Watchpoint: Gibraltar had once been a formidable place, much like Overwatch had once been a formidable organization, and it's members formidable soldiers.
And now, what was it? You breath in cold breaths as you look up at the massive base built into the mountains that had once held the headquarters of Overwatch. It was an hour or so until dawn and you stood under the moonlight, your boots sinking into the damp dirt and gravel below you. Nothing moved here. Not anymore. Winston and the others - whoever was left - had abandoned whatever hopes they had of bringing Overwatch back together long ago. Now, the place was empty, and it felt as though you and the moon in the sky were the only things that moved anymore. You shifted; Your right foot pivoted as you began to walk alongside the edge of the cliff, another abandoned building to your right. It was chilly out tonight, but it always seemed to be chilly out these days. Fall had finally let it's grasp on the world loosen and had left it in the first stages of winter. The metal of the buildings didn't help, of course; Neither did the draft from the sea. Still, there was something about the place that pulled one to stay there. Perhaps it was how quiet it was, or how it seemed as if the entire world fell away when you stood on the edge of the precipice. You could fall too, if you wanted. But such thoughts seemed so far away now. This place - the death it implied - it seemed as if you were already dead, too.
Your legs began to move once more. When had they stopped? Maybe that was the wrong question. You turned to the right, making your way to the road that curved around to the entrance of the storage area. Those planes that once graced the sky were long gone now, but perhaps the emptiness of the room would be nice. It seemed odd that a place this strong had fallen into such disrepair. There had been rumours that the others - Winston, Tracer, even Morrison - had been killed in a strike by Talon. Your pace faltered once more under the ruins of where a large bridge had been. Had it been here, that it happened? Had they died here? Part of you did not want to believe such things could be true. Morrison wasn't even supposed to still be alive, after all. Still, something about life persuaded you otherwise. As if his mere existence could be sensed by someone born long after him. Dreams such as those were foreign to you, and yet this one persisted. You continued you walk down the worn road. What did Talon want with them, anyways? It wasn't like they were a great team anymore. Most of them were assassins for hire nowadays. Perhaps their presence alone threatened Talon to the point of them needing to be eliminated. Your pace quickened as you began to think of all the possibilities. The wind grew colder, but you held your jacket closed to your chest and pretended not to notice. Who was Talon? An organization of criminals was what everyone seemed to regard them as, but surely a movement like that had a goal. You walked into the moonlight once more as you passed from under the bridge, the sound of footsteps echoing from the storage area. Their motives seemed so scattered. What purpose could possibly be had from causing so much terror around the world? Were they pro-omnic, or anti-omnic? And what did they have in mind for the remaining former agents? Why was the door to the storage area open?
You stopped mid-step. Why was the door to the storage area open? The wind brushed past you, gently tousling your hair as you stared, wide-eyed at the small gap in the garage door that normally was shut fast. Although you usually broke in yourself the idea of the door being open like that was… Unsettling. Maybe that was what people thought when they saw the remains of you breaking in. Those people, if they existed, probably had the same reaction and had turned back before you could run into each other. Those people were probably alive in their homes right now, or out on a night at the town. Those people were smart. Those people were not you.
You forced one foot forward. Before, your gentle footsteps on the dirt seemed to be your only company in a lonely world. But now, they seemed more like an alarm on the hard concrete. The second step was easier, but somehow worse at the same time. Your eyes remained transfixed upon the crack and the room beyond it as you continued forwards, your pace increasing as you went. Terror gripped your soul, and yet… It seemed as if this is where you were meant to be. As if you were meant to walk in on some fate-altering confrontation and change the world, forever. And then you saw the flicker of movement from beneath the door, and you froze once more. Deep breaths cut through the silence of the night, breaths that seemed so foreign and yet came from your own lungs. Your gaze darted to the left as you spotted a small room. Crouching down slightly, you slowly backed left until you were inside.
Your back hit the wall before you realized how far you had been going. It was a good thing you were not a few inches to the left, lest the stairs up to the bridge been there to catch you instead of the wall. That movement - What was it? Was it even there at all? You slid down on the wall, your hand clutched to your chest. It was as if you were reassuring yourself that your heart was still there, that you were alive, alive. You quieted your breathing and closed your eyes. Was this the chance you had been waiting for? You didn't even know you were waiting for a chance! Your eyes cracked open once more, your gaze sliding to the entrance to the stairs behind you. You could go, right now. Pretend this night had never happened and return to your normal world that the ghosts that once had inhabited this place had fought for. Your eyes drifted close again. Your heart barely made a sound and yet you heard it's drums banging in your ear. And then you heard a noise. And then you stood.
Your feet were moving but your mind could not keep up with them. What was there, behind the door? When had you started walking to it? When had you even got here, who were you? Such questions raced through your mind with a demand to be answered while at the same time felt completely meaningless. You crouched down on the ground, your chest and palms pressing against the cold ground. You could barely see anything in the old storage dock, and yet something still pulled you inside. You felt your hands crawling, dragging your body forwards, until you were pulled into the darkness of the room. A soft light emitted from the other side, beyond where giant planes once rested. It seemed almost like a photograph, it was so still. The door on the other side was wide open, and the moon hung low in the sky, giving just enough light to illuminate the path in front of you. Everything was so still here, just like it had been before. When you were alone. Were you alone now? It seemed so easy to just right these things off as imagination now with the moon in front of you. Your heartbeat reminded you of where you were. It still beat so fast, despite the light of the moon.
Before you could forget the reality of the world once more, suddenly darkness enveloped the small doorway to the right of the garage door. One part of you went to gasp and the other went to cover your mouth as the darkness came together to form a solid form- a solid form you knew quite well. The form of Reaper stood a mere few feet in front of you, scrambling to enter some combination on the padlock beside the door. Was he trying to close it? You gulped, your foot taking a step backwards - No, no, be quiet! Your head screamed. Instead, you found yourself falling backwards, landing roughly with a smack on the ground behind you. You froze. And he froze. And the world froze, until you scrambled to your hands and knees and crawled desperately to the small closet area to the left of you, your hand over your mouth to keep an animalistic whine from emerging. You could hear his footsteps. And then you could hear his nothingness, his darkness, sliding on the ground around you and finally emerging a few feet in front of you. He looked around, his hands tensed around his shotgun holsters. You wanted to back up further into the storage bins, further into the darkness, further out of reality. But you could not move. A painful second passed as he gazed around the room. For a second it seemed his eyes laid onto yours, before he turned and left the room with a growl.
You could not move. You tried, but you could not. What was he doing here? What would he do if he found you? You heard his footsteps trail off and yet you could not let yourself believe he was gone. His footsteps could not be trusted. Your eyes closed and you focused on your breathing, between the cold steel of the storage bins. You relaxed. And you put your hand behind you to steady yourself.
What was that? You gazed behind you to see what your hand had landed on. It emitted a soft glow that seemed impossible for you to not have noticed before. It was hard to see in the dark, but you managed to make out… Some sort of machine? It was round and white, and connected to straps that looked as if they were meant to buckle around you. Blood stained it's center. You froze once more as you heard the sound of the garage door closing, and the footsteps returned. This time, they were accompanied by grumbling and the tossing of crates. Was he looking for something? You refocused your eyes on the glowing thing in front of you. Was he looking for this? You took in a sharp breath once more as you heard another noise. Was there someone else here? Summoning all the courage someone in this situation could, you slowly pried yourself free from the storage crates, strange object in hand. Where was he? Without thinking you suddenly unzipped your jacket and shoved the thing inside, before struggling with the zipper to shut it again. It would not shut around the thing. Taking a few ragged breaths, you put your hand over the opening and began to move. First around the crates in the center of the room. Then to the side. Finally, you moved out the door in which you had come from. Nothing moved but you through the night. Your mind was on the machine clutched to your chest, and the process of running up the stairs that you had nearly fallen on earlier. If you could make it to the bridge, you could make it to the main base, and then you could figure out how to get home with one hand from there.
Before you could get to the main base, however, suddenly the sound of gunshots rang through the air. You narrowed your eyes and backed against the wall of the mountain beside you. That was no shotgun. You shuffled alongside the rough mountain, before you laid eyes on the two men at each other's throats there, quite literally. Reaper was on the ground, sitting on top of a man who looked so familiar, and yet so unfamiliar. You edged closer, your hand loosening around the machine on your chest. A gun laid a few feet away from him, but it did not look like it belonged to Reaper. If only you could get closer… You edged away from the wall and closer to the stairs, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. You would not trip again. Reaper was over the man, his hands around his neck, as the man kicked beneath him. Suddenly, he managed to toss himself to the side, making Reaper lose his grip, as his legs came up to throw the shadow of a man feet away from him. Reaper yelled and grabbed the mask over the man's face, ripping it off in the fray. Both did not take long to get to their feet, but the man was faster. He rolled over to his gun and aimed it, but not before Reaper dissipated into the mist again, and not before showing his face…
You gasped. This time, there was no quick reaction of a hand covering your mouth. Instead, it came a second later, allowing the machine to drop from your chest and clank onto the ground. Both of the men froze. They stared right at you, and you instantly knew who this new man was. This new… Soldier. This time, however, he was not the first to the draw.
The tendrils of Reaper's form rapidly shifted and formed up the stairs, and you found yourself grabbing the glowing thing off of the ground before you could do much else. You ran. Your feet hit the ground hard, but it was not fast enough. And where were you running? The man, the man you now knew to be Jack Morrison was in the opposite direction, and Reaper was gaining ground behind you. You had nowhere to turn. Unless…
You turned back to glance at Morrison, who was running after you almost with the same speed as the darkness at your heels. Your eyes locked for one second, before your feet dug into the ground and you made a sharp turn to the right, careening straight off of the edge of the railing and onto the ground below you. Your head hit the ground and your body rolled under the wreckage of the bridge. The machine hit the ground inches out of your reach, before rolling feet in front of you. Morrison was quick to change directions, but Reaper was quicker. The darkness rolled down the edge and over you, leaving a feeling of terror of the likes that you had never felt before. He formed in front of you and grabbed the machine. He held it up in the moonlight in a cocky gesture in the moments before Morrison made it to the bridge, and in the light you now understood what it was. It was Tracer's, wasn't it? That machine she wore around her chest to keep her tethered to reality… The machine that was now being held in the hands of Reaper, coated in dried blood. He looked down at you for a mere second, but it felt like an eternity. He raised his shotgun and you found your eyes clenched shut before you even gave them the command to. A shot rang out in the night, but there was no sudden pain, no violent silence unlike the one you had experienced before. Instead, Reaper was now far, far away, and the bridge above you was crumbling down, down onto your limp form. You looked back behind you; Morrison was running towards Reaper, his gun clutched to his chest. You closed your eyes.
There was a crack of the gun hitting the ground, and you felt your body being surrounded by a crushing force. It was warm, and tight, and fast. Was this what death was like?
You opened your eyes to find darkness and a rich smell of gunpowder and mahogany wood. You felt like you could close your eyes and sleep forever in it's warm embrace. Your hand moved up to feel the leather in front of you, as Morrison's arms relaxed around you. You blinked. Reaper was gone, and he was here, and the bridge was several feet away from you, now lying in ruins. "Don't move." A gruff voice said. You felt as if you did not want to. Large hands caressed your form, finding their way to your head where they hit a particularly sore spot. You let out a quiet hiss as you flinched away from the touch, your fingers curling slightly. "Stop that." The voice commanded. You listened. Your eyes wandered to the moon hanging high in the sky behind his head. Was it that high before, you wondered? You couldn't remember. It seemed as if everything was a blur until the cold air hit your face once more and you blinked. All of it came back with the wind - the base, Tracer's machine - The identity of the man above you hit you like a bag of bricks, or more accurately like a concrete street. Suddenly, you could feel your heartbeat again as his hands moved through your hair. You tried to sit up, suddenly, but his legs were entangled within yours and you could find yourself unable to move. "I said sit still!" He growled, his brows furrowing together as his lips pulled back into a warning snarl. You simply stared back at him, blinking only once. His eyes met yours and his face softened, into a soft scowl. Whatever face you made must have moved him, then. You moved to tilt your head back before remembering his command, and instead remained frozen, staring into his eyes. He looked more like a concerned parent than a fearsome commander. He sighed and pulled his hand back, his eyes slowly meeting yours once more, before he pulled back away from you. "It's not bleeding." He said. You stared at him. "You'll be fine." He repeated, an annoyed tone creeping into his voice. His eyes shifted, focusing in front of him, now, at the darkness in which Reaper had disappeared into. You slowly pulled yourself up to a sitting position and nodded as his gaze slid back to meet yours again. He seemed hesitant, almost, but simply shook his head. "Go home. Don't come back here again." He growled, before running after whoever he was chasing again. His form slipped into the doorframe of the storage area, and then he was gone.
Time seemed unreal. You found yourself staring off into the water again, on the edge of the cliff, your hand now clutched to your head. The remains of the bridge laid several feet behind you now. Everything seemed so far behind you, except the moon in the sky, the ground at your feet, and he clothes on your back. The moment passed quickly; as if it had never happened at all. And yet, it seemed to be the only thing you could ever remember. Morrison had appeared and was gone again, as if he was merely a ghost. Perhaps that was all they ever were - Ghosts, just haunting a place that should have crumbled to dust a long time ago. They had left you here, alone, and there was no epic confrontation to stop, no destiny or magical link between you and any hero. All that there was now was you, and the moon, and your bloody hand clutched to your chest.