The clicking sound of McCree's boots echoed in the otherwise empty hallway as he walked down it. The chrome walls and black carpeting of Watchpoint: Gibraltar almost seemed to be crying out to the noise, wishing back the days where flurries of people would fill the space in their daily meetings. The wooden doors along the sides of the hall were all labeled, "Conference Room," in various languages, but only one on the far right side held any interest to the base's residents anymore.
As the door, deceivingly to its design, opened automatically, he couldn't deny feeling a little nostalgic. It was thanks to Overwatch that he was able to see the world's injustice as a problem to fix, not take advantage of, and entering a briefing room always reminded him of the old days in Blackwatch when he would be assigned to assassinate this guy or seize the assets of that one. This particular room had been chosen over the others because it had the least interesting view. That wasn't the exact reason, of course: in reality, the room faced a rocky inlet at the chokepoint where satellite or boat-mounted cameras had little reason to check for activity.
Looking around, McCree noticed that Tracer and Bahrān were already seated on the Exactofoam couches that faced the stand in the center of the room where the holographic globe is projected from. "Salutations, partners," he greeted, nodding the brim of his hat at the two.
Bahrān simply nodded his head. The man had never been much for words, and especially not in English, which he had only picked up during his brief time in Overwatch.
"G'morning, love," Tracer responded, though lacking her usual enthusiasm. He guessed that she was the first to arrive, as usual, and had been waiting for some time for the rest of them. Indeed, only a few moments after McCree took a seat, she stood up and started towards the door. "I'm going to see what's taking Winston so long," she mentioned.
Just then, the door opened, and the same hyperintelligent gorilla hobbled in, with what appeared to be a flowing cyan tail that could only have been Symmetra's dress, hidden by the ape's bulk. The two had been whispering to each other about something, but stopped once the door was fully shut behind them and they had the full attention of the three agents in the room.
"Uh, yes, hello," Winston began. "I'm glad you all could be here. As I'm sure you're all aware, this is Symmetra, from the Vishkar Corporation. The company has given us a special request, and she will be accompanying you."
Satya crossed her arms at the monkey's awkward introduction, but quickly unfolded them as she made her way to the stand. She pressed a button and the room was bathed in a blue light as the spherical image appeared instantaneously overhead. "Vishkar is looking into the possibility of a new mineral to use in our transmutation devices," she explained, not one for trifling time. "More specifically, we are interested in recycling what you call gravel." Rotating the globe with her mechanical arm, she touched an area in the southwestern region of the United States and zoomed the picture to a small mountain range surrounded by desert. The room's occupants circled around to get a better view. "The wastes here sit on top of one of the world's largest deposits of gravel. It is a sorely undeveloped area known as the Badlands, in New Mexico."
"What, is my country too dirty for you suits so you need us to go get it for you?" McCree cut in, taking out a cigarette and his match.
"Calm down, it's not quite that simple," Winston said in turn. "Our initial surveillance has found suspicious characters investigating the area. We believe they may be… former coworkers of yours, McCree."
Jesse put his hands on his hips, cigarette in his mouth. "Even though we wiped 'em out, I guess old habits die hard. Y'think this is related to that object that they stole from the hypertrain?"
Winston adjusted his glasses. "That's what we intend to find out. The three of you and Symmetra will visit these Badlands and scout the region for potential Talon stakeouts and gravel deposits."
"Hold on a second," Tracer interjected, proceeding to giggle at the pun she made. "That wasn't intentional, I swear. Now, I heard about the train raid, but what object?"
The cowboy hid his cigarette under his poncho, snuffing it against his metal arm out of sight. "It's why they attacked the train in the first place. Some pink-glowing cube."
Lena squinted at him and put her hands on her hips. "And you just let them have it?"
"Beats having them come back and risking more civilians. Couldn't have been too important if they didn't take no precautions to keep it safe."
Seemingly satisfied, Tracer zipped to the door. "Well, the only way to find out is to take it back, so let's not waste any more time!" she exclaimed, running out of the room. Nobody objected to the idea, so they broke their circle of conversation and began the trek to the hangars.
McCree chuckled to himself as he left the room, thinking about how Reyes would conclude mission briefings. "Don't waste any time," he would command. "The sooner this chicken gets killed and cleaned, the fewer people we'll have to answer about it." It wasn't like before, though. They were still under the radar, but now their work didn't look like how a criminal would cover his tracks. Ironic, since we actually are criminals by doing this, he thought.
There was little talk as they made their way through the neglected halls. For McCree, at least, it was because of the company of Symmetra. Satya herself wasn't a bad person, but her unwavering loyalty to Vishkar was an inevitable point of contention for some of the more independent members of the new Overwatch whenever they engaged in conversation. After all, her very presence at the Watchpoint was proof that the company was breaking the laws it supposedly prides itself on creating.
The hangar was one of the most apparent setbacks of having to rebuild the organization from ground zero. It was large enough to accommodate a squad of jets, and due to its location, it also had a lower section which served as a security checkpoint for any-sized watercraft entering the Mediterranean. All of it was forfeited as part of the Petras Act, and the bay now held nothing but salty sea air and a single dropship that Winston had purchased from a secondhand seller and fixed up. As they approached the vehicle, Symmetra made a slight detour to construct a teleporter entrance. "Always be prepared for any possible outcomes," was her only comment as she boarded the ship and took her seat beside the two men. Tracer, who always preferred taking the pilot's seat even though it was perfectly capable of flying itself, had already started the engine and put in the coordinates. The ship hovered out from its landing pad and began descending into the dock area, as it was too noticeable to use the hangar's intended shutters for aircraft.
"This is always my favorite part," Winston says to himself with a smirk. "It's like watching your children leave for school each morning… not that I know anything about that."