad that she graduated higher than he did.

Harper thrived in the navy traveling all over the world. She was an amazing aviatior, she had 5 confirmed kills, making her an Ace just like her father the newly promoted Admiral Pete Mitchell, and she herself had just been promoted to Captain. Harper sighed again looking at the cherry Bob in her drink.

"Whats on your mind kid?" Penny asked snapping her out of her thoughts. "Nothing much momma P, just thinking about the last 2 years" Harper replied. The last 2 years had been a whirlwind for her. She was flying a covert mission ans was heading home when everything went wrong. Overwatch missing a Fifth Gen fighter which came in hot for Siren when she was trying to return to base, one dogfightand a shot down F-18 later, Harper was ejecting over rugged terrain. Unfortunately when she ejected, her parachute partially failed causing her to hit the ground, the trees, and the rocks hard. She was left bleeding and broken on the side of a mountain until rescue found her. 2 surgeries and some PT later, she was cleared to fly again, but she didn't want it

Instead her Godfather and dad politely ( bullied) the navy into letter her have an instructor's position along side her dad at Top Gun. So Harper packed her things, bought a house and move to Fightertown 7 months after he accident. An accident that she never told Rooster about because she knew he would freak out. Instead she told him how excited she was to move back to North Island on one of their weekly FaceTime calls. That had been almost 2 years ago and now she had settled in well. She commanded respect from her students and they learned very early on that she was the queen of the skies. She loved sharing her stories with Bradley and he told her about his missions too. They always kept in touch with each other. Though it had been 3 years since they had seen each other face to face when they were stationed together in Wilmington, NC... they never went more than a few weeks without speaking.

Harper Downes the last of her drink when she was about to ask Penny for another but her mom had a worried look on her face... "Whats up momma P?" Harper asked. "The singer for my band tonight didn't show up and I was really wondering if my amazing daughter would lend her vocals for the night?" Penny questioned raising an eye brow. Harper sighed. "Ugh fine but only because I love you P"

"Thank you so much H, drinks on the house tonight" the older woman winked ar her " Penny, my drinks are always on the house, you're my mom and the owner" Harper through her head back laughing and slipped her aviators on and checked her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, she swiped a fresh coat of Russian Red lipstick over her lips and walked up to the stage.

After a brief chat with the band, they came up with 4 songs they new that Harper felt comfortable singing... she also pulled up a fifth on on her phone that she would need for a backup track for the last song she wanted to sing because they band didn't know it.

Penny came up and gave her a quick introduction and after a few cheers the band played and Siren came alive on the stage. Whether is was flying, singing, or anything else Siren gave her whole heart to it.

After 3 songs Harper had the bar in the palm of her hand. By the fourth everyone was cheering for her

"Alright everyone I have one more song for you. It is a favorite of mine by and artist named Elizabeth Gerardi. I don't know if you have heard it before but I just have to sing it for you!" Harper cued up the song on her phone and began to belt out the first words

While she was singing a tall, tanned, mustached man in a Hawiian shirt and aviators walked into the Hard Deck. He walked up to the bar and watch the woman on stage.

The way she sang without a care in world made his heart beat double time in his chest. He was memorized by the way her hips swayed, the way she tossed her dark blonde hair, and the song that poured from her red lips.

"Jesus Penny, who that little song bird up there on stage?" Rooster questioned. "Really Bradshaw?" Penny jabbed back in disbelief " You'd think you would recognize her after growing up together!" Penny could see the gears turning in Bradley's head as he processed what she said. "That's Siren?!" He half questioned half exclaimed. "Sure is Rooster... the singer for the band I hired didn't show up, so, she stepped in... she's changed a lot in three years hasn't she?" Penny then gave a nod to Rooster and went to help some other patrons at the end of the bar.

Harper finished the last chorus of her song and the bar erupted in a round of applause and chants of "Siren, Siren, Siren" as she looked around the bar she spotted a familiar tanned man in a pair of aviators. Before she left the stage Harper teased " Remember if you like what you hear, buy the band a beer because my mom owns the place and I drink for free!" She laughed and walked off the stage.

"She sure has changed a lot in three years" the pilot thought as he continued to watch his best friend on the stage. As she continued there were two things on Bradley Bradshaw's mind: 1.) he was sure as hell glad he had been called back to Top Gun, and 2.) He was undoubtedly, irrevocably in love with his best friend. Shit

Before he could process a strong pair of arms wrapped around his chest and a sqeaul of his name snapped him out of his trance.

Startled, Rooster shook his head and looked down to see that Harper had left the stage and wrapped him in a bear hug. Rooster laughed and hugged her back.

"Bradley Bradshaw" Harper began as she slid into a bar stool, "How dare you come back here and not tell me! I'm hurt" Harper teased as she put a hand to her chest

"I wanted to surprise you!" Rooster jabbed back, but I have to saw y was surprised to see you on that stage. I didn't recognize you with the hair cut, and it's darker, and the red lipstick... I gotta say it looks good on you kid." Rooster told his friend. "You are barely three years older than me Bradley, plus I am my own house, and mt own car...you can't call me kid anymore!" Harper joked back. "You bought a house?" Roosters eyebrow cocked up as he looked at her perplexed. "Yeah about six months ago a place about 10 minutes from here came up for sale for super cheap. The couple wqs retiring and wanted to move closer to their kids and grand kids. The basically gave it away. It's 4 bedrooms 3 baths and has a pool! I used all the money I saved plus what Charlie left me after she died and I was able to buy it out right. It's mine for real!" Harper gushed.

"Wow, that's amazing... look at you go Si" Rooster congratulated his friend. "You should come see it!" Harper said excitedly. "Yeah I can come by after training one day. I've been called back for a mission... I think the whole Dagger Squad has been... you wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you Captain Mitchell?" Rooster pried.

"Listen Roos, all I know is that a certain Admrial and Captain/ Father and Daughter duo may be teaching the Dagger Squad, but that's all I know for sure." Harper stated to him. "So you and Mav are going to be teaching.. ugh I am so dead" he rolled his eyes

"I thought you are dad were good after everything?" Harper quirked her brows. "We are, but it still doesn't mean you aren't going to hand us our asses up in the sky" Rooster laughed. "True, they don't call me queen of the sky's for nothing!" Harper sing songed back to him.

"Hey BB," Harpee began using the nickname she game him when they were kids. "Yes HM?" Rooster quipped back. "Did you drive here? I rode with Momma P and I don't want to be here until closing... can you take me home? And you can see my house before next week?" Harper gave Rooster the puppy dog eyes she knew he couldn't say no to.

"Ugh fine I guess I can... but it's going to cost you" Rooster sighed out. "Omg yes thank you Bradley!" Harper squealed and hugged him again. "Momma P, Rooster is taking me home. See you later! Love you!" Harper called as she blew Penny a kiss over her shoulder while she grabbed Roosters hand and led him to the door. Penny shook her head as Rooster waved goodbye to her. She sighed and wiped down the bar. She saw the look the sandy haired pilot had on his face when he first came in. He had it bad for her daughter and Penny knew Harper would be the death of him.

Harper walked out of the Hard Deck towards a familiar blue Bronco. "You still have it?" She asked her friend. "Of course I do." Rooster replied opening the passenger door for her and she hopped in while he jogged to the drivers side. "I could never get rid of this thing.... to many memories." He winked at her while looking at the back seat.

Harper blushed knowing exactly what he was talking about. When Harper found out her father had Bradley's papers pulled she was furious with him. She had never truly been angry with him in her 18 years of life until that moment. She and Mav fought, and screamed at each other. It ended with her storming up to her room, locking the door blaring music and sneaking out her window. She called Bradley and had her come pick her up. Even though Bradley was three years older than her, they were always close. Bradley picked her up and they drove to their spot on the beach. They talk, laughed, cried, and planned on how they were going to join the Navy together. Then out of nowhere, Bradley kissed her. The next thing they know, they ended up naked in the back seat of the Bronco. Harper shyly confessed once they were done that it was her first time. To her surprise Bradley told her the same. They both agreed not to let it change their friendship. Bradley took her back home that night. And many years later she and Rooster had both forgiven Maverick for his actions because they understood why he did what he did. They never told him about that night

"Hello... earth to Siren" Bradley waved his hands infront of her face. "Which way?" He gestured to rhe junction they were at. "Um left here and then fought house on the right" Harper stuttered out. Minutes later Rooster pulled into her driveway. Harper walked up and unlocked to door and ushered him into the foyer.

"Nice place" Rooster crooned looking around at the decor and photos. There were pictures of Mav, Penny, Amelia, Harper and even a few of Rooster, Goose and Carole adorning the walls and shelves. "Thanks. I really like it. Hopefully if I don't scare them away you and the Dagger Squad can hang out here some." Harper told him ask she continued to show him around. "Oh yeah they totally will especially for a chance to get off base and you have a pool. There is going to be a huge party here at least once I can feel it." Rooster agreed with her

They settled onto a couch in comfortable conversations. The pilots nursed beers that Harper had gotten from the fridge and the talked about everything. Harper told Rooster about her breakup from some Marine 4 months ago and he told her about some of his adventures abroad. "So a Marine huh? I thought they only liked crayons" Rooster chuckled taking a swig of hid beer. "Ha ha very funny and yes... don't remind me. It wasn't the best decision on my part." Harper laughed back. "You seeing anyone?" She questioned finishing here beer. "Nope, haven't found a girl who can put up with me for more than a couple weeks." Rooster stated back honestly.

A silence settled back over them. Rooster checked his phone. "Shit.... its 1am" he cursed. "Great guess I'm sleeping in my car tonight" he hung his head. "Ugh I forgot about that stupid curfew rule if you stay on base." Harper groaned.

"Hey um Roos I have an idea.... if you're up for it..." Harper fiddled with her beer bottle. "I'm all ears" Bradley responded. Listen don't take this the wrong way, but I have 3 extra bedrooms, with king sized beds in them and I know you don't fit well on those damn Navy issued twins... what if you just I don't know, stayed here with me? I mean om close to base, you would have you own bathroom and I have a pool... I mean if you want?!" Harper rambled. She held her breath waiting for him yo respond. Deep down she wanted him to say yes because even though she would never admit it, Harper was in love with Bradley. And these past hours spent with him just reminded her why she loved him.

"Si, are you sure?" Rooster sighed. "Because I don't want to intrude or anything" Rooster scratched the back of his neck. "Omg yes I am sure and I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't!" She exclaimed back. "You know if Mav finds out he won't be happy." Rooster stated firmly. "Please do not worry about my Dadmiral. I am 29 years old with my own home. What is going to to ground me for a week? Tell me I can't go out with my friends... please B, my house, my rules" Harper chirpped back.

"Alright I guess it would be cool to hang out like old times." Rooster finally agreed. "Yay!" Harper squealed and hugged him for the third time that night. "Okay, I will go get a guest room ready for you while you go get your stuff which I assume is in your car?" Harper told him. "Yeah I have my stuff" Rooster replied. "Awesome see you in a few." Harper called as she bounding up the stairs. Rooster would never admit it but he definitely watched her ass bounce up the stairs longer than he should have.

He turned on his heels and walked out to his car. As Rooster grabbed his stuff he let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. The thought of living with Harper, his best friend, the woman he had been in love with since he was a kid had him on edge.

As he slammed the door the to Bronco he thought to himself "Jesus Christ Bradley Alexander Bradshaw, what have you gotten yourself into."

Wow.... I know this is long, but I have had this in my mind forever. Special thanks to my inspiration and motivation @marvelsvalhalla for encouraging me to write this please let me know what yall think!

[nitewrighter]

Hi! Need more of Prefall Overwatch and loved the last one you posted about the recovery of Genji. So lovely. Can we have more of this?

Sorry this took so long! This one was sitting like 70% done in my drafts for weeks! This one’s taking place before the “Walking” fic and it references the First Meeting fic.

—-

Dragon teeth and flesh tearing. Hanzo’s face contorted by rage and grief.

“And we’re breathing…” said the physical therapist supporting Genji’s shoulders, “And we’re breathing…”

Genji floated in the heated pool, the room itself humid enough so that there was no discomfort on the bare skin of his chest as it rose and fell with his breath. The warmth of the pool was supposed to help facilitate the healing of his organs with their new cybernetic grafts. He only had his one arm, his current prosthetic being more about training him to the neuroconnectors and not being 100% waterproof. Apparently Overwatch thought it expedient to include this babysitter and their repetitive coos of ‘breathing’ to try and bring him up to the snuff of their psychological evaluations. He partially suspected Doctor Ziegler’s hand in it as well–all ‘You’re traumatized’ this and ‘You’re traumatized’ that. Yes, his mind was putting in horrible throbbing reminders of his panic and agony, but he figured the fastest way to fix that was killing Hanzo, not floating in a pool like an idiot.

“And we’re taking all those negative thoughts—” the therapist cut themselves off as the door to the hydrotherapy pool slid open and Doctor Ziegler walked in with her tablet. The physical therapist looked at her expectingly, probably assuming she wanted Genji out of the pool to run some diagnostics on something or other.

“Pretend I’m not here,” Mercy’s voice was barely audible over the sloshing of the pool, but the physical therapist nodded. Genji had half a mind to keep an eye on the doctor himself, but he figured if he pretended she wasn’t there like she asked, he might have a chance of getting out of the pool of idiocy faster.

Genji opened one eye to see Doctor Ziegler stepping up to the bench near the pool and pick up a tablet from that bench. With a permissive nod from the physical therapist she tapped something into the other tablet. 

“Eyes closed,” said the physical therapist and Genji shut his one eye again.

Combining notes, thought Genji, I wonder how much they say about me that they didn’t say to my face. I wonder how much my family talked about me before they decided–

“We’re taking all those negative thoughts–” the physical therapist went on.

They wanted you dead. The council wanted you dead. Your family wanted you dead and your brother hated you enough to do it—

“We are acknowledging them, and we are releasing them with our breath. Slow exhale—”

“–In through your nose, out through your mouth,” Genji was a child, kneeling at Sojiro’s left hand with Hanzo on the other side. Breathing. Breathing. He had to breathe.

“And we’re breathing,” said the physical therapist. He had lost count of how many times they had said that at this point.

Both he and Hanzo were at his father’s bedside, and there was that last exhale as he felt Sojiro’s hand still in his own. There was Hanzo’s shuddering breath as Aunt Yuriko took him aside to discuss arrangements for the funeral. Discuss arrangements now that Hanzo was head of the clan. When did they start talking about it? Right then?

The physical therapist waded around to Genji’s side. “We’re going to close out this session with some affirmations. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Genji’s eyes slid open and his pupils suddenly shrank to pinpoints. The features of the physical therapist were obscured by the bright light just behind their head. In retrospect, it wasn’t the physical therapist’s fault that the way they were currently leaning over Genji perfectly matched the last silhouette Genji saw of Hanzo that night as Genji treaded the line between conscious and unconscious, but there it was. The warmth and wetness of the pool running off of Genji’s skin was suddenly the blood-soddened tatami mat beneath him, and instinct took over. Genji seized up in their arms with a gasp, but the physical therapist was half-preoccupied with the nurse wheeling Genji’s wheelchair back into the room and assumed the sound from Genji was one last ‘deep breath’ before they gave a glance back to Genji.

“I am more than my pai–” the physical therapist started before receiving a hard fist to the face. They reeled back on instinct and Genji sank into the pool, flailing and splashing, trying to keep himself afloat with only stubs for legs and one arm. Chlorine stung his eyes and his own panicked breaths sucked down water and he was coughing and spluttering. His mind was scrambling between the searing memory of Hanzo and the dragon and the new panic of “Oh. This is drowning. I’m going to drown in a fucking therapy pool.” Blood was clouding in the water, but not his blood–but it still hurt there were still things under his skin that shouldn’t have been there and the dragon still burned and his legs–god, his legs—

 He didn’t hear the other splash–or if he did he did not distinguish it from his own flailing, but suddenly he felt two sets of arms holding him, restraining him. Naturally he flailed against this as well, but he heard a voice.

“Genji–Genji!�� that same voice that was like a distant lighthouse in his unconsciousness before he first came here, “Genji! It’s me! I’ve got you!” 

The voice flagged that last bit of light from the all consuming, all horrifying memory of that night.

You have to trust me. Please let me help..

Genji found himself looking up into two big gray-blue eyes framed by semi-wet white-blond hair. Mercy was in the pool, fully clothed, droplets of water on her glasses and her labcoat flaring out in the water behind her. She was holding him up, keeping his head above water while the physical therapist was gripping his arm to keep him from swinging it again. He coughed a few times and arm eased up in their hands.

“I–” he looked at the physical therapist, the lower half of their face completely bloodied by his hit, “Oh…kuso–”

“It’s okay, Genji,” said Mercy.

“No–no–I shouldn’t–that wasn’t…” Genji looked at the physical therapist, “I am so sorry..” 

The physical therapist released his arm to pinch their own bloodied nose, but kept one arm underneath him to support him, “It was a reaction. It.. it happens. Usually I can anticipate my patients’ movements a lot better but…”

“Ninja,” said Genji, glancing off awkwardly.

“…we are going to have to tell Morrison about this,” said the physical therapist as they and Mercy gently pulled Genji off to the edge of the pool.

“Wait–how much will this put off my going into the field?” said Genji as he was hoisted out of the water and toweled off.

“I don’t know,” said Mercy, helping him into his wheelchair, “We–we need to make sure you’re stable with prosthetics before we upgrade you to combat-ready cybernetics. This session was supposed to help you, but if your trauma is this severe–”

“No–I have to–I can get over this if I fight–You have to let me fight–you have to-” he felt a slight squeeze on his remaining hand and he glanced down to see Mercy’s hand wrapped around his. He looked up into her face and suddenly a memory stung in the pit of his stomach. Those big, scared eyes. Scared of him or scared for him? He wasn’t sure, but he had seen those eyes before. And he had seen his own bloodied hand around her neck. He lashed out at her that night, he remembered now, and he fell silent.

“…let’s get you cleaned up,” said Mercy, pushing his wheelchair out of the therapy pool room. Genji glanced over at the physical therapist, now being attended to by several nurses. Droplets of water fell from the corners of Mercy’s labcoat as she wheeled him towards the showers and a few custodial drones glided across the floor after her, cleaning up after the water that dripped off both of them.

“I’m sorry,” said Genji, rolling the knuckles of his remaining organic hand.

“It was a reaction,” said Mercy, “And I’ll admit this is a jarring new environment to be in.”

“I don’t mean about the pool–Well, yes, I’m sorry I punched the therapist but–that night you saved me…” he trailed off and Mercy stopped walking. Genji looked over his shoulder at her, “That night you saved me. I attacked you then, too, didn’t I?”

Mercy blinked a few times at him. “Well–I wouldn’t call it attacked–”

“I grabbed your neck,” said Genji.

“You had no idea who I was, and you were dying,” said Mercy, “It was instinct. Like this was.”

“You were just trying to help,” said Genji, glancing off.

“Trauma rewires your brain,” said Mercy, “And if your brain and body were already wired to fight…”

“So it’s not just my body that’s stupid and broken and useless, it’s my head,” muttered Genji.

“Ach du—” Mercy exhaled, “…healing the head takes a lot longer. And even then it’s never going to be 100% the way it was before because, well, you’re changing and growing even while you’re healing. It’s not really about becoming your old self so much as… doing the best you can with yourself.”

“I don’t think I want to become my old self either,” said Genji, unrolling his fingers from their fist, “But… I’m sorry. For both of those incidents.”

“I accept your apology. And… I’ll relay it to the physical therapist. They’ll be reassigned, most likely, but they’ll appreciate it,” said Mercy, “Though… I have to ask for your patience, because this indicates that we do need to be very careful in your recovery process.”

“Mmh…” Genji’s shoulders slumped. Wonderful. His stupid broken brain had just bought him several weeks worth of what could only be something more tedious than floating in a pool.

“I mean, on the bright side, you only got the one punch in, and from there it was mostly panicked flailing at being in the water with only one limb,” said Mercy, “At least you aren’t biting social workers.”

Genji snorted. “Did one of your patients actually do that?”

Mercy’s smile shrank and she glanced off awkwardly, “Um… yes. That was one of my patients,” 

Genji craned his neck slightly to study her expression. “Wait–Are you talking about yourse–”

“Oh look! The showers! The nurses can take it from here!” said Mercy, pausing in front of the showers of the physical therapy facilities. Almost on cue, several scrub-dressed nurses came out of the door opposite them. She cleared her throat, “I should–probably–” she gestured up and down at her wet clothes “Clean up. We’ll talk later,” she said walking off, briskly, wringing out the bottom of her labcoat in her hands.

His eyes trailed after her. Something had happened to her, too. Something before him. It hung around her thought processes and speech patterns as unmistakeable as a limp. The curiosity hung in his mind and it was only his lack of another arm that kept him from wheeling after her to ask.

She had jumped into the pool to help him even though he could have hurt her again. Was there hesitation on her end? A fear of pain? Or was the compulsion to help too strong?

Genji glanced at his hand, “…already wired,” he murmured to himself, watching the slight tense twitches of his fingers before the nurses wheeled him in to the showers.

[alphawave-writes]

Evil actions and good intentions chapter 12: Earthshine

Synopsis: The newly reformed Overwatch and its new recruits, Harold Winston and Sigma, 

Read it here on find it on AO3. You guys can find me on twitter or in my Sigma/Harold discord server. If you want to support me, buy me a ko-fi or commission a work from me

-

Harold never thought he’d be back here, but here he is, staring at the Xichang Satellite Launch Center again. It hasn’t changed all that much since the last time he saw it, back when he was to board Chang’e 50 to get back up to the moon. It gives him a strange sense of nostalgia as he watches this new, smaller spacecraft, aglow with a million lights, engineers and technicians preparing it for its flight. News crews are all here with their cameras pointing at the spacecraft, waiting on bated breath for the moment it launches up into the sky and disappears from sight. Everywhere Harold looks, everybody is talking about it. The world’s first lunar rescue mission. A race against time. A historic moment in the making.

And he has to go up there and literally steal the spacecraft for himself, the very man they think is trapped on the moon.

As people watch Hou Yi 1 get prepared, Harold sneaks in through the engineer side. He taps at his temple, briefly getting an x-ray glimpse at everybody else’s position. Genji and Symmetra are making their preparations at the side of the building while Tracer and Lucio are in the crowd, hiding in plain sight. Brigitte and Reinhardt and Lucio are waiting on the airship with Winston, ready to help in the charge if needed. That just leaves him and Siebren to find a way onto the spacecraft.

Harold tugs uncomfortably at the cap on his head. “I hate hats,” he grumbles.

“I know you don’t like hats, but you have to keep it together. We cannot afford to blow our cover now.”

For the purposes of infiltration, Siebren and Harold had to get disguises. For Harold, all it took was a change in his hairstyle, but for Siebren they had to go one step further. Apparently, Mei had a lot of fun putting make-up on Siebren, hiding his wrinkles and making him look younger. A cheap wig was considered, but it was ultimately decided that he looked less like himself with his bald head. Siebren, of course, had no idea how to respond to such a comment.

“Sigma, are you there?” Harold hears Winston’s voice crackle from his ear piece.

“Sigma, present and in position.”

“Good. Charon?”

Harold can’t help but smile a little. The codename is probably unnecessary, but he has to admit, he can see why Siebren’s so attached to his own. It’s another life to breathe beneath his skin. Another little mask to hide behind. “Charon here, with Sigma,” he said.

“Everybody is in position,” Winston says.” If all goes absolutely well, you might be able to get into the spacecraft without any trouble, but the chances of that are unlikely at best. Most likely, you will have to fight some guards off. We still don’t know what Talon has in store.”

“Talon has resources, but even they have difficulty in acquiring resources when it comes to space travel,” Siebren says. “I only rescued Har—Charon on their behalf because they managed to scrounge up the necessary parts for an abandoned spacecraft and secure a private air yard, and apparently that took well over a year’s worth of effort. I very much doubt they have the resources to get up to the moon by themselves. They need this mission to go smoothly.”

Winston hums in thought. “Symmetra, do you think Lucheng might have connections to Vishkar or Talon?”

“I cannot speak for Talon, but I can assure you that we have petitioned to collaborate with Lucheng Interstellar on numerous occasions, and each time we have been turned down. They have been unwilling to see the true potential of hard light in space colonization.”

“So the answer is no,” Winston says.

Satya lets out a quiet sigh before saying, “Correct. There are currently no ties between Lucheng and Vishkar. None that I am aware of.”

“Ladies and Gents, the show is starting,” Tracer announces. “Everybody ready? We gotta time this distraction perfectly, and then the show is on!”

All around him, men and women and omnics in identical uniforms do their final checks on Hou Yi 1. Each person is designated one specific thing on the spacecraft to double-check. Nobody seemed to glance twice at Harold or Siebren, to his relief. Disguising themselves as Vishkar guards was definitely a stroke of genius on his part, even if he has to force himself to wear a hat throughout the ordeal.

Harold’s eyes catch on the walkway above him, where the astronauts will enter. Through the ear pieces, Harold can hear a smattering of polite clapping. In the reflection of the glass, he can see Lucheng Interstellar’s presentation for himself, projecting through the news cameras. Within seconds he sees a projected portrait of his younger self. The CEO was speaking now, making some grand speech. Unlike last time, neither Moira nor Sanjay Korpal could be seen behind him. Instead, it was the small crew of astronauts chosen to pilot the space craft.

His eyesight still wasn’t that good even with the nanobots partially correcting his vision, but he could vaguely make out the astronauts’ faces. They were all young, wide-eyed Chinese men and women who looked like they’d rather be anywhere but at the press conference. It wasn’t too different from his own first mission up to the moon, nervous as hell, just waiting for everything to hurry up.

By Harold’s side, Siebren frowns deeply.

“What’s wrong?” Harold asks.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” he murmured. “Something is wrong.”

Harold is about to open his mouth to ask how, but then he heard a terrifying sound. It isthe noise of the universe, the gaping maw before the black hole threatening to swallow the world whole, the calm piano arpeggios before the storm. He stares at Siebren wide-eyed, lips tight in morbid understanding.

And then he hears the screams.

Behind him, he sees the omnic workers jolt and jitter, their eyes shining red in warning. They grab the workers and beat them up or throw them away. Siebren begins to float up, toeing away his shoes, hyperspheres forming in his hands before he flings them at the nearest omnic. Almost immediately, the omnics all turn not to Siebren but to Harold himself, red lights sparkling with resolution.

“Jade Hare…” they say in unison.

Harold takes the jet injector out from its hiding place, switches it on, and pulls the trigger. Bolts of lightning flash and flicker, zapping at all the omnics who dare come close, making them fall down one by one. With a grunt, Harold tosses his hat away and runs away before the cameras can pick up his face.

“Change of plans,” Harold calls into the communicator. “Omnics are on us. We have to break for the ship now.”

“We’re on our way,” Winston cries. “Everyone, they’re on the attack. Change to plan B: we have to hijack the spacecraft.”

“I should be able to hack into the computer systems from here, but I’ll need help,” Symmetra says.

“I will watch her back,” Genji says.

“People haven’t noticed yet, but the omnics are acting real fishy. Me and Lucio’ll cause a distraction, Tracer style,” Tracer says.

Harold almost doesn’t see the omnic rushing straight at him, but it explodes before his eyes with a well-placed volley by Siebren. His lips curl into a frown. “Pay attention,” Siebren says.

“I will, don’t worry,” Harold says.

As he runs, he shrugs the Vishkar uniform off to reveal the Overwatch uniform underneath. With a grunt, Harold connected the jet injector to his backpack, sighing when he felt the nanobots begin to activate, flowing out of his veins, into the backpack and filling the vial of the jet injector. Siebren shrugged his own uniform out, the heavier plates of his armour floating over his shoulders.

There’s a smaller contingent of omnic guards in front of them. They outnumber them, but Siebren summons a barrier in front of them to block the bullets. Harold runs forward, letting the lightning rip through their systems while Siebren launches volleys of hyperspheres as cover fire. When a bullet grazes Siebren’s armour and draws blood, Harold switches the mode of the jet injector and points the trigger at Siebren, a stream of nanobots healing Siebren’s wound in an instant.

When the final omnic guard falls to its knees, Harold’s earpiece crackles again. “We’re on-route to your position,” Winston cries.

“The press sure is loving us,” Tracer cries. The sounds of gunfire and more screams can faintly be heard. Some up-tempo nu-techno song is playing faintly in the background.

“The spotlight loves us as well,” Lucio laughs.

“Where do we go, champ?” Harold asks Winston.

“You’ll have to go to the main hall and backstage. The stairs up to the spacecraft is there.” The comms crackles off.

“Let’s hope this distraction goes as planned,” Siebren grumbles to himself. “This mission is ruined if people realise who you are.”

“They won’t,” Harold says as his eyes begin to glow gold. “I’m not the man I used to be.”

“No,” Siebren laughs. “You’ve got just the right amount of him.”

They enter the building and go through the winding hallways of the staff areas. It’s fortunately empty, apart from the few fleeing staff members, but they are too busy escaping to give them any heed. When they get to the end, Siebren uses his powers to shove the doors open. Harold stops in his tracks at the sight before him. Everybody has already fled, leaving only Tracer, Lucio, and their attackers. Reaper and Moira are here with an army of omnics supporting them, launching their own offensive. The giant screen that used to show Harold’s younger face now displays a very familiar sugar skull icon.

It’s a nightmare come true. Talon is here.

Tracer and Lucio are fast, trying their hardest to fight, but no matter how many hits they can dish out, it all gets healed up in an instance by Moira’s biotic orb or by Reaper’s abnormal healing. But Reaper and Moira are too slow in trying to fight them. It’s literally a battle of speed versus attrition.

“We have to help them,” Harold says.

“We can’t. We don’t have much time.”

Above their heads is a few smaller screens, each connected to a different news channel. On the corner of each of the screens is a countdown for the spacecraft’s imminent launch. One by one, the countdown decreases dramatically from one hour to ten minutes. On screen, the astronauts are hurriedly putting on their spacesuits, making their hasty final checks.

In front of him, Tracer and Lucio are slowing down, losing their speed. Reaper and Moira also look tired, but not nearly tired enough. Moira’s blackened hand reaches out for Lucio, sapping the life away from him. They’re distracted. He can slip past, get to the spacecraft, and finish the mission. This will all be for nothing if Harold doesn’t get on the spacecraft. But he also wants to help them. He sees Siebren’s jaw clench, the same thought going through his head.

“I’ll see you in hell,” Reaper growls, pointing a shotgun square at Lucio’s face.

The blast goes off but Lucio is still standing and alive. Siebren is in front of him, absorbing the energy round and dispersing them into dust. Harold quickly moves to join him, a small stream of nanobots healing Lucio before he flicks the gun back to attack mode as Tracer escorts Lucio out. In the corner of his eye he sees Siebren give a fleeting little smile before staring down his new foes. Harold does his best not to smile too wide.

“You two have been a real pain on my backside,” Reaper growls.

“Dr. Winston,” Moira sneers. “I shouldn’t be surprised you have picked an organization such as Overwatch to protect you, but I am surprised with you, Sigma. I thought you were more intelligent than that.”

“The purpose of my work was always to build a better future,” Siebren declares. “Giving myself up to this cause is not injudicious.”

“And you think you did not have a purpose with Talon? We saw who you really are, that is why we set you free. We’ve cultivated your mind, your abilities. Overwatch has undermined brilliance in the past, and they will do it again. It’s a place of stagnation, where great minds go to die. Do you honestly think a change of leaders will not bring up the same issues?”

Siebren doesn’t speak, the hyperspheres flickering slightly, growing darker. His lips dip for just a second.

“You don’t belong with them. You belong in a different environment, where you can grow without restriction, where no one can judge you for the way that you think.” She glances coldly at Harold. “Where you are not led astray by those who don’t know what your best interests truly are.”

Harold can hear the hitch in Siebren’s throat, quiet but unmistakable. He feels those ocean blue eyes upon his body, breaking down his body molecule by molecule, trying to find the nonexistent needle in the haystack. He doesn’t dare turn his head and give Siebren the benefit of the doubt. He can’t hesitate now. All he can do is keep his weapon trained on Reaper and Moira.

“Dr. Winston doesn’t speak because he knows it’s the truth,” Moira continues. “He’s using you. You just don’t realise it.”

“And you didn’t use me?” Siebren spits.

“Perhaps, but we never mislead you. We’ve always wanted to help you develop your research and your abilities.” Moira turns to Harold. “Can you say the same, Dr. Winston?”

“All you care about is what he can do, not the person himself. You don’t care about his well-being. You don’t care about how he feels about this violence.”

“You’re not answering the question,” Moira smirks. “Might as well be an admission of your guilt.”

“And let you twist my words even more?” Harold asks.

Harold turns his head just a bit only to find Siebren stare blankly in front of him. He’s glancing between Moira and Harold, eyes wide, a myriad of emotions flickering and scintillating. Then, they narrow, and those ocean blue eyes turn cold as ice. With a wave of his hand, he lowers the barrier and floats forward.

“Siebren?”

He does not react as he joins Reaper and Moira’s side, his head ducked in submission. Moira’s smile is wide, a curious mix between glee and cruelty. Siebren only spares a single knowing glance in Harold’s direction. Harold’s eyes widen.

“Perhaps we should restart your mental conditioning. For now, I’ll let you decide if you want to fight or not.”

“I think I will fight,” Siebren utters, his expression growing cruel, “but not for you!”

Siebren raises his hand and breaks the shackles of gravity, taking him and Reaper and Moira high in the air. He’s floating above them, the universe’s song playing for deaf ears, the back of his head glowing as he summons the hyperspheres into fruition. One hits Reaper in the side while the other barely misses Moira. Siebren grits his teeth as he slams their bodies down, but they both turn into mist just before they land. Siebren floats down to the ground beside Harold, summoning the barrier once again as a volley of shotgun pellets flies.

Moira tries to go forward, but electricity crackles from Harold’s jet injector, making her keep her distance. Reaper rushes forward, looking for an angle, but Siebren flickers the barrier in and out, tilting gravity to keep them away.

From the main entrance Harold hears the heavy thud of Reinhardt’s armoured footsteps approaching. Reaper turns to Moira, his voice tinged with annoyance. “We can’t stay.”

“Very well,” Moira huffs, and the two of them disappear in a cloud of smoke. Siebren tries to chase after them, but it’s far too late. They are gone without a trace. There’s no way they can catch them now.

Harold glances up at the countdown. Five minutes left. “We have to get to the spacecraft quick!”

Siebren grumbles to himself but nods sharply. He has stopped floating now, bare feet running on the floor as they head backstage and up the staircase. When they get to the top floor, the elevator next to them chimes. Winston, Genji, and Symmetra are there, rushing out behind them. There’s a new wave of Horizon guards in front of them, but together they cut them down to size easily.

“What’s the situation?” Harold asks.

“Reinhardt and Brigitte are at the front, distracting everybody,” Winston says. “Echo tried to hack into the spacecraft but she couldn’t. Athena tried as well and failed. We’ll have to launch it manually.”

“You know that’s impossible for Gen IV Lunar spacecrafts. I can’t fly it with Siebren alone.”

“That’s why I am coming along,” Winston says. “We’ll need all hands on deck.”

“You will require my assistance as well,” Symmetra adds. “I will not allow any more chaos or disruptions to this plan.”

“I’ll make sure no one gets into the spacecraft,” Genji says.

“But we need to get into the spacecraft ourselves and make sure they don’t activate the emergency kill switch from the control tower,” Harold says.

“Then we’ll just have to make sure we’re quick enough that they can’t activate it,” Siebren says.

They run through the hallway and into a giant room lined with glass windows. The astronauts are there, waving to the cameras but they stop in their tracks when they see them. They shout their orders in Mandarin, but Siebren curls his fingers and suspends them in the air like they’re ragdolls. They can’t do anything but speak, a litany of foul words escaping their mouths. “Bàoqiàn,” Harold smiles nervously as he rushes forward.

From the room he walks down the small runway to the spacecraft. In front of him he can see the interior of the spacecraft, which should lead up to the payload, where he can pilot with Siebren. For a moment, time is in slow motion as the lights of a thousand cameras flash onto him. As he turns his head to the glass walls, he sees his reflection staring back at him. Except it’s not really his reflection. There’s a trace of the man the public know as Harold Winston, but it’s overshadowed by someone else. A man he knows has been residing in his bones for decades. It is this man that is control, this hero that lives and breathes strength. The real Harold Winston.

He heads inside and makes his way to the payload area, getting into the front seat. The buttons and dials and switches are second nature to him, his hands moving fluidly as he gets everything prepared.

Outside he hears the sounds of a fight erupting, of bullets and blades dancing in a deadly ballet. Winston comes in soon, then Symmetra, taking their positions near the rear. Faintly, Harold hears Reinhardt’s sharp laugh of joy, and the unmistakable sound of a mace hitting a metal body.

“Where’s Sigma?” Winston asks.

Harold’s about to ask the same question when suddenly the controls all turn red. “Get him in here now! They’re already starting the emergency kill switch.”

“The guards have him trapped!” Symmetra calls. “We have to go now.”

“I literally can’t survive the trip without him. The G-force will kill me! We need him here!” Harold taps at his communicator. “Sig, you need to get yourself over here.”

“I’m…trying!” There’s a loud huff, as Siebren scrambles in, shutting the door behind him. There are rhythmic thumps as people try to hit and shoot at the door, but it remains stable. He quickly flies over to the seat next to Harold, strapping himself in. His fingers dance over the dashboard, his expression stoic in thought. “Engine temperatures?”

“We don’t have time,” Harold says. “We have to launch now before the emergency kill switch grounds us for good.”

Siebren begins to go through the motions, but is repeatedly stopped by a klaxon alarm. “It’s too late,” Siebren grumbles. “There’s nothing here that can stop it. We’ve failed.”

Just as Siebren says this, the red screen suddenly flickers in and out. In its place, a purple sugar skull appears. From Harold’s communicator, Harold hears a nasally, abrasive laugh. From the way Siebren jumps in his seat, it seems he’s the only one who can hear it.

“Ground Control to Major Tom. You really made the grade here.”

“Sombra?” Harold gasps.

“What? You thought I wouldn’t help you out? Shame, Dr. Winston, shame. Hey, can I call you Harold? Harry? I like the ring of Harry.”

The sugar skull symbol fades and the controls are back to normal. The roar of the engines is almost deafening. A computerized voice is counting down from twenty. Amidst the noise Harold laughs shrilly in relief.

“I’ll let you call me whatever you want if you can get us to the moon and back. I assume you want a favour after this?”

“Perhaps,” Sombra says, in a voice that made it very clear what her true intentions are, “but way later. You wanna pay me back now? Get back down alive and take some photos for me. Oh, and keep Sigma alive too.”

Harold turns to Siebren and smirks confidently. From his vantage point he can see everybody watches the spacecraft in morbid fascination. The countdown is ticking down. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.

“Ready to head back to the stars?” Siebren asks.

Five. Four. Three.

“You know what?” Harold says.

Two. One.

“I think I finally am.”

The spacecraft rattles and bobs. The engine gushes as it propels them upwards towards the sky. As they break through the atmosphere, the gravity engines kick in, the outer shell breaking away. As they get higher, the G-force gets almost overwhelming for Harold but he sees the plate behind Siebren’s head glow as he keeps the gravitational forces at bay. But even with Siebren’s help, it’s still a bit too much for his fragile body. He gets a glimpse of the Earth, wide and blue and glorious, and is able to give a weak smile before he falls unconscious.

When Harold finally wakes up, the spacecraft is already docking itself in Sector 06, right next to the Observatory. By his side, everybody else are preparing for their departure. He’s groggy, but it quickly fades away when he sees the Earth, once so near, now far away. Winston approaches him, nervous but trying his best not to appear it.

“We’re here,” he says.

Harold lets out a small smile as he grasps him tenderly on the shoulder. “No,” Harold replies. “We’re back home.”

They go through the standard decontamination process—Harold first, followed by Siebren, Symmetra, and finally Winston, who took the time to explain the process to her. The rooms are fortunately still sealed properly, as intel suggested. The number pad for many of the doors are malfunctioning and damaged, but the one to the Observatory still works. Harold places his hand on the scanner, and it opens with an audible swish.

Harold can’t help but gasp as he takes in the sight. It’s almost pristine, like it hasn’t changed at all. The Observatory doors are slightly open, the telescope facing directly at the Earth. While Winston shows Symmetra the telescope, Harold moves further ahead. Far on the other side, Harold’s office sits untouched, fake plants still green as ever, files in the same place he left them all these years ago. He walks over to his desk, his fingers catching on the framed photograph of himself and a baby Winston. His thumb trails over his younger face. He looked so innocent and naïve back then.

“I can’t even recognize myself,” he whispers.

“Harold?” Siebren asks.

He shakes his head lightly and places the photograph down. “Sorry. It’s just…it’s a lot. Being back here.”

“In a good way, or a bad way?”

“In a lot of different ways,” Harold utters. “This place was my home away from home, the stepping stone paving the way for the future of space travel. It’s tragic, seeing it all in ruins like this.”

“You are not the only one. I always thought this place was beautiful, and it still is, but it’s now so cold and empty. A husk of its former self.”

It’s more than that, Harold thinks, but if he says that out loud, Siebren will expect clarification, and Harold doesn’t think he can give Siebren clarification. He takes his old files and tucks them under his arm. The four of them meet up and they head out of the Observatory.

As they walk through the empty hallways, Harold can hear the faint noises of the apes and chimps, muttering behind closed doors. Outside the Observatory, he sees the extent of the rebellion’s destruction. Appliances in the Commissary are broken and rifled through, the peanut butter jars empty and smashed onto the ground. Furniture blocks many of the doors to the other sectors, while most of the personal rooms for the scientists have had their number pads smashed beyond repair.

He doesn’t know how to feel about seeing all this. He thought he was prepared, but it’s another thing altogether to see the gorilla paw prints on the door to Hammond’s room, schematics lying haphazardly on the floor. If he was any weaker than he was, he might cry, but he’s got a mission to complete and loved ones to support him. His hand reaches for Winston’s, squeezing softly.

“Where do we need to go?” Symmetra asks.

“The Hangar,” Harold says. “We need to shut down all the data and monitoring systems, so we need to get to the servers. From the Hangar, we can get there easily enough.”

“A little bit too late for that,” a voice says.

In the Training Facility, smiling cruelly, is a man that looks almost identical to Harold himself, but with some differences. Their clothes are the typical Horizon uniform with a lab coat on top, the sleeves rolled above their elbows—a complete contrast to Harold’s own Overwatch uniform. Their hair is in a similar haircut but slightly darker, giving a salt and pepper look. A rectangular pair of glasses framed the imposter’s face, no cybernetic implants or scars or tubes to wreak havoc over his skin. Even the eye colour was wrong, a dark blue rather than Harold's dark brown eyes. It’s like someone has used an age filter on a younger picture of Harold. This imposter is too clean, too perfect, but it's not an omnic or a robot. Only a human could ever smile like that, condescending and innocent all at the same time.

Harold doesn’t even hesitate raising his jet injector at the imposter, who immediately throws their hands up. He’s confused as to their weird actions, until he sees it. A camera, hidden in the corner of the room, red light blinking on and recording.

No, not just recording. Broadcasting. Thousands, if not millions, are probably watching this right now.

“Who are you?” Harold seethes.

The imposter smiles. “I’m Dr. Harold Winston,” he says, “and I believe you have been trying to steal my work, you imposter.”

Wide eyes fall on Harold's body but he ignores them all. He stares at his mirror image, an unspeakable rage clamming his throat shut, golden eyes staring down fake blue eyes.

[overwatchworks]

Unwelcome Meetings:

The gunslinger’s eyes locked on an old picture, worn at the edges, tape barely holding it to the wall. 

Winston’s agent completion ceremony with the old gang. Him, Genji, Reinhardt and Ana on one side. Angela, Lena, Torbjörn, and Jack on the other. Gabe facing away from the camera in the far corner. So much had changed.

There was a haze in the air, silence so quiet it was loud. Too loud. Jesse didn’t like it. He glanced at Genji, eyes partially hidden by his hat. The ninja’s lights were dimmed slightly by the dust around them, green casting a visible line through the air. Even through the mask, Jesse felt Genji’s gaze meet his own. 

It was all too familiar, this sense of unease, foreboding. Waiting in the shadows. 

Overwatch had sent Genji and Jesse to investigate an old Blackwatch hideout. The reasoning was obvious; they were the only two operatives that had specific knowledge on the place, Jesse especially. He had been there many times, the little building tucked into an unassuming corner of California, just inside Death Valley. Was one of the few Reyes trusted enough to take with him to check on things. 

Lots of dirty secrets were hidden in files there underground, stored in places Jesse had snuck in to back when he snooped around just a little to much. A file concerning the events in Rialto was what they were after. Sure, Overwatch had a copy, but they didn’t have the Blackwatch commander’s version of it. 

The one with the full truth. The version Jesse had heard only once from the commander himself, and never repeated to anyone. He wasn’t sure if he ever would.

“Come on, it’s this way.” Jesse murmured, tugging on the brim of his hat and continuing forward. Genji followed without a word. 

The ninja had been quieter than usual, contemplative. Jesse could say the same about himself. Blackwatch was a touchy subject for everyone. This mission they had been sent on rubbed Jesse the wrong way. Everything felt out of place. 

After a few more minutes of pensive silence, the two paused, sliding down to the lowest dip of a large dune. It went further into a canyon, evening sunlight filtering through the holes above them.

“You search left, I will go right.” Genji offered, cybernetic hands sliding over the sandstone carefully as he moved. The cowboy nodded, following the rock wall and stepping lightly. 

A flicker of light caught Jesse’s eye. Something had moved further in the canyon. Jesse set his hand on Peacekeeper in her holster, thumb circling the textured grip.

“Gen...”

“Here!”

Genji made a soft grunt as he twisted something on the ground, a handle popping up. He pulled on it, revealing a staircase that lit up as soon as he stepped down on it carefully.

“Welcome back, Agent Shimada.” A gentle voice greeted, Jesse joining Genji after sweeping the area once more.

“It can still read my biosignature...?” Genji murmured almost to himself, the gunslinger patting his shoulder as he passed and began walking down the staircase.

“Darlin’, our biosignature is in their databases forever. They ain’t forgetting who belongs to them.”

“Agent McCree, welcome.”

“Good to hear from you again, Eris.”

“Likewise.” The voice hummed. It was an AI model made before Athena, but it had almost the same capabilities. Programmed for Blackwatch instead of Overwatch. 

Holoscreens lit up the room the staircase led down to once Jesse stepped into it, head tilting at all the displays.

“Not much has changed.”

“I have kept everything in perfect condition as per request of Commander Reyes since the last transmission I received seven and a half years ago.” Eris informed them, Jesse’s jaw tightening.

“Yeah.”

“Is there anything I can help you find?” Eris continued when the cowboy said nothing else, Genji moving closer behind him.

“We need a physical file. Could you unlock the access panel to the vault for us?” Genji asked. Jesse went to a desk in the corner, sliding a hand through the dust.

“Of course. Give me just a moment.”

“Thank you, Eris.”

The gunslinger’s eyes locked on an old picture, worn at the edges, tape barely holding it to the wall. 

Winston’s agent completion ceremony with the old gang. Him, Genji, Reinhardt and Ana on one side. Angela, Lena, Torbjörn, and Jack on the other. Gabe facing away from the camera in the far corner. So much had changed.

Genji set his hands on the desk, leaning his weight into them.

“That was a good day. One of the fonder memories I have of that time.” Genji murmured, Jesse sighing.

“Yeah. It was nice.”

“Jesse...”

“I know. It’s just hard to look at it without thinkin’ of all the people we lost. And the ones we got back...They ain’t quite the same. Hell, we aren’t even the same.”

“Perhaps that is a good thing. Perhaps we needed a change.”

“Maybe.” Jesse shrugged noncommittally. Genji set his hand on the gunslinger’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“I have unlocked the vault.” Eris called. 

Jesse shook himself out of memories, focusing on the task at hand. He and Genji went to the far side of the room, a door opening for them. File cabinets lined the newly revealed area, smelling somewhat musty.

“Do you know where it could be?” Genji asked, clearly disgruntled at the many lines of cabinets.

“I know they’re sorted by dates, so...Guess we just start checkin’?”

“Ugh...I hate old school files...”

“Some of this stuff can’t be trusted on anythin’ but paper, yanno? It’s the only thing that can’t be hacked.”

“I know, but it makes our lives in this specific scenario we happen to be in a whole lot more difficult.”

“Where’s all that patience you learned up in Nepal?” Jesse teased with a laugh, Genji pulling open a drawer and sifting through it.

“I have plenty, when the work is not boring.” The ninja muttered, Jesse smiling and shaking his head. 

His fingers slid over manila tabs with scratchy writing of dates and names, none of which he needed. Another drawer was opened, another set of files giving him nothing. Genji sighed after about ten minutes, the sound of paper shifting accompanying it.

“These are mostly agent files and insignificant mission reports.”

“Then move on to the next ones.”

“I’m trying to find ours!” Genji huffed, tossing the files on top of the cabinet and bending at the waist to scan more.

“There ain’t nothin’ on those we don’t already know about each other.”

“I want to see my unedited medical reports.”

Jesse raised a brow, turning to Genji as the ninja tapped a drawer closed and opened another.

“You’ve never seen those?”

“Have you?”

“Well, no. There’s lots of black lines on all the medical reports, no matter what.”

“On Ziegler’s, yes. She is bound by Overwatch protocol, and I am not about to break into one of their vaults. I want to see if O’Deorain made any files.”

“O’Deorain ain’t one I’d trust.” Jesse grumbled, wrinkling his nose a bit. He’d always thought hiring her was a mistake.

“Maybe not, but I do not doubt her intellect. And, this is the only vault I’ll be seeing for a long time. Who knows what I could find.” Genji shrugged, flipping through some papers. Jesse pressed his lips into a line, going to a new cabinet.

“It’d be nice if we could actually find what we’re here for. All these damn files are startin’ to blend together on me.”

A hum from Genji was the only answer he got, the gunslinger blinking hard to keep his eyes from tiring too much. These jobs weren’t quite his specialty. Jesse scrunched up his lips, teeth absently gritting against one another instead of the cigar he usually had to chew on. 

His metal hand brushed over some labels, nearly missing one that was filed incorrectly, hidden by the one in front of it. The cowboy pulled it up, brows furrowing. It didn’t have a date, only a label.

Venice Incident.

Jesse opened the folder, eyes scanning over the documents. Media coverage, pictures, mission reports, the recorded interrogation of Reyes afterwards. A hand-written report was on the back of that one.

Log report 707,

Venice was a failure. Antonio eliminated. 

I should have thought through things first, but he was right. There was no point in taking him in, I knew that from the beginning. Killing Antonio was the only way to unequivocally remove him from the equation. I know Overwatch is only going to hear what it wants to, so I let them do just that. Didn’t bother defending myself, it wouldn’t have mattered. Things will inevitably get fixed, covered up, go back to normal. 

But what happens when they can’t do that anymore? What will they do then? Another massive cover up? Another ploy to lead things back to normal, to lull the world back into a false sense of peace? Jack can’t answer those questions yet, but I can. 

It’s going to have to end soon. We’re only making it worse by trying to clean up the world. It doesn’t need us anymore. The Omnic Crisis is over. But Talon will eventually rise, I can see it happening already. 

I have my doubts about the way things are going, the things I’m having to do for Blackwatch now. But what more can we do? What more can I do? The world is changing, and it’s going to leave Overwatch and the people involved in it behind. I only hope they can see it too, before it’s too late.

Jesse swallowed thickly, the paper shaking slightly in his hands. Reyes’ voice in his head, a distant memory; when he sat Jesse down in his office, telling him these same things, to leave while he could, before the whole thing fell apart. 

Echoes of the past.

“Genji, I found it.” Jesse managed to say, the ninja looking up sharply.

“You did?”

The gunslinger held up the folder, Genji setting his own aside and walking over.

“This is his account of the—”

“Agents, I am detecting a disturbance in the stairwell.” Eris suddenly interrupted. Jesse immediately drew his gun, Genji sinking into a lower stance.

“We were followed?! How?” The ninja hissed, hand on his wakazashi. 

Jesse cursed under his breath, taking whatever papers he could from the folder and tucking them into a spare ammunition pack on his belt.

“I had a feelin’ we weren’t alone...Just figured no one would know what the hell we were doin’. Hardly anyone knew about this place.” He muttered darkly, thumbing back the hammer of his revolver as he walked forward cautiously. 

Genji followed close behind him, silent save for the sleek sound of metal sliding into his fingers as his shruiken slipped into place. Something clattered in the main room, Jesse’s finger tightening minutely on the trigger.

“We know you’re there. Just come quietly, and we won’t shoot on sight.” He called.

“Agent McCree, I am not quite detecting any signs of life.” Eris alerted him, voice quieter, almost unsure.

“What do you mean, ‘not quite’?”

“It is...Not a biosignature I have been programmed to recognize. It is not even a true biosignature.”

“So what is it?” Genji growled, Jesse’s blood chilling at the twisted laugh that echoed around the room. 

A shadow-like fog drifted through the doorway, swirling behind Jesse and Genji both before solidifying into a shape. A mask. Bone-white and carved like a barn owl. The thing was draped in black, clawed hands forming and gripping two massive shotguns.

“I’ve been asking that same question for a long time.”

It had a scratchy, echoing voice, deeper and more guttural than any Jesse had heard before. He held Peacekeeper up, arm unwavering, eyes narrowing. He knew this creature.

“So, this is the Reaper.”

“Always so blunt, aren’t you, McCree.” It rumbled, Jesse’s lip curling.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know a whole lot more than you think. Now, I need a certain little file hidden in here, so get out, or I’ll kill you both.”

“We are not going anywhere! You are the one trespassing.” Genji snapped, wakizashi catching the light as he unsheathed it slightly.

“I said, leave.” Reaper repeated, shotguns raising to point right at their heads.

“We ain’t movin’. These files can’t get into Talon’s hands.”

There was a deep sigh like a rumbling growl, before the ear-shattering blast of the shotguns went off. Jesse dove to the side as Genji deflected, already moving around Reaper. The gunslinger went opposite of Genji, Reaper turning to follow his movements. 

Jesse reached for a flashbang, but the shotgun went off again, blowing it from his metal hand. It exploded, the flash making Jesse stumble, blinking rapidly as his ears rang. He vaguely heard another three shots go off, then a shout of pain. The cowboy shook his head as his vision came back, the outline of everything still just a little too bright. 

He raised his gun, then froze as he saw where Genji was. Hands gripping Reaper’s wrist, those claws tightening around his neck, holding him off the ground. Reaper’s free hand was holding a shotgun towards Jesse.

“Let him go!” Jesse seethed, that laugh echoing softer, more sinister.

“You have the same tricks you always had, Shimada. Too predictable. You both are.” Reaper murmured, grip tightening on Genji. It forced a choked sound from him, fingers scrabbling at Reaper’s arm.

“Let him go, or I swear to god I’ll put a bullet through that fucking mask.”

“Oh? And risk me shooting him?” Reaper cackled, turning the shotgun to press against Genji’s stomach. Jesse lowered his arm slightly.

“Jesse, just—Go!” Genji grit out, the gunslinger’s glare never leaving Reaper’s mask.

“I ain’t leavin’ you, ever. What do you want, Reaper? I’ll let you have it if you let him go.”

“I just needed access to this vault, it doesn’t work for me anymore. Funnily enough, I also heard about two special ex-Blackwatch operatives that had been sent to do just that.” Reaper sneered. Jesse’s eyes flicked to Genji, his struggles weakening.

“‘Anymore’? The hell are you talkin’ about?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I thought I taught you better than this, ingrate.”

Jesse’s brow slackened, cotton filling his ears as laughter filled the room, his arm falling back to his side. It should have been obvious. The mannerisms, the fighting style, the way of speech. Jesse knew them all too well, just didn’t want to believe it.

“Gabe...?” He whispered, eyes wide, feeling vulnerable in a way he hadn’t since he was seventeen, tied up by Blackwatch in Deadlock Gorge.

“Not anymore.” Reaper growled, finger tightening on his shotgun. The blast was louder than all the others to Jesse’s ears, a spray of red mixed with black splattering on the ground, Genji joining it as he was dropped. 

The gunslinger could only watch, time not moving the way it was supposed to. Reaper walked towards him, Jesse unable to see anything but how he had the same stride as Gabe. How he held his shotgun the same as it leveled with the cowboy’s face again.

“Last chance. Take Shimada and leave. Don’t try anything sneaky, or he’ll bleed out before you can get him back to your base in time.”

Jesse stared up at him, the blank mask, the barrel of the shotgun. He nodded numbly. Following orders, just like he used to. Body moving on autopilot while his mind was still stuck in the past. 

Jesse went to Genji, picking him up with an arm around his waist, the other keeping Genji’s arm over his shoulder. He could hear the ninja’s voice, but the words escaped him. Only the slightly robotic hum as he left the bunker.

“We need evac, now.”

His own voice this time, calm and quiet. Jesse didn’t recognize it.

“Copy that, drop ship is inbound. ETA five minutes.”

“Jesse.”

He blinked slowly, staring straight ahead as he trudged up the sand dune.

“Jesse, wait.”

So much like Deadlock Gorge. 

Jesse stopped, breathing unevenly. Genji placed a hand on his chest, visor tilted up at him.

“Are you okay...?” The ninja asked softly. Far to concerned about him considering his own state. 

Jesse’s eyes dropped to the sand at his feet, the way the grains shifted over his boots with the faint breeze. His vision swam.

“I...Don’t know.”

-

Just a graze. That’s what Dr. Ziegler had said, just a graze. The healing should have gone faster, but the wounds lingered. No one knew why. Genji was confined to bed, though, he was able to at least stay in his own. Jesse hardly left his side. 

Neither spoke of what had happened at the end of their meeting with Reaper, not yet. Jesse wasn’t ready, and Genji stayed quiet for his sake. It had been two days. Jesse had closed himself off, keeping his thoughts and feelings hidden, clutched to his chest. Fragile. 

The ninja was laying in bed, a bored look on his face as he stared at the ceiling. All his armour was off, just the smooth synth skin and bits of metal that couldn’t be removed left. Jesse’s fingers traced over the scars on his right arm absently, eyes not really focused on anything in particular.

“Jesse, we should talk about this.” Genji suddenly spoke up. His voice was gentle, but firm at the same time. Jesse knew the tone, the one that meant he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He sighed quietly.

“I know...”

“You’ve hardly said a word to me since we got back.”

“I know.”

“So talk to me. It doesn’t have to be everything, but you need to let those thoughts out. I want to help.”

“I know!” Jesse snapped, closing his eyes and taking a little breath before softening.

“I-I know, darlin’.”

Genji sat up with a slight wince, turning to face Jesse, legs crossing. He took the cowboy’s hands in his own, thumbs rubbing little circles over the backs of them.

“You are not alone anymore, Jesse. I am here for you.”

That simple promise cracked the foundations of the wall Jesse had put up, making it all too easy to topple. Tears slid down his cheeks, unbidden, his hands shaking in Genji’s grasp. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts, his sharp inhale too loud in the otherwise silent room.

“Gen...It was him. I-It was Gabe. He’s alive, he’s still out there—!” Jesse’s voice cut off with a choked sound, Genji squeezing his hands. Waiting patiently. Jesse was thankful for it.

“I thought...We all thought he’d died. They—We lost so many...But him, of all people. Reaper. He’s Reaper. Has been this whole time, Gen, he’s with fucking Talon! I never thought—He would never. Gabe was...”

“He was the best man I ever knew, why has he turned into this...Wraith? A murderer. A traitor, of all things! I don’t understand what happened to him! There’s so much I regret not doing for him, and now, seeing that he’s alive, that he’s workin’ against us...” Jesse trailed off, wiping his eyes quickly. 

The swirl of emotion inside him was too thick to make much sense of. He truly didn’t know how to feel. Sorrow, maybe? Betrayal, yes, there was some of that. Hurt. An odd sense of relief. Fear, even.

“I was not as close to him as you were, but I know that is not the man we knew. Whatever happened to him, it changed him. He is Reaper now, and we must treat him like that. An enemy. He wants to kill us.”

“He didn’t, though. He had us both in point blank range, but he didn’t shoot.”

“I’m pretty sure he shot me, Jess.” Genji frowned, gesturing to his stomach, still wrapped in bandages.

“No, I mean, he didn’t shoot to kill. If he wanted us dead, we would have been dead. He took us both out like that,” Jesse snapped his fingers to illustrate, brows furrowing.

“But he didn’t kill us.”

“It’s not him, Jesse.”

“He let us go! He recognized us—”

“Jesse.”

Genji’s hands went to Jesse’s shoulders, dark eyes steeped in gold boring into his own.

“That is not Reyes. Reyes died in that explosion, and Reaper is what crawled from the remains.”

Jesse looked away, lips pressing together tightly. He knew Genji was right, but there was a part of him that wanted to believe Reyes was still there. A part of him that still dared to hope. 

Genji’s brows furrowed, reading the gunslinger’s eyes.

“Not believing it will only hurt you more in the end. And I am tired of seeing you hurting. You deserve to heal, to be content.” Genji told him, pressing a kiss to Jesse’s fingers, stubble scratching them lightly. 

The cowboy cupped Genji’s cheek, leaning in to press their foreheads together.

“I just wish things had been different...”

“As do I. But lamenting about the past will not help the future.”

“Yeah...Where’d you get all this wisdom?”

Genji smiled softly, humming.

“Mm, Zenyatta truly works wonders.”

Jesse chuckled quietly, pressing a kiss to Genji’s lips. The cowboy then let his head sink to Genji’s shoulder, resting in the crook of his neck. Genji toyed with his hair with one hand, the other still holding Jesse’s in his lap, fingers laced.

It was quiet for a few minutes, Jesse’s thoughts not a complete jumble for the first time since Reaper revealed himself. There was still a pressing matter, though.

“We need to tell the team.” He mumbled, Genji’s hand halting its movement.

“Yes, we do. But I want you to just rest tonight, Jesse. We can figure that out tomorrow.”

Jesse nodded. Genji leaned back, taking them both down to the mattress, Jesse careful of his wounds. He was tired, and the next day was sure to be another difficult one. 

But for tonight, Jesse felt he could rest a little easier.

~~

[castellankurze]

FSF: Someone (or multiple someones?) takes a bubble bath.

fanfic for Completely Normal RPG, run by @lordcaliginous.  Also tagging @mystictheurge and @tamsynspeaks as per what is now standard procedure.

Takes place sometime in the month of December.

A Completely Normal Week

Monday

The motorcycle’s engine throbbed as its rider took the final turn into the driveway and slowed to a stop.  Shouko dismounted and unlocked the carport before walking the bike inside, pulling her helmet and hanging it off one of the handlebars.  The interior of the carport was a disaster, with her mom’s car tucked snugly up against the left side where it had accumulated a fine layer of dust while the rest of the available area was full of tools and spare parts.  Some had been left behind by her father, and Shouko had added to the motley collection over the years until the back wall of the carport was hardly accessible, but it wasn’t like they ever used the decorations stored back there.

“Hi mom, I’m home,” she announced as she stepped through the front door, tossing her keys into the nearby basket with a jingle.  The Kogawa household was a snug, two-story place with a pair of bedrooms and a bathroom on the upper level with everything else downstairs, and the only response to the girl’s voice was the slow churning of the ceiling fan she’d left on last night.

Once she’d stripped off her riding leathers, Shouko settled down at the table in the family room to do her homework.  This consisted of a block of time lasting no more than one solid hour, subjects broken up by use of an egg timer.  Over the years she’d gotten pretty good at judging how to mostly finish any given piece of homework in the time allotted, and if she was off, well, partial credit was better than none.  She answered questions as fast as she drove her bike, though with considerably more guesswork.  'You could be an A-rank student if you wanted it,’ more than one of her teachers had groused at her.  Shouko had come up with any number of excuses over time, but by and large as long as she maintained a D most had learned to live and let live.

At the conclusion of her hour, Shouko packed away her school stuff and left it by the door, there to be grabbed tomorrow morning.  That done, she ran upstairs to change her clothes into a set of gym shorts and a plain white shirt, stuffing her earbuds in her ears before heading off to the treadmill.

Most of Shouko’s teachers had guessed at her athletic ability, but those who dismissed the girl as a slacker would have been shocked to see the utter concentration on her face as she sprinted at top speed on her mother’s treadmill, a dumbbell clutched in each hand, stopping only for the occasional drink of water.  There once was a time when she would have been soaked with sweat at the end of the workout, but an hour’s run nowadays was little more than maintenance.

When all was said and done Shouko retired to her bedroom, a cavern of rebellious rock music and video game posters from both Japan and America and a battlestation that looked like something that might have been ripped from a NASA installation.  Shouko spent her stipends on two things: her bike, and her computer.  Lately Saika had been a third, but both longstanding habits were things that that she’d dove into headfirst until she could take apart either and put them both back together blindfolded.

“Oh great, a Genji,” someone complained almost as soon as she’d locked her Overwatch character in.  "Nice match everyone, better luck next time.“  Thirty-nine kills and two deaths later Shouko wished everyone a nice day.  Quickplay was so damn stupid, and on the next match she chose Roadhog just to mix it up.  Someone else whined about multiple tanks and Shouko rolled her eyes.  60% of team damage taken.  It wasn’t her fault nobody else could find the point.

"I’m going back to TF2,” she growled aloud, grabbing for her pack of cigs.  Of late she’d taped a warning to the front in black capital letters: TWO A DAY.  Miyumi always got squirrely when she lit up and Saika always winced.  Since she couldn’t avoid the former and felt bad about the latter she’d been cutting down.  Given her life lately, it wasn’t like she was gonna live long enough to die of cancer.

She showered and collapsed in bed, lit by the soft red glow of her electronics.

Tuesday

The motorcycle thrummed and growled as she cut the engine and stowed it.

“Hi mom, I’m home.”  The keys jingled as they landed in the basket.

An hour for homework.  She finished all of it this time.

Today was arm day, and Shouko spent her workout hour doing curls and lifts while Netflix ran some anime she barely payed attention to.

“Hey Eowyn,” someone said as soon as she logged into FFXIV.  "Can you craft me a thing?“

"Sure.”

Ten mintues later.  "hey are you up for a Castrum Abania run"

“Patch is in like three weeks,” she said with a bit of a sigh in meatspace.

“ya but I really want that sword for glamour plate its ok if you dont wanna go”

“It’s fine I can blow it up with you.”

“thx youre the best blm”

“Hey, Eowyn.”  She blinked.  That last one had been a whisper instead of guild chat.

“What��s up?”

“I just wanted to say, you don’t seem yourself lately,” her guildmaster said.  "Just wanted to check and make sure you’re alright.“

"Yeah I’m good.  Just been super busy with all the schoolwork lately.”

“I know the feeling.  Are you gonna be full-time again in January?”

Shouko frowned.  "I’ll try.“

"Just take care of yourself.  Game comes after real life.”

“:) I will.”

She showered and slept a little fitfully that night.

Wednesday

A series of whispers alerted her to the attention of several classmates glancing her way.  "Hey, Shouko, can you…“ one of them asked with a blush, curling one arm.

With a grin, she pulled up her sleeve and flexed, to a flutter of giggles.  Shouko was never gonna be as strong as Erika, but her daily regimen was having noticeable effects, like leaving her look cut as hell.  She was probably down to 15% body fat by now, looking lean and mean.

"Hey, Shouko?” Saika asked at the end of the day.  "Would you like to do something Saturday?“

"Sure,” she said, hefting her bike helmet and making sure Saika clipped the spare’s chinstrap in place.  "What did you have in mind?“

"Nothing much, just…dinner somewhere?”

Shouko turned the ignition and revved the throttle.  "Sounds great.“

After she dropped Saika off she made for the gym, where she could get the type of workout that wasn’t so easy at home.  Balance beam, rings, parallel bars - it all came back as easily as breathing.  Shouko could spin rings around any of the other girls there.  When she wanted to, she could sprint down the balance beam and leap to the vault and from there catch herself on the rings in a split-second one-two-three move that sometimes provoked gasps from newbies.

As little as three years ago, Shouko had been doing this kind of thing pretty much daily.  She wondered, sometimes, what her old teammates were up to these days.  She didn’t wonder enough to come in on any day but Wednesday, thought sometimes it was extremely tempting to show up jsut to show the lot of them what she could pull off nowadays.  She’d never been a Simone Biles, and probably never would be - in fact now that it crossed her mind she wondered if Simone had had an awakening of her own? - but she could have thrashed the regionals nowadays.  Funny how things worked out.

She swam a few laps in the pool to cool down and showered before heading home.

"Hi mom.”  Jingle.

An hour for homework.

She played a little Mortal Kombat and crushed some jackass who made fun of her tag.

Thursday

The Honda thrummed as she pulled into the drive.

“Hi mom.”  Jingle.

Her phone buzzed while she was doing her homework and she didn’t bother looking up until she was done.

“Hi Shouko, they asked me to visit our office in Melbourne while I’m down here, so I’ll be hopping a plane tomorrow.  I’ll be a few more days.  Have my phone if you need me.  Love you!” read her mom’s text.

Shouko stared at it for a minute and texted back “k lu2

Her feet slapped hard against the treadmill.  She needed to replace the damn thing when nobody was looking.  She was getting to the point where she really needed a higher top speed.

Her Star Wars RPG group canceled again, so instead of playing her Jedi she just spent some more time in CoD blowing holes in people while Fullmetal Alchemist played in the background.

“How are you even watching that,” someone complained in voice chat at one point.

“Listen,” she growled around a cigarette, “don’t hate because Olivier Mira Armstrong has my back.”

He responded with an insinuation that technically wasn’t wrong, but still got him blown to smithereens several times before he finally ragequit.

Shouko stayed up until almost three in the morning before she slumped into bed.

Friday

“A 99.  Excellent as always, Ms. Aratani,” the teacher said as she handed out papers.  Shouko could see the way Miyumi’s lip trembled as she took the proffered test like it was about to bite her hand off.

“87.  Good step up, Shouko,” the teacher said when she reached her.

“Thanks,” she said as she took the paper.

“I mean it,” the woman said, leaning closer.  "When you put your mind to a subject you really show your potential.“

Shouko was silent as the teacher moved on.  "Thanks,” she grumbled under her breath.  The paper crinkled as her hand crushed it.

“Um…excuse me, Kogawa?” the voice caught her as she was walking to her bike.

“Yo?” she said, turning with a blink of her eyes to see a semi-familiar face.  One of the girls who’d been looking at her the other day.

“Do you mind if I ask you for a piece of advice?”

Shouko blinked again.  "Uh?“

"It’s just…you and Saika…”  The girl was blushing hard.  "How did you.  Um?“

Shouko couldn’t help a chuckle, and she pulled out her customary after-school cig and lit it with a snap of flame from her dagger.  The girl didn’t even double-take.  Normal people saw what they expected to see.  Shouko didn’t even bother carrying her lighter anymore.  "Look.  You want my advice?  Just go talk to her,” she said as she straddled her bike and pulled out her favorite wraparound shades.  "Life’s too fucking short and we gotta make time with the people we got before we get left in the dust, you know what I mean?“

"Um…I guess?” the other girl said, rubbing her cheek.

“Trust me.  Jump on it,” she said before she revved the throttle.

“Hi mom.”  Jingle.

She did her homework so fast her handwriting looked like the fevered sprinting of a deranged chicken.

Her fingertips ached with so many push-ups.

She ended up mostly just browsing the net that night and went to bed.

Saturday

She came out of the bathroom that morning to the sound of her phone buzzing insistently.

“Saika?!” she asked sharply, heart racing.

In the little mirror on the opposite wall, she could see the way her own face dropped.

“Oh.  Hi dad.”

She did the math.  It was eight in Hitachinaka, which meant it was ten in Ontario.  PM.

“It’s super late.  You should get some sleep.  The plant won’t want their engineer showing up super tired.  No, not her, I haven’t seen her in months.  Saika’s nice.  Yeah, bike’s running great.  School’s fine.  Mom’s in Australia now, they called her down from Jakarta.  I’m fine.  Dad, I dropped gymnastics like two years ago.  Yeah, tell Karen I said hi.  Maybe in a year.  Yeah.  Bye.  …love you too.”She threw the phone against the pillow and did her daily run outdoors.  It was cold as hell and overcast besides, but sweatpants and a sweatshirt were all she needed with the way her heart was pumping.

She was gone two hours.  When she got back she had a missed call and another text.  Saika.

“Hi Shouko, I’m sorry but I don’t think I can go out tonight.   I think I must have eaten something bad. x.X  I feel like crap.  Call me when you can.”

“Want me to bring over some soup?” she asked when the phone picked up.

“No,” said a mewling voice.  "I just want to curl up under ten blankets.“

"I’m sorry,” Shouko said.

“No, I’m sorry.  I don’t want to leave you hanging.  Promise we’ll make it up, k?”

“You know it.  Get some rest.  L-  …later.”

She looked at herself in the mirror.

The flame daggers hissed as they glanced off Shizuka’s katana.  Shouko was fast, but the Eventide rep was more experienced and fast as hell for her own part.  The open field was about the only place where the pair of them - any of the girls - could really throw down and get a workout in the most important manner.  Dojo masters tended to take it bad if you blew up a wall.

“Your concentration is bad today,” Shizuka observed when they finally broke in the late afternoon.

“Yeah.  Hey, Shizuka, got a question for you,” she said around the butt of a cigarette.  Typical for her, Shizuka didn’t reply verbally, but only raised an eyebrow.  “You ever heard of anyone who stayed friends if one went Eventide and one went Radiant?”

Shizuka glowered.

“Didn’t think so." 

The Honda chugged as she parked it in one of the narrow bike-only, and she didn’t bother taking off her leathers since it wasn’t like she was going mallratting.  She stopped off at the pharmacy and bought some soda, some beer, some chocolate, and some soap.

"Rough day?” the attendant asked in a sympathetic tone.  She barely even glanced at Shouko’s ID.

“Uh huh,” she confirmed.  In the parking lot, she slid the candy bar she’d palmed out of her jacket sleeve and munched it.

Once home, she dumped the soap in the tub and ran hot water until the foam threatened to spill over.  Then she lit a cigarette and slipped in, groaning slightly as it almost scalded her.  She let her phone play American synthwave until the battery ran low and the water was cold and she was prune-fingered.

She looked at the battlestation and threw herself into bed, wrapped around her spare pillow.  The wind blew hard that night.

Sunday

Two hours for homework instead of one.  Weekends.

There was no meeting of the study group this week and so the day was uneventful, except for one instant when she was flipping channels and there was a news report on the ongoing decommissioning of Fukushima which caused her to mash the power button.  Natural disasters were not something she wanted to think about right now.

She ordered pizza and spent the evening playing Brutal Doom and listening to Rage Against the Machine.

Tomorrow was a brand new week.

[asynca]

Raptoramaker- Pharah watches Amelie (preTalon) dancing ballet

You got it! (partially inspired by THIS video, which you should definitely watch for amazing and subtexty dancing)

It my mother who pressuredme to go along. “It’ll be good for you, habibti,”she told me, licking her thumb and threatening to try and clean something offmy cheek with it, despite the fact I was twenty-fouryears old. I managed to wrestle her arm away. She huffed at me. “Fine, suityourself! Go along to a nice concert hall with a big glob of whatever-that-ison your face,” she said, waving her hand at me. “Just wear something nice,okay? That white shirt, that’s nice. Or, if you can’t wear that, at least a bagover your head so people don’t say, ‘There’s Ana’s girl, what on earth is she wearing?’”

Seriously… “No one’s goingto say that, mum, it’ll be dark. No one will be looking at me.”

“Everyone will belooking at you. Everyone’s always looking at you, you’re my girl. Just dress up, alright? Alright! That’s enough. I’ve hadenough. Go, off you go. I need to look at the plans the commander gave usbefore I go to sleep. And make sure you get those big ugly boots off your feet,okay? You’re not at training!” She shooed me away and went upstairs.

I stood in the kitchen,listening to her foot on each step and her big yawn at the top.

Well.

I couldn’t just not go, could I? I mean, Icould, I supposed. She wouldn’t know if I didn—I groaned, of course she’d know. She always knew. If I didn’t go, I’d never hear the end of it. I’dhardly heard the end of it anyway: Améliethis. Amélie that. Amélie’s in Egypt this season, can you believe it? That girlis doing so well. You could learn a thing or two from her habibti, why don’tyou show her around while she’s here…?

I didn’t have anythingagainst Amélie, honestly. I hardly knew her. Gérard, her new husband and mum’scolleague from Overwatch, had been around to our place a few times over theyears and seemed nice enough, and they’d invited us to the wedding, but I’dbeen deployed at the time.

I just felt like therewas just no point, you know? I mean—ballet?Since when had I ever shown any interest in something like that?

I hadn’t, and that wasthe point. Maybe if I had, it would be ‘Fareeha this’ and ‘Fareeha that’instead…

I sighed at length. Okay,well. I supposed I should get dressed.

I wore the white shirtmum liked and the heels she liked, too—I hated them, honestly—but compromisedby wearing a suit over them both. Unfortunately, with the heels on I arrived atthe concert hall to find myself towering over just about everyone, and so Iwent outside and pretended to make a phone call while I was waiting for thebell for us to take out seats.

There were so many coupleshere, all dressed up. Bare shoulders without the muscles I normally on base. Men with coifed beards and ladies with slender necks and perfecthair. Everyone was dressed in intricate, delicate clothes that all looked sofragile. It was a whole world away from the army base in Cairo. Even standingsome distance from them, I felt like I stood out—well, I supposed technically I was standing out…

Half-groaning internally at my own joke, I followed the crowds ofpeople inside and let the usher lead me to my seat, sitting for what I assumed would be themost boring two-and-a-half-hours of my life.

It was, for the firstfew minutes. The set was beautiful enough, and the lights were beautiful, too.I wasn’t really interested in that sort of thing, though. The male leads werealso clearly very good dancers, I supposed—again, not interested—and it wasn’tuntil the music built in crescendo and the lights dimmed and the spotlight felldirectly on someone that—

Amélie. In the centre ofthe spotlight, dressed in a red dress with black lace… her beautiful longhair not in a bun like I’d expected but down around her body—falling from herhead down towards the floor as she extended one arm to the ceiling in abeautiful line. She was prettier in real life that she’d been in the photo mumgave me to recognise her so I could meet her afterwards, much prettier. Beautiful, in fact. Red lips, darkeyes. And—honestly—she lit up the stage.

It took me severalseconds to realise the audience was clapping her appearance—that’s how famousshe was, everyone was clapping that she was on stage. Glancing aroundself-consciously just in case people had noticed I wasn’t, I started clapping,too.

In character, shepretended not to notice us, but waited for the clapping to die down before she beganto dance.

I didn’t know anythingabout ballet. I didn’t know what a good jump and a bad jump were, and ifsomeone had asked me to describe what she was doing, I’m not sure I could. Butshe moved across the stage with the grace of flying bird, her hair coilingaround her body and falling from her arms when she extended them. It was partof her as she danced—part of her dance, too. It was beautiful, otherworldly,and well—she was beautiful. Beautiful to me in more than just an aesthetic way,actually.

I hadn’t expected that:I generally liked athletic woman, and it had never occurred to me a ‘soft’ballet dancer could be at all interesting to me.

I was wrong—there wasnothing soft about her. She had muscles under that dress. Not like mine, but they were there all the same. She was strong, agile. Beautiful in way that was both powerfuland gentle at once. She could throw her body so high up in the air with eachjump that I could only imagine the sort of training that went into those moves—andwith every move, she was fluid and graceful.

I admired it, and found myself actually watchingthe performance—or, more precisely, watching her perform. It was almost a shame when it was over and I had to goaround to the stage door to collect her.

I’ll admit it: I wasdisappointed to remember she had a husband, because I think I might haveenjoyed ‘showing her around Cairo afterwards’ a great deal more if she hadn’t.I realised I was probably going to enjoy it a great deal more than I wasexpecting, anyway.

[fractalvisionary-blog]

Memories

(( Hi there! It’s been forever since I posted, it’s three in the morning, and here’s some angsty Reaper shit because I love to Suffer))

((I may do a part two if y’all like this, so feel free to tell me if you think I should continue this mess or not))

How long had it been?

How long had it been since he had been comfortable? Felt like he was actually stable enough to pick something up? Gabriel didn’t know. Everything was a haze. Memories had a tendency to bleed together when your brain didn’t seem to stay in tact for more than a few minutes at a time. 

The Reaper often had a hard time remembering who he had once been. Beyond snatches of blue eyes, fragments of yelling at someone, and an annoyance he could never be rid of, but never hated... It was emotions mostly, things tied to situations but never the context to match them with. He couldn’t put together anything coherent enough to call a backstory. 

Once he had known what he was doing, at the beginning of everything he had been sharp, dangerous as any other vengeful wraith. 

At least, that was what Talon told him. 

He hadn’t always been such a fucking mess, he hadn’t always had to ask what his name had once been. But according to the scientists that seemed to constantly hover about him, he was fading. His mind was becoming more and more scrambled as time went on. He no longer felt anger, he no longer remembered why he had become part of Talon, only that it was important. 

And he guessed that it was important, it kept him rooted in Talon anyways. He had long since stopped fighting, stopped ignoring orders or making snarky retorts to things he was told to do. Widowmaker, the woman who worked beside him most of the time had told him this, more than once. But once again, he couldn’t remember.

A faint sense of familiarity was usually all he had. Whether he was listening to Sombra and Widowmaker bicker about something, or the smell of sand and hot air... Sometimes things had him wondering where he’d experienced something similar. Sure he didn’t need to breathe, but sometimes he found himself inhaling just for the sake of some scent that caught his attention, air rattling around in his useless lungs before he would give up. 

Often times he didn’t have any sort of time to connect the fragments, to let the coalesce into something he could recognize. They remained a frustrating jumble that he couldn’t understand, like the tangles of wires he often saw Sombra picking at or messing with. 

It was the air again. The heat blazing against his jacket, the sand getting caught in everything, Gabriel could feel it getting caught everywhere. Something about it scratched at the back of his mind, it definitely wasn’t the first time he’d been stuck in the heat with something to do. The weird part was that there was no urgency in whatever he was ‘remembering’. It was just, calm. Which was an odd change from what he usually dealt with. 

“Where the hell did you go anciano?” Sombra’s voice came over the coms, snapping Reaper out of his muddled thoughts as he let out a displeased growl. 

“Get off my back, shut your mouth, and do something useful.” Reaper hissed out, he felt part of his face melt away into smoke as soon as he was finished. His comment earned a stifled laugh, it seemed almost patronizing. As it was, he tuned Sombra out, instead focusing on the mission at hand. 

Overwatch had been poking around again, showing a bit more and more to the eye of the public. Something about the name elicited disgust and betrayal from Reaper. Why? He couldn’t be sure, but he was going to follow what his superiors told him and actually get some shit done. 

“I’ve got a visual on Overwatch.” He had found a place lurking in the shadows. He melted into them once he had spoke. Letting his physical form go was getting distressingly easy. The wraith didn’t think about it though, instead focusing on the group that had come into view. They hadn’t caught sight of the Talon operatives yet, but Gabriel knew that he and the other two would be hard to shake. 

His gaze found one person in particular, one that seemed to stand out from the others. Mostly because the guy actually seemed to blend into the scene, softer colors and the hat to match. The rest stood out horribly against the background of the heat and sand. 

The Talon agent was about to make a move of some variety when he saw one of the Overwatch members move quickly. Within a second a bow had come up, an arrow had been loosed, and the team scattered. He heard a sound of discomfort over the coms before a thick french accent met his ears. 

“We’ve been spotted.” Widow’s tone was laced with disgust, and Reaper let out an equally disgusted scoff as he materialized once more. 

“Next time find a better place to lurk, if we loose them because of you-” Reaper was cut off by the click of someone cocking a gun right behind him. The wraith didn’t have much to fear, but the fact that someone had managed to get behind him with a weapon without him noticing in the slightest... It bothered him. 

“Either drop your weapons or I shoot you.” The voice behind him was cold, gruff, and for some reason it had Reaper frowning, trying to retrieve a memory that hovered just out of his grasp. 

“I said drop ‘em, last chance scumbag.” The man behind the Reaper growled out. The wraith let his shotguns clatter from his hands. It wasn’t like he was unarmed, but he was sure whoever had snuck up on him had no idea about that. 

He turned slowly, leather creaking as he moved. Reaper needed to actually see who had taken him by surprise. 

When he turned fully, he froze. 

At first he didn’t know why, it was just the man he had taken note of earlier. But as a moment slipped by, A name flashed through his mind. 

Jesse

He didn’t know what the significance was. His brows knitting together in a scowl as he struggled for the memory that still kept slipping away. Sure the guy was pointing a revolver directly at his face, but Reaper had priorities, and anything that could give him any clue as to who he once was... That was far more valuable to him than any mission. He needed to know he had a life before Talon. Otherwise he was starting to wonder more and more if they had created him. And as much as it made more sense to him over time, he didn’t want it to be true. Some desperate part of him clung to the hope that he may have once been human. 

“C’mon boss, you can’t be that determined to work yourself to death.”

The laugh flitted through his thoughts like some sort of wild thing. For some reason the comment nobody had directed at him at that moment had him stifling an exasperated huff. Reaper recoiled a bit though, something told him that what was bubbling to the surface of his mind had everything to do with the man that stood directly in front of him.

“Who the hell are you?” It was a low hiss from behind his mask. A plume of black smoke went with it. His brain argued that he knew already, and he was just asking a stupid question. That was absurd, he didn’t know McCree at all. 

Hold on, where had that come from?

Reaper was having some sort of mental fucking whiplash, his mind racing as red irises bore into the man he faced down. He hadn’t made any move for his shotguns, and the other man still hadn’t dropped his weapon, but they hadn’t killed each other yet, so there was that at least. 

Someone was talking to him over his coms as he watched Jesse. He had decided that was probably the other man’s name. It was the name that kept ricocheting around in his mind after all, so something about that had to be important. 

“I could ask you the same thing, who’s behind the mask? Who’s this big bad Reaper everyone’s been talkin’ ‘bout.” Jesse muttered, advancing a couple of steps on the leather clad figure as Reaper frowned. 

“Head’s up, big bad commander Morrison is gonna have another hissyfit. I’d bet Peacekepper he’ll come lookin’ for you to remind you I’m a shitty teenager.”

A low laugh rumbled in his chest as he watched a lanky young man drop into one of the chairs in front of his desk, hat falling low on his brow as he slung long legs over the arm of the chair.

Reaper shook himself a bit. That was... an actual memory. It wasn’t just incoherent emotions tossed into the abstract hell that his mind had become over the years. 

“Jesse?”

He hadn’t meant to speak at all. Hell, any other time and he would have already pulled a gun and blasted this guy’s skull open. But something stopped him. Something in his mind screamed not to hurt the other man, hell, all of his instincts told him to protect the fucker that had a gun pointed directly at his face. 

The man faltered at the name though, confusion flittering across his face as he shifted his grip on the weapon, before it was pulled right back up again, eyes narrowing under the brim of his hat. It was the same hat Reaper remembered. But that wasn’t right... Jesse was some scrawny kid, not, this...

Wait how did he know that?

“Yeah, you know my name, big fuckin’ whoop.” The other man snapped, squaring his shoulders as he glared Reaper down fearlessly. 

Reaper caught the glint of metal out of the corner of his eye, gaze drifting down to the other man’s free hand. It was a prosthetic, metal catching the light that filtered down between the buildings. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, just keep talking to me kid, we’re going to get you out of here.” Panic clutched at his chest. He needed to make sure Jesse was safe. The young man’s blood stained his shirt from where his arm had been ripped off by the explosion. 

“It ain’t worth it Gabe.” Jesse’s voice was a slurred mumble against Gabriel’s sleeve, his eyes were dazed, unfocused and glassy. 

“You’re going to be fine, don’t talk like that.” Gabriel snapped, desperation clawed at him, reminding him of the building that had come down partially on their heads, was there even a way out?

Jesse

It hit him like a hammer to the gut. Memories seemed to blind him for a moment. The kid that had stuck to his side like an overenthusiastic burr. The one he had taken in, cared for. He had dried Jesse’s tears, been there when the young man needed him, he’d been a mentor, a father, for the kid who would have been dead in a ditch by the time he was twenty. 

He knew this guy, he knew the person standing in front of him better than he had known himself at one point. 

“It’s a shame you don’t recognize me, cabròn.” There was an urge to hug the other man, pull his idiot cowboy close to his chest just for the sake of the closeness he remembered. Remembered being the astonishing thing there. He actually remembered this guy, he remembered the relationship they had once had, long nights spent pouring over paperwork with Jesse snoozing away in his lap. He recalled long nights spent with Jesse’s face in his shoulder when Jesse had nightmares about his family. 

The Spanish felt natural falling from his lips. It was his first language after all. Which he was only remembering at the moment. He had all sorts of little nicknames for Jesse, and a lot of them were Spanish. He even remembered teaching Jesse a few little things, phrases and whatnot. 

The other man seemed absolutely disarmed by the comment, blinking in surprise and scowling deeply as he glared Reaper down. 

“What’n the hell’re you blathering ‘bout?” He was still stubborn, still not backing down, even as Gabriel took a step forward, he didn’t have to be afraid of Jesse. He hadn’t been afraid of the other man in the first place, but he was especially unafraid at that point. 

Without thinking, Gabriel raised a hand to his face. The metal of his gauntlet caught against the edges of his mask before he peeled the skull from his face. He never took the mask off outside the Talon base, he wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to. The taller man let the mask drop to the ground, red irises locking with shocked brown. Jesse recoiled violently, nearly dropping Peacekeeper as his wide eyes fixed on the wraith. 

“Gabriel?”

[ghostmartyr]

Fic: Float On

Fandom: Overwatch Title: Float On Author: Immi Rating: PG Summary: Finding privacy in a largely abandoned facility is not a hard thing to do. Fortunately, keeping it continues to present a challenge. Notes: Sequel to this. Slash continuation, since this is going to be a series. Because why not. Pure gen.

(Yay Star Wars.)

Stalking through hallways in the dead of night was not an unusual activity for Genji. In both his lifetimes, there had always been a use for befriending the shadows. The work of a ninja did not invite brightness simply because he happened to glow now. It was one of the many constants that his master had taught him to dwell upon. The man he was had been remade, but the simple pleasures they shared were not as lost as they seemed.

Such as the freedom of walking through the catacombs of Gibraltar without a host of frightened agents staring at him—or actively not. He was glad for the convenience, and continued to be glad as he hurried into the abandoned conference room he was seeking and gently closed the door behind him.

The room shared in the emptiness that shrouded the rest of the base. He was alone.

He located the spot on the floor with the best vantage points, and eased into his meditation stance. A quiet mind would do him good for this.

He slid back the mobile cover of his forearm and twirled the screwdriver he had acquired with enough artistry that it could almost look familiar in his hand.

So much would be simpler if that were only the case.

As a boy, he had never given his equipment much thought. His training had captivated him only as long as the lessons lasted, and most of his skills had been honed through sneaking out of his bedroom to visit the arcade (“The eyesore,” their father repeatedly called it). Long talks of honor and pride and the importance of their gifts could stay with Hanzo. His shuriken and blades would always catch his eye, but as for their sheathes, his concern was limited. That was what servants were for.

That mindset could not stay once he found himself embroiled in the training’s true purpose. His tools were his life, and sloppy maintenance could mean his head.

Those talks were practical enough, and they stuck.

His solution to his shuriken holder jamming was still, more often than not, to pester their armory into giving him a new one. They had resources; no one else having the sense to take advantage of them wasn’t any problem of his.

When that left him hiding in an abandoned conference room with a screwdriver and a prayer because his casual relationship with material goods that truly mattered had put a hard limit on his ability to repair his own arm—

That, as with many of the things he had once dismissed, was a problem of his.

He had learned his new body well in the past ten years, keeping up with regular maintenance checks even in isolation. A refusal to allow anyone else to see him at his most vulnerable had taught him many things that Hanzo’s lecturing tone could not. He was now one with his equipment. He would replace what he could when necessary, but he would have to know how to care for his self.

In most cases, he would admit to rousing success.

The mechanism responsible for reloading his shuriken continued to defy him.

A simple enough thing, built on technology far more outdated than the rest of him, it was a near copy of what he had used in his youth, with the only difference being that it was part of him. His armory raiding strategies were now rendered largely useless unless he had a pressing desire to approach his new fellows and request their aid.

He did not.

He was fully capable of understanding his own arm, and with such a simple thing, identifying the problem came easily. Despite spending most of its time protected by his exoskeleton, dirt and other inconvenient particles did make their way in, and if they were sizable enough, a jam was inevitable.

A simple problem with a simple fix. Remove the blockage, and clean out any debris that remained. Preferably with the shuriken taken out first. He had, several times, found the end of his task by simply willing that function of his arm to exert enough force to break through the obstruction.

When that failed, the simple fix became slightly more extensive. His hands, perfectly versed in any number of dexterous challenges, had fingers of a size that refused to ease between the delicate gap of the reloading mechanism with any grace. Having more than one to work with was his master’s kind suggestion.

Maybe, in a different place, at a different time, that would be an option that didn’t make his heart recoil. Today, he was where his superiors might have sat when they’d seen his rage for a weapon.

Zenyatta’s influence had banished the impulse to hate them for that, but the sensitivity caught fast.

Genji twisted the screwdriver carefully around inside his arm, searching for the spot of complete neural numbness that would always lead him to the problem. All it should take was nudging the clump of sand—that was most likely, given his recent wandering—out, or into smaller pieces, and—

And nothing, evidently.

The screech of metal jarred his senses, and his automatic retreat had no effect on the screwdriver that was now standing erect in his forearm.

One of Genji’s other lessons from the past ten years was that he was a very poor mechanic.

An earlier one, ingrained in any bone that presumed to make up his vessel, said that noises like that nearly always brought an otherwise successful mission to a brutal end, and his body obediently tensed, waiting for the ensuing catastrophe.

But no one was lurking in the dark underbelly of the new Overwatch to hear his mechanical failures.

Genji took a calming breath, more for the mental benefits than any need, and slipped his eyes closed. His free hand fell into position over his chest, and murmurs of his master’s instruction echoed in his mind as he released his stress.

There was still much to be found in this place. Serenity did not trap him easily. It was only a healthy amount of stubbornness that helped the reverse along for brief instants.

He breathed steadily, feeling the beat of his original heart, and the soft sting of his remaining skin; and the easy, resolute power that wound through all that was new, and still worked to keep him alive.

Peace returned. The spot of numbness in his arm faded to an irrelevant background.

He would have stayed in that still, contented world as long as it had him if his senses didn’t catch the end of his isolation stepping down the hallway.

Genji blinked himself back. Quickly as he could, he squashed whatever surprise had worked its way into his body language. He was coming to know those footsteps very well; the silence was attracted to them, much in the same way it shadowed Hanzo. The quiet embraced them both so easily. What they never seemed to realize was how clearly that made them stand out next to it.

Especially to Genji’s hearing.

He had no reason to believe the younger Captain Amari was aware of his running tally of times they had successfully snuck up on each other. Nonetheless, he thought to himself—back straight, head cocked expectantly, and eyes on the opening door—he was sure that it bothered her that he was winning.

He supposed he had Hanzo to thank for keeping the broad grin on his soul hidden. When Captain Amari walked through the door, thoroughly lost in whatever she was reading on her phone, he had a full second of free observation before her head snapped up and she made eye contact.

The shock only lasted a fraction of that, but he saw it.

Point Genji.

Then he caught the wobble of the screwdriver protruding from his arm, and Captain Amari’s sauntering gaze over to it, and reconsidered the scoring distribution.

Captain Amari, without a twitch betraying the delight that she was stealing out from under him, took one look at him and his partially dismantled arm, pocketed her phone, and said, with all the security that came from the world crafting her for moments like these, “Need a hand?”

He had his suspicions that this woman could deny the union of awkwardness and silence through sheer force of rhetorical enjoyment.

He took advantage of that to stray from an immediate answer. Much like the sunrise last month, when his interruption had transformed it into a shared experience, and their multiple encounters since then, her offer was presented in a way that felt removed from the social pressures that had defined too much of his previous life at Overwatch. He lingered on the tattoo under her eye. This was an honest choice, and his to make.

Never mind that she was throwing it to him after walking in on him in one of the most secluded areas of the base. Some would consider the choice made from that alone.

And it had resulted in him sitting, alone, in a dark, abandoned conference room, with a screwdriver sticking out of his arm.

A standard beginning for his exploits in personal growth, Master would say.

Captain Amari, through long practice or quirk of personality, said nothing, and it was a relief.

“Yes,” he arrived at. “But I can make do with yours.”

The captain lit up. Not in her face—too much time letting orders rule your life stole that away—but in the lightness in her shoulders, and in the steps she took before joining him on the floor. Helping made her soul sing, and brought his back to an even pitch.

“Jammed?” she asked.

“Very.”

She took a closer look, her breath misting his hand. He could see her eyes darting about with surprising precision, the lack of light hardly any obstacle at all. “I don’t like sand,” she murmured. “It’s coarse and rough and irritating, and it gets everywhere.”

A flash to a history Genji had never wanted came to mind vividly, and curiosity propelled him forward.

“You’ve seen those movies?”

“All fourteen,” Captain Amari said promptly. She examined the stuck screwdriver for a moment before grabbing hold. “You?”

There were ways, Genji had learned, to speak of his experiences without making his listener so appalled that they chose to forego all acquaintanceship. With Captain Amari, he was unsure if he chose not to use them because they were exhausting, or if he trusted the burgeoning kinship they were finding together.

“I reached the episode where the brothers-in-arms attempted to murder one another, and one was left for dead to become a cybernetic monstrosity.” He paused. “I chose to stop watching.”

That remained the civilized way of terming how his hospital-issued remote had found itself making impact with the projector set at the foot of his bed.

It had been the day before he would be medically cleared to respond to Overwatch’s interrogations. In truthful terms, the day before he officially chose to burn his family’s empire to the ground for what they had taken from him. The hospital’s entertainment system had not helped his feelings on the matter. Neither had the multitude of unkind words he shouted at Angela when she rushed into the ward to investigate the crash.

He was no longer that man. He would never stop being grateful for that gift.

“Out for movie night then,” Fareeha said, bringing him back.

“That would be preferred.”

He waited for a follow-up, but she just nodded, taking the screwdriver and gently easing it out to the slow sound of grating metal. Genji stayed focused on keeping as much of the arm relaxed as he could while she worked.

It was surprisingly easy.

Not at all what he had been bracing himself for when he chose to come down here.

Some healing, his master once told him, was like that. The harm of trusting a pattern to repeat could become a self-fulfilling prophecy, and once removed, so too would be the damage. It only took the courage to try a new path.

Genji had been fortunate. Most of the courage that saved him was owed to others.

He watched the casual tension in his friend’s arms as she assisted with his, the traces of scar tissue over her steady fingers reflecting his light. He had seen similar marks covering Torbjörn’s hands years ago. As well as last week. The rougher calluses of mechanical craftsmanship.

“I avoided asking for help,” he said. Out loud, for once. “In many things, but with this in particular. I didn’t wish to remind anyone that some things are still a transition.”

Captain Amari deftly prodded the screwdriver back in, managing to hit the exact spot his awkward attempts had aimed for. He heard something loosen before he felt it. Small grains of sand rolled down the insides of his arm, and she reached in and flicked several of them to the floor.

“My mother,” she said, in the tone of someone who would be beginning stories this way until the day she died, “walked into a wall yesterday. She then pretended it was intentional.” She hesitated, catching his eye. The glimmer of a smile in her voice left. “Before I came in here, I tried to call my former captain about using some of our old Helix gear.” She dusted more sand out of Genji’s arm. “He’s dead.”

She manipulated the screwdriver with another twist before the statement could linger, and sensation came back to Genji’s arm as a large clump popped free and skittered across the degraded carpet. They were making a mess. Judging by the dust content of the room, it wasn’t one that would be attended to quickly without their further involvement.

Genji pulled back his freed arm and pumped the reload mechanism through its paces several times under his friend’s careful eye. It worked smoothly. He would make sure to be especially careful cleaning it when he returned to his quarters.

“I am repaired,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” Captain Amari stood up, making to leave him alone again.

A respectful sentiment.

“…Did it work?”

She turned back, eyebrow cocked in question.

“Your mother’s tactic,” he clarified, rising to his feet.

Captain Amari scoffed, grinning at him. “Have you met my mother?”

“Of course it worked,” they said together.

[mysteriousdreaming]

A Little Fall Of Rain [11/?]

[  Jamison is dying. Years of living in a radiation twisted hellscape have finally taken their toll, just as things where starting to get better. But among all the chaos that comes with secretly dying while trying to help save the world, he wasn’t supposed to fall in love with the order loving Vishkar agent. He wasn’t supposed to find a reason to live. ]

[Previous] [ Next ] [ Ao3 ]

I'm back from the war, and hell was it a battle.

I've been to Iceland, revised for my mock exams, DONE my mock exams and celebrated Christmas and the new year since the last chapter.

Sorry this chapter took so long (3 months i think D:), life and writers block have caused me hell, but no matter what this fic isn't being abandoned so don't worry! I hope the chapter was worth the wait, and i have some nice things planed for symmrat week too ;)

“So I guess that's it really! I'm looking forward to working with all of you!” Hana smiled finishing her speech and making her back to her seat. 

She was sat beside Junkrat and Roadhog, something that had surprised everyone at the start of the briefing especially the lanky junker himself. When Junkrat had asked her why she was sitting next to him, she had just shrugged and grinned, saying he was the only person she knew and he seemed nice.

He had learnt a little more about Hana from the brief. She was 19 years old, but despite her age she was already fighting in the South Korean army against a large omic that terrorised her home. He’d considered that fairly normal until she had gone on to say how she was a ‘pro StarCraft player’ (and upcoming movie star) who, like many other korean ‘professional gamers’, had been selected to pilot a mech due to her fast reflexes.

Even after the best nights sleep he’d had in ages, he was still tired from the night before. Although not a shattered as he could have been if Mercy hadn’t helped him. When he had woken up to hog shouting at him to ‘get of his lazy arse’ the searing pain had dulled down to a far more manageable dull ache, and for once he even felt slightly refreshed. Slightly.

Winston had started off on a long and boring drawl about the next mission , and Junkrat felt his attention slipping away from the large monkey as he began to look around the room. If there was one thing he hated more than anything working here, it was the dam briefs. Sure, organisation was ‘key for a mission’ and all that shit, but fucking hell it was boring and he struggled to remember most of what was actually said when the mission finally came around sometimes a week or so later. It just seemed pointless really, especially since they always seemed to have 'update brief’ the day or night before. He wouldn't be surprised if the meetings were only for appearances, to give the team a sense of organization and unity. It would be just as easy to give a brief in the common room, but the room with a big table and lots of chairs made the whole thing feel very professional and suit-ish. If that was the reason for doing the long, boring sessions then maybe they weren't that bad in the long run. But it didn't mean they were any more enjoyable.

As his eyes darted around the room uninterested in the specifics of the next mission and any plans that didn't involve him, he noticed something, or rather the lack of something; He couldn't see Symmetra anywhere. It was unlike her to be late for a brief, or even not the first person there, and the fact she wasn't there at all strangely and annoyingly worried him. It wasn't like it really affected the mission whether she was here or not right this second, she would still get all the information she needed from Winston anyway sooner or later and that's all he should care about. But with her need for order and organisation and rules it was uncomfortably uncharacteristic. He didn't know why, but he couldn't help but be concerned about what could be up with her. The woman lived and breathed business and schedules, so missing something like this was a big deal. It just didn't sit right with him.

Roadhog seemed to notice something was up, and elbowed him roughly in the side breaking him out of his thoughts. “Whats up?”

“Symm ain’t here,” he mumbled only partially paying attention to his large friend and having another look around the room incase he had somehow missed her. “And you know what suits are like, they dont miss shit like this.”

“So you're worried?” The large junker huffed, sounding unimpressed.

“What? No, why would I be worried about a suit? Just being nosey that's all” The lanky junker shrugged almost sheepishly, sliding back in his chair and not fooling his bodyguard with his bluff.

Roadhog gave him long stare before turning his own attention back to the meeting, while Junkrat went back to twiddling his thumbs and picking the paint on his prosthetic hand, scowling at the flaky orange acrylic like a small child. Why was he concerned? It wasn't like he didn't have his own bigger problems to worry about (not that he wanted to think about that too long) and apart from Mercy he still didn't trust, or even like, most of the team enough to to worry about silly stuff like this.

So why was Symmetra different?

She hadn't exactly been nice to him during his time at overwatch so far, calling him a savage was probably best example of this, but at the same time she had helped him out with his leg when he needed it most. Hell, he still couldn't wrap his head around the fact she didn't want anything in return for the beautifully crafted bolt that now shimmered with every step he took.  Back home no one did anything for anyone out of the goodness of their heart, ‘cept the occasional kind soul who would help out the ragged children that lived almost in packs in the town. If someone did you a 'good turn’, you had to pay em back one way or another if you didn't want a knife in your back.

He thought suits would be the same, just as evil but with less actual stabbing, and his and Hog’s experience in Sydney seemed to confirm that. But despite her stuck up nature, for some reason Symm didn't seem like the suits he had met in the past. Even her calling him a savage, while extremely harsh and fucking rude, was somewhat (annoyingly) understandable. Even Mercy who was arguably the kindest and most understanding member of the recall team, gave the two junkers a strange look when they first arrived at the watchpoint covered in weeks worth of soot and grime and with enough firepower between them for a small army. With shit like that he couldn't really blame her. Symm had probably known luxury her whole life, or the very least the things he considered luxury; Hot food, running water a nice clean bed you can feel safe in at the end of the day. People seemed to forget that he sometimes found ‘civilized’ folks as strange as they found him.

Maybe it was just because he had spent so much time around her. Long silent hours sitting in the workshop together may have made him learn more about other people than he realised. He’d never been good in social situations. Not as a kid, not as lanky, pesky, teen and especially not as an adult. Sharing the workshop with two cranky builders really forced him to learn when to stop. If one of them snapped at him the whole mood of the workshop changed to something a lot more sour and uncomfortable, so he had started to try and find ways to keep his energy under control. Humming had gotten annoying fast, and so had tapping the table while he was thinking, so he had begun to bounce his leg a lot more frequently than normal. It helped, but wasn't very satisfying.

A large hand clamped own on his shoulder scaring the shit out of him, shaking him out of his thoughts and making him almost fall out of his chair. His reaction was met with a bubbly giggle from next to him, which was surprisingly joined by a hoarse, throaty laugh from his other side. He saw mercy walking away from near them and narrowed his eyes at Roadhog. The two better not have been speaking about more shit behind his back.

“Lost in ya own little world Ratboy?” Hana playfully teased, still bent over laughing and oblivious to his glare “Come on, brief is over, it’s time for breakfast and I’m starving!”

Junkrat opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again and gave her a puzzled look, his attention taken away from whatever Mercy and Roadhog were talking about“Ratboy?”

“Yes! It’s your new nickname!”

“What, like old pig face over here?”

She winced rubbing the back of her head with a wary smile. “...That seems more like an insult to me…” He could tell by the look on her face that while she may have been open to him, Roadhog was still rather intimidating. He didn’t blame her. The guy was huge, carried around a hook almost as big as her and had a pig mask covering his face.

He wasn't really a vision of comfort.

“Nah, You don’t mind, do you Hog?” He cupped a hand around the side of his mouth and turned to her with a mock whisper that realy wasn’t much quieter than his actual whisper “He’s a big softie really, not as big and scary when he’s knitting by the fire.”

The large junker let out an angry snort and just glared from behind his mask at his boss who completely ignored the lingering stare, making Hana burst into another fit of laughter while Junkrat stood with a silly lopsided grin plastered on his face. He always loved it when he managed to make people laugh. It brought back foggy, but good, memories of his old life. Of his mother, with her soft face and kind eyes that crinkled when she laughed at his silly antics. With some of the memories he had of his old life he couldn't tell whether they were real, or just remnants of nights spent wishing to be normal as a kid. But these memories were different. They were just so real they had to be true.

He nearly fell off his pegleg when Hana suddenly grabbed his wrist and began to pull him towards the mess hall and away from his thoughts, starling him for a second time.

“Come on! I haven't eaten since i got here last night, I’ll just eat you if you don’t hurry up.”

He was pretty hungry for once, and his appetite was coming back. Maybe breakfast was a good idea after all.

Symmetra looked as battered and ragged as she felt. Her hair was was a frizzy and slightly matted mess, and she had no energy to do her makeup, making the dark marks under her eyes very noticeable. She was absolutely exhausted. All through the night she had been suffering from a phantom pain that smothered the end of her arm. It had kept her awake most of the night rolling uncomfortably in her bed. She had even tried to get up and use the time wisely by working, and although it had managed to distract her from the pain in her arm it had meant she never got round to sleeping, until about five in the morning when she passed out on her desk, her head using the pile of papers in front of her as a pillow. Dropping off so late meant that she completely and hopelessly overslept. Her alarm had broken meaning she had woken up at ten, a time that would be severely punished back at Vishkar. What made it even worse was the amount of missed calls on her phone from Lena. There had been a breif she had missed, and she was mortified.

After throwing on her uniform in a mad hurry, with only just enough time to make sure it looked presentable, she dashed as fast as she could down to the mess hall where breakfast was unfortunately in full swing. She got a bowl of plain cereal, not wanting to make her lateness any more obvious, and sat down by Mei who was busy talking to Angela . As much as she preferred privacy and keeping to herself, she always felt a lot more comfortable in a social situation if she was next to someone she knew, sitting quite happily on the sidelines. She was fine to just sit in silence as the two women talked about the meeting she had missed. That was another thing she would have gotten in a lot of trouble for back at vishkar. Missing a meeting, even a small, insignificant one, would often result in disciplinary action. She would have to try and remember to apologize dearly to Winston for her absence. The gorilla was not as harsh as her superiors back at vishkar, but he still may be annoyed at her for missing what sounded extremely important.

She let out a small sigh and tried to rub more sleep out of her eyes and clear the cobwebs from her brain, focusing on the cereal in front of her. It was bland and boring. She had forgotten to add any fruit or even sugar and the cornflakes were slowly melting into a horrible mushy mass the longer she left them. Her weary attention drifted to her prosthetic arm with its sleek white design and complex parts. She was lucky it was semi-permanently attached to her or she would have forgotten it in her rush to get ready. It had been created to be as comfortable as possible, with synthetic nerves so delicate that she would sometimes forget that it wasn't real. Of course, not being able to remove her arm without specialist tools did have some down sides (she could remember numerous times where she had been harshly woken in the middle of the night by cold metal pressed against her cheek), but even with the few set backs she would take Vishkar’s technology over a primitive prosthetic like Junkrat’s anyday.

Not that his prosthetic didn't impress her, quite the opposite, it almost infuriated her how he could create not just his arm but also his leg from only scrap and odd tools. It seemed like he could just pick up any scrap and make it into an invention, bomb or some other piece of equipment; His talent was completely his own and he was extremely talented. It had been on her mind ever since she had looked at his notebook. The mad chaos of his creatively allowed him to do things and come up with ideas that, in her mind, should not be possible with just old parts. He could make an old tire and a car engine into an annoyingly efficient weapon. No matter what she did she knew part of her skills were due to the technology she had in her hand, any idea she had relied on Vishkar to become a reality. Her blessing was also her curse in a way. If she wanted to create something, she was bound almost completely by the limits of hard light technology. Without them what was she? The little girl picking tourists pockets in the slums of India? The thought disgusted her. That life was long gone and she didn't need think about it. She was a civilised business woman at the top of a respectable company. She wasn't a criminal like the Junkers.

Thinking of the two mad australians she looked up from her disappointing breakfast and over to where they were sitting. They were at their usual seat right at the back of the large mess hall and as far from zenyatta and genji as they could get, preferring to keep their distance from anyone else in general. It was such an odd group. A lanky arsonist with flaming hair, a larger than life man in a leather pig mask and a small korean girl…

Wait what?

She suddenly snapped out of her sleepy state and her eyes locked onto the girl with a bewildered expression on her face. Who the heck was that? Something about her did seem mildly familiar, like they may have met at a gala or passed in the street, but she defiantly hadn’t seen her here before. Mei seemed to notice her confusion and gave her a light tap on the shoulder, getting her attention.

“You’ve finally noticed the new recruit then.” She smiled with a slight laugh “She’s called Hana Song, she introduced herself in the briefing this morning.” the scientist took a small bite of her pancake before continuing “Where were you this morning anyway?”

Symmetra absentmindedly moved her fingers over to where her prosthetic conecte to her arm, stroking the divide between smother metal and warm skin and remembering the pain that still lingered. Even though most of it had dissipated there was still a small twinge of ache left there from the night before. “I was doing some late night work and simply lost track of the time. My alarm breaking did not help and it seemed i missed quite a few calls from Lena aswell.” she paused, messing nervously with the complex panels “ Do you think winston will be disappointed? It was very unprofessional of me to miss a meeting this important.”

Mercy gave her a soft and reassuring smile “Well he may be a little grumpy, but he always has been when he’s stressed. He won't be too fussed as long as you go to him and get what you need on the mission.” She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear and looked over to where Hana was sitting “You may want to introduce yourself too. I think you and Hana will get along quite well”

She gave them both a nod, making the decision to abandon her disappointing breakfast. It was barely touched anyway, and she wasn't really that hungry. She got up out of her seat and walked over to the table were the odd group was sitting, trying to avoid looking at a Junkrat who was looking more excitable the closer she got. With the way he was rapidly jiggling his leg she was sure he would fly out of his seat like some bizarre cartoon character any minute.

“Ay! Metra! You’r looking lovely this morning!” With his comment she remembered how much of a mess she must have looked and was about to give him a glare when she realised how genuine his smile and comment was. Instead of trying to be sarcastic it seemed like he was trying to be genuinely kind to her. Sure, it was probably because he noticed how much of a state she looked, but he wasn't taking it as an opportunity for a joke at her expense. And she was oddly grateful.

“Good morning, I heard we had a new member to our team. Sorry i missed the meeting this morning, I overslept.” She turned to Hana and held out her hand “I’m am Satya Vaswani, it’s a pleasure to be working with you in the near future”

The young woman seemed a little taken back at the formality but quickly took her and and shook it enthusiastically. “Pleasure to meet you too! I'm Hana Song!”

“She is amazing Metra!” Junkrat piped up, barely audible with most of a pancake shoved in his mouth, sticky syrup running down his chin. “She's a mecka pilot, movie star and a professional gamer.” She couldn’t help but cringe when he used the back of his hand to wipe the golden mess away. It was taking every fiber of her being not to lean over the table with a napkin and sort the issue out properly.

She turned her attention back to Hana, trying to ignore the walking disaster. “You play videogames for a living? That's….interesting” she noticed Hana's smile faltered a little and felt a slight twinge of guilt “It must be fun doing something you love as a job.”

“Oh its awesome! Fighting in my mech can be fun too, but also scary, you never know when people are going to get hurt. But sometimes that’s what it takes to make things safer.”

Her words struck symmetra a little. ‘you never know when people are going to get hurt. But sometimes that’s what it takes to make things safer’

Those words she had heard many times from Sanjay in one form or another when talking about what had happened in Rio de Janeiro. He told her the lives that had been lost and ruined there were, while sad, necessary sacrifices for them to bring order to the slums. He had to be telling the truth, but since they had been driven out of the city the citizens seemed to be getting on alright by themselves. Had they done the right thing by interfering? So many people had got hurt but things were just as they were before. If they hadn't have gotten involved maybe that little girl wouldn't have been scarred for life. The thought made it feel like someone was twisting a knife in her stomach.

Roadhog almost seemed to notice her being uncomfortable and tried to change the subject “Where were you?” He grumbled, lifting his mask just enough to take a sip of tea from a small cup.

“When?”

Junkrat grinned “This morning, for the meeting, ain’t like you to be late.”

She sighed, smoothing some hair away from her face and sitting down at the table. She folded her hands neatly in her lap “I couldn't sleep, so i worked all night. Unfortunately I fell asleep and my alarm didn't go off.” She was still embarrassed about her lateness, and really didn’t want to be talking about it, but it was better than letting her mind wander.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?”

This time Symmetra did give the hyperactive jester an annoyed scowl, he had such an unprofessional attitude it wound her up. “Why are you so nosey?”

“Just part of my charming personality, that’s all” He shrugged cheekily, making Hana laugh. “And you say I need to be more of a team player! Im being caring .” he had a look on his face that reminded Symmetra of the Chesire Cat and the last word was drawn out, highlighting his accent in a long drawl.

“Well it’s not that charming, it’s infuriating. I had phantom pain in my arm if you must know. I was a wake, so i made use of my time and dealt with some my work.”

At the mention of the phantom pain Junkrat’s eyes lit up.” You got that too? Kinda creepy.” He noticed her confused expression and let out a mad laugh, stuffing another whole pancake into his mouth. “I got that shit too last night, was a pain in the ass. Went to mercy and she sorted me right out. You should go to her in the future, make sure you don't miss any more meetings”

“Maybe that would have been best, but it was a blessing in disguise. I had a lot of work to catch up on and most of it is now finished.” She hoped her answer would be sufficient enough and turned to Hana in an attempt to change the subject. “So, why do you want to join the recall. I hope it’s not offending to say you look too young to have been on the original team. Surely being a celebrity would be safer than this.”

Hana paused for a second, surprised by the sudden change. “Well, I guess I just want to help yaknow? Stop all the bad stuff that's happening.” Her eyes seemed to look a little sadder “There's already an omic still destroying my home, and things in Russia aren't looking too good. The future isn't looking to good in general right now, maybe we can change that.”

The mention of omnics seemed spark emotion in the junkers as well. Anger.

“Ye, its the stupids bots fault. The whole world is falling apart because of them. They should go back to the scrap heap!” Junkrat raised his voice for the last part, obviously trying to get the attention of the student master duo on the other side of the hall. Genji seemed ready to walk over and confront him but was stopped by his master while the lanky junker giggled manically, earning a harsh shove from his bodyguard. “What!”

“Knock it off.” The larger junker grumbled while Junkrat was left furiously rubbing away the pain in his arm. “You wouldn't last in a fight with him.”

“Bet i would.” He grumbled annoyed, his ego as hurt as his arm “And anyway thats a silly question, we’re all here for the same reason. Fighting the good fight.”

Symmetra rolled her eyes at his comment, trying not to laugh “I thought you and Roadhog were hired mercenaries here for the money.”

The lanky jester put his hand to his heart in mock offence, letting out a small gasp. “Excuse you. I am here for the greater good and nothing more. Although the money is a good perk. I’m a freedom fighter, a misunderstood one, but a freedomfighter nonetheless.”

Hana let out a laugh and she couldn’t help but join her, “Criminal, thief and arsonist you mean.” But even as she said the words she knew they weren’t one hundred percent true. He was definitely a criminal and an annoyance, but he also seemed to have many tricks and talents hidden away. She couldn’t help but wonder what other secrets the junker had.Maybe the bomb crazy maniac actually was a freedom fighter after all. After all, they did know the job they were walking into. So did she. But was she here of her own will like them, or just because Vishkar needed to keep an eye on their funds.

Was she really here to make the world a better place? Or was she just a ‘suit’ sitting on the sidelines? The thought of not knowing the answer scared her.