Amelie was '18', old enough to go into the training program for Overwatch. Of course, she wasn't actually 18: she just turned 16, but the application never asked for the truth, just a birthdate. She filled it in as she sat up on the catwalk over the unused computer room, legs swinging between the bars. She thought carefully over each entry.

Relationship status: None. Full name/nicknames: Amelie Lacroix, no nicknames. School attended: La Petite Ecole Bilingue. She didn't clarify how long she attended, which was only until she was 6. College, if applicable: she left it blank. Past experience: N/A. Sure, she had worked for the French Police department with her brother, but they would deny it until their faces turned blue. After all, they were minors. Politics sickened her. Any certificates or training: part-time ballerina, gymnastics certificate. She got first aid training by sneaking into a hospital and watching a class, but that wouldn't be supported by the evidence available, so she didn't include any of her combat training. Licenses: She got a driver's license in France, but it was fake and discovered in seconds, so N/A. Address for contact: Room 302, Colorado Watchpoint. Relatives: Gerald Lacroix, brother, but she didn't write that. Frowning, she called him.

"This is not a good time." Amelie heard grunting in the background and wanted to keep it short.

"What did you put me as on your application?

"My girlfriend."

"Quelle?"

"They don't hire people with our relationship, so I figured we could be dating instead. Your research said they didn't mind that as much." Amelie groaned, as did someone in the background of his phone.

"So I am married to you. It's a happy relationship, Oui?"

"What do you think?"

"I think non. Au Revoir, boyfriend."

"Goodbye, girlfriend." Amelie erased None in Relationship Status, and put Boyfriend, and put None in Relatives. She continued on with the application. Physical Disabilities or deformities. She winced, looking at her skin. She sighed, and wrote, Curits Pigmentum Preaminis Disorder. She continued onwards, ignoring the feelings of regret. Soon, she was finished without telling something she viewed as a lie. Jumping off the catwalk and landing on her feet, she went to the front desk, and coughed to get the lady's attention. Looking up, the woman's smile quickly changed to a look of surprise. Amelie frowned, but ignored the people giving her looks. She'd dealt with it all her life: it wasn't anything new.

"…Um…how may I-"

"I am applying for the training program of Overwatch."

"Oh. Why do you want to join Overwatch, my dear?" Amelie thought carefully, knowing this would go on record.

"I want to make a difference."

"Alright, then. I'll see if we can't get you in." The woman said, and Amelie turned, walking away. Her ears heard,

"She's purple! How is she purple?"

"She's so weird-looking…" Amelie continued walking with confidence. It didn't bother her: she didn't let it. In less than two days, she was approved at told to report to training. Amelie was consciously the first to arrive, sitting in the back so someone would have to purposely scan the room to see her. One by one the trainees entered: a nerdy, American boy with clear confidence, a football-obsessed Asian girl with self-esteem issues, a few normal looking kids from China and Russia who were clearly close friends and romantically interested in each other, and a Canadian Alpha male who everyone respected. Class was about to start, with the towering Reinhardt as the teacher, when a boy walked in with the confidence of a lion. He was at least 20, which was bizarre of itself since the rest were 18 years old. He wore all black: black jeans, black t-shirt, black combat boots, a black beanie, and even dark skin. He was American-no, he was from around the Mexican border. Amelie couldn't tell where exactly he grew up, but he definitely was from that area. *Why is he in this class? He should have graduated by now, unless he's really bad at what he does.* He immediately scanned the room and locked eyes with Amelie. She refused to look away, but after a few seconds, he did, smirking for a little bit. Reinhardt ignored the boy and started shouting his lessons. Amelie frowned at the boy and began listening to Reinhardt fully.

"-We are going to split into groups of two to see how well you fight! Amelie, Jack, you are together!" The Canadian smirked, and Amelie did nothing but evaluate him in silence as they waited for time to start. "Mitch, you are with Joey!" The American and Chinese kids looked at each other and got every close to each other, as if challenging the other. "Li, you spar with Gabriel! No dirty plays, understand?!" Gabriel rolled his eyes, shrugging.

"Si, si, abuelo." Reinhardt frowned.

"English, Gabriel!"

"Sure, sure, grandpa." Reinhardt nearly growled but contained it. Amelie was impressed at the sass. It wasn't surprising: he seemed like one to do so. Gabriel grinned mischievously, disregarding the teacher.

"Fight!" Amelie let the boy come closer, watching his movements. He was sure, possibly quite able.

"So, are you new around here, pretty purple?" Amelie's head tilted. He was extremely full of himself. Instead of fighting, he was flirting. "I can show you around later. Sorry for having to beat-" Amelie kicked him in the face, punched his shoulder in the joint, causing him to cry out in pain, and punched him in the throat, making him fall over. She pinned him down by his arms, right next to his face.

"You are of no interest to me." She said calmly, keeping him pinned but looking to the side to see Gabriel. He had his opponent on the mat, knocked out with a bleeding nose. Gabriel saw her glancing at him, and locked eyes once again. She scoffed, focusing on other people instead, having no interest in having a staring contest with a stranger.

"Very good! Switching partners! Amelie, you are with Mitch now! Gabriel, you-KNOCKED LI OUT!"

"Si. She'll wake up in a few minutes." Li groaned, rolling over and standing up.

"What happened? My head hurts…"

"Go see Doctor Ziegler immediately! Gabriel, you have thirty laps, now!"

"Whatever." Gabriel began running, and Amelie was surprised at his stamina. He didn't pause once throughout all thirty laps, during which time Amelie beat Joey, lost to Mitch, and lost with Li once he came back. At the end of the laps, Gabriel had lost his breath, but stretched, acting like he did that every day, which probably was true.

"Gabriel, you fight Amelie." Gabriel looked over Amelie, and she looked over him as Reinhardt called out who was fighting who. "Fight!" Amelie went for his neck, and he went for her arms. Grabbing one of her hands, he twisted, making her go along to stop it from breaking. He wasn't a nice fighter, but neither was she. She spun with the twist, kicking him in the chest full force. He gasped inwards, grabbing her leg before he fell, dragging her with him. She went for his temple with her other hand, and he head-butted her stomach, releasing her leg. She coughed, stumbling but recovering quick enough to stomp on his foot. He grunted but didn't let go of her arm. He slid between her legs, hoisting her up into the air on his shoulders. She wasn't expecting that move, but went with it, grabbing his neck and somersaulting off his back, landing on her feet with her hands behind her head. He turned around, grabbing her hands and twisting them to where her palms were facing upwards in the center of her back, kicking her knee downwards. She was forced down, and stopped struggling, knowing he won. He released her and offered a hand.

"You're good, lady." She did not respond and refused his hand, getting up on her own, just as she had for the others. Reinhardt shouted,

"That is it for practice! Gabriel, you stay here for disciplinary actions!" Gabriel's shoulder's slumped slightly, and Amelie left, sighing. Winning two out of six fights was actually very good for her. She didn't have strength. She didn't have power behind her strikes: just her agility and her reflexes. She went back to the computer room she had filled out her application in, nimbly climbing up and sitting down, sticking her legs through the bars so they dangled down. Her arms hurt from where he had twisted them, and her stomach was groaning in protest to the injury he had given. Her original assessment was wrong: he was good, very good. His attitude, the disrespectful manner he had, was what was keeping him from progressing. Only one thought puzzled her about the boy.

*Why would he allow his demeanor to dictate how far he progressed?* It didn't make sense. She had no concept of his reasoning, and it annoyed her more than anything. She could deduce things about another simply from their motions and speech, their manners and reactions. He wasn't hard to read, possibly the easiest one she'd met, but this Gabriel was intriguing. A door opening interrupted her thoughts. It was the Mexican-American. He looked up at her and half-smiled, making her frown.

"Hey, mujer." He grabbed the ledge and tried to pull himself up. She stood and stomped on his fingers, scowling. He shouted something Spanish and shook the pain out his hand. After the pain faded, he cracked his neck. "Let's try again." He set his hand down by her, and she slammed her fists against his fingers, scowling deeply.

"I'll take that as an invite." He continued to try, and she continued to deny him access to her catwalk. When the 7 o'clock chimed, he sighed. "See ya, mujer." Once he left, Amelie climbed down as well, going to meet her 'boyfriend' for dinner in the cafeteria.