Hey everyone!
Wow, a second OW fic under a week! I hope it'll keep me motivated to write.
Hope you enjoy this twisted mess of a work.

The end of the world, and us
Chapter 1
On the run

The events of the day seemed like they belonged to a dream - a really, really awful dream. Yet, they had happened for real, as the dull pain in her arm could testify.
When she was fighting in her MEKA, she rarely got hurt ; the metal monster was equipped with impressive systems to protect its user as much as it could. But when she had to fend for herself only with her blaster, it was another thing entirely. It had only happened twice before, and she had hopped it'd never happen again. She felt so weak out of her armor, as if she was in an alien world. D. Va would disappear, leaving only Hana Song, whose stole reason for standing up was knowing that should she fall down, she'd never get a second chance.

"D. Va? You okay?"

Lúcio's soft voice brought her back to reality. She lifted her face from her knees ; the Brazilian musician's expression was full of kindness and worry. The young streamer had no clue how her friend was seemingly staying strong in spite of the hellish day they'd just been through.

"I'm fine, thanks."

She offered him her signature smile, the one she flashed on every poster and every picture taken with a fan. The one who shone with emptiness. But Lúcio knew her well, and saw through her lie with ease. His own smile vanishing from his face, he sat next to her.
Before he could add a word, Hana broke into tears for the first time in months, shamefully covering her head with her shaking hands.
Still silent, Lúcio wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and had Hana lifted her head, she would have seen the musician's cheeks were glistening with tears too.

They stayed in complete tranquillity for a while, Hana's sobbering breaking the silence from time to time.
Suddenly, the door to their hotel room opened with deafening noise, and out of sheer reflex Hana grabbed the weapon lying to her side, pointing it to the intruder.

"Woah, calm down, mate! It's just me, good ol' Jamie, so ya can put that thing away."

To show his good faith, the Australian put his hands up. Hana shot him a dirty glance and fell back on the bed. She turned on the other side, her back facing the two other Overwatch agents.
With a sigh, Lúcio got up from the ground his friend's moves had pushed him to.

"Jamison, please try knocking on the door next time."

Junkrat shrugged and put two bags on the room's lone bed, next to the young Korean.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll try to keep that in mind. Anyways, I got us some food, so eat up."

Hana didn't move an inch, but Lúcio inspected the bags' content with clear suspicion.

"You did buy everything, right?"
"Yeah, mate, when those cunts attacked HQ I took the time to grab me cash before runnin' away."

Junkrat rolled his eyes when the DJ gave him a disapproving look.

"Come on, pal, why does it matter? Not like they're gonna miss it. An' we need food. 'specially her."

Jamison pointed Hana with one of his mechanical fingers. She had refused to eat anything whatsoever since they'd made it to Arizona; they even had to force her to drink.

"I'm not hungry." mumbled the young woman, still not facing her partners.
"As you wish." grumbled Junkrat, taking a pack of cookies from a bag. "I'm fuckin' hungry. No wonder, with all this bullshit."

Lúcio cast a worried glance to Hana, before helping himself.

"Thank you for getting us some food." he finally said. After all, had the Junker not taken it upon himself to get them some supplies, they would have been in quite a pinch. The owner of the seedy motel they'd taken shelter in had been pretty rude and very suspicious towards them, no need to ask him any help.

Not that Lúcio was angry with him. The man with skined burned by the sun didn't look like he ever left Arizona, and he had to admit their little trio clashed terribly with the rural surroundings. The good side was that he was almost certain no one would recognize them in this dump ; he had quickly estimated the average age of the town was around sixty, judging from the scarce passerbys and the lack of any kind of school. No way they'd recognize the face of a professional gamer or a young DJ, and Junkrat had assured him he was not wanted in Arizona - well, not that he was aware of.

They still decided to play it safe and gave false names when checking in. Jamison had taken charge of it too; he probably was used to it, and convinced the owner without too much trouble.
During their stay, they'd be known as Shin Park, Lucas Jones and Floriano da Silva.

Lúcio was brought back to his surroundings by Hana suddenly yelling at Junkrat, abruptly stopping his babbling:

"Don't you ever shut up?!"

The two men looked at their partner. Her swolled and red eyes were filled with anger, and though she was still lying down, her body was clearly tense and ready to strike a punch.

"Hey, ya donga, I won't let ya talk to me like that!"
"Who are you calling a donga, you bastard?"
"Stop it, the two of you! Don't argue!"

Not used to Lúcio raising his voice, the duo immediatly stopped their bickering.

Lúcio sighed. That was the last thing they needed. As far as they knew, no one else had made it through the attack on their HQ, and if they were already starting to tear each other apart, all hope would be lost.

"We got a... tough day. All of us. And you know we're far from being done with our problems, so it's really no use fighting for nothing. For now, we just need sleep."

D. Va gave Junkrat the darkest look she could, but didn't add a word. She searched in one of the bags on the bed, took a pack of potato crisps and a bottle of water from it and went to settle on the beat-up couch on the other side of the room.

"Oi-"

Lúcio put his hand on Jamison's mouth before he could start insulting her again.

"Leave her alone."

Junkrat muttered to himself before agressively putting Lúcio's hand away and going to sit down in a corner of the room. The Australian took a screwdriver from his pocket, took his leg prothesis off and started working on it, still mumbling.

Lúcio fell on the bed with a weary sigh. The forced cohabitation would be tough.

Soldier turned around for what seemed like the hundredth time. Or maybe it was the thousdanth time; he had stopped counting at fifty two. He was facing the door of the hotel room this time, his rifle hidden under the covers, a revolver in his hand. Well, not just iany/i revolver ; until very recently, it had belonged to someone he deeply cherished. Someone he had loved more than anyone else.
When he held it in his hand, it was as if he could still feel the heat of Jesse McCree's hand in his own.
But he wasn't an idiot, and knew what he felt was nothing more than sweat left by his own skin.

He had felt terribly guilty taking the weapon away from the cowboy's dead hand. But he had no choice; speed was of essence, and he wanted to keep something, anything, from McCree.
It was a macabre ritual he had started when the first soldier under his order had fallen in battle. A strand of his hair had been enough, cut when no one was looking.
But he hadn't got the time for McCree. He had to run fast, and far. His first thought had been to take McCree's serape, but he had immediatly given up. It was a gift from Ana, and he knew it to be the cowboy's most prized possession; ripping it away from him in death would have been like killing him a second time.
So he had taken the gun with a rapidity that had disgusted him, and had ran away as fast as he could.

Soldier had tried to fight back, and in spite of the considerable number of attackers he had taken down, it hadn't been enough.

Angela had been the one forcing him to run away, for some reason. She had literally pushed him in the corridor leading to the exit before closing the door. He had heard a gunshot, confirming what he feared: the medic had destroyed the lock, making it impossible to open the door. Soldier had pounded on it until his knuckles bled, but no one had opened. If only he had had some rockets left to force his way...
He had been left with no choice but to leave their base. His initial plan was to attack the enemy from the rear, but before he could even rush to the secret entrance, he understood just how pointless his attempt would be.
Trucks were surrounding their base, without a doubt belonging to Talon, vomiting a seemingly endless amount of warriors.

For the first time in a while, Soldier had felt truly distraught and hopeless. As combative as he was, he couldn't deny his odds to kill every single opponent on his own were too close to zero for him to take the slightest risk.
Cussing under his visor, he had sprinted to a small gap between two of the trucks. He had instantly been taken for target, but despite his age, he was still brisk and had avoided the bullets with ease. Not losing time attacking the enemy - not that he lacked the will to do so - he had run without a stop, and had only slowed down when he had been sure he had lost his pursuers. He knew the base's surroundings better than anyone, and had hidden in a bush of the forest nearby.

Only when the battle's noise had winded down he had fully realized what had just happened and had broken down. He had teared his visor away, letting the tears of rage and distress flowing freely on his scarred face.
Clutching Jesse's gun close to his chest, he had wondered if others had fallen in battle. This unbearable and morbid thought hadn't left his mind, not matter how hard he tried to make it go away. He considered the members of his team like family, and the very idea of them passing away made him sick to his stomach.

Soldier thought he had lost too many comrades and friends for suffering this much from losing a new one, but obviously he had been wrong.
His tears kept on flowing for a while, as if crying for McCree allowed him to cry for all those he lost before in similar attacks, and those who might have fallen on this very day.

When his cheeks had dried up, his hand had tensed around the gun. His resolve had come back with his calm.
Whatever the price, he'd avenge Jesse. He'd make Talon pay, and he'd be sure to make them pay at full price.

His hatred had crystallized on Reaper. Except for Widowmaker, who was an empty shell of what Amélie Lacroix used to be, it was the only face he could put on Talon. Others were nothing but anonymous assassins.
And Reaper symbolized everything he thought was wrong with this world: treason, gratuitous violence, childish and destructive conflicts.

He knew it was stupid to blame it all on his old comrade. But he didn't care.

Jack Morrison had died five years ago, and as he was just begining to come back to life, Gabriel Reyes had killed him a second time.
From now on, there would only be Soldier 76.

He promised to himself he'd do what he never dared swear to do: kill Gabriel Reyes from his own hands.