Hey everyone, this is my first try at an overwatch story, and first fanfic in awhile. Its not gonna be a work of art but i'd like to get a roughly 80,000 word story done before I leave for basic training sept 19 (11b ARMY INFANTRY!) So hopefully you can enjoy this hastily written pile of shit.
shoutout to xavirne for being a bit of my inspiration for the story. The stories he wrote are absolutely phenomenal about mercy 76
Blood, bullets, and booze. That's what he had become. A killing machine that focused solely on extracting revenge on every son of a bitch that took out overwatch. And he'd stop at nothing to do it.
Dr. Angela Zeigler was having one of those nights. They had been less and less frequent in the 8 years after she buried the only man she would ever love. A bottle of wine, the first picture they took together, and tears. It had become somewhat of a coping mechanism, drifting in and out of happy memories and the cold world she now lived in, a world without Jack Morrison.
She could remember the first time she ever met him, and certainly how much of a little shit he was back then.
It had been in the years leading up to the omnic crisis, when war, however much she hated it, was a distant thought that much of society hardly ever even dedicated a moment's thought to. Back then it was a luxury she could afford. She had completed her schooling at only 17, graduated at the top of her med school class, and began working at a hospital for the rich and famous in Sweden. She was put on a pedestal and treated like luxury, although she did her best to stay humble. However, this did not satisfy her. She needed to help more than just the rich and famous, she needed to help everyone.
She was given that opportunity in the middle of December, a year after she graduated. The US Army needed quality doctors for a single month, they were staging an all out assault on Vietnam. They had been caught building an army of violent omnics, even selling some on the black market. Skipping the public opinion, irony, had the fact that she hated war, she volunteered. Well, after they promised her that she would be as far back from the front line as possible.
She arrived in country 5 days after the first wave swarmed the shoreline. The US Army had been very successful their first 3 days of attacking. They had pushed over 25 miles into the country with minimal losses. The last two? Well she was no expert but she could recall Jack complaining about "the damn gooks and their guerilla bullshit" late at night when she asked him his perspective of the war.
She could still recall her first day aboard the USS Maddox, sitting in the cramped medbay, crying into her hands as the boat fired off rounds of artillery. She remembered getting orders to move in country to a small base hospital, 2 freaking miles off the front lines. She stormed up to the ship's Admiral and practically broke down into tears, begging to not have to go, threatening to jump overboard if he made her go. She couldn't recall his name but he was good, in 2 hours she was in a chopper with a vomit bag flying over the dense forests of Vietnam.
Thinking back now, she should have took her chances going overboard. Keeping her eyes closed the entire flight may also have been a bad idea, as the second she opened them on the ground she almost fainted. Men were in combat, the base was being overrun, and she, in all her magnificence, had gotten off the only chopper. She stood there dumbfounded, until another, much older, female doctor, grabbed her by her hair and pulled her into a makeshift medbay. Without a word to the women, she began to work, all fear and nerves vanishing. She ignored the screams, explosions, and bullets and simply worked.
18 hours. The firefight had lasted 18 hours, and she had arrived 2 hours after it had started. She had worked 16 hours through hell and just wanted to cry. She saw the horror as she walked out of her tent and into the middle of the camp. She saw men lying in pools of blood, arms discarded amount spent shell casing, and all of the fear hit her like a tidal wave. So she ran, which in hindsight was one of the dumbest things she had ever done. Run straight into a potentially hostile jungle, unarmed, and in full panic.
Then she fell straight into a ditch. In her panic she landed in a small L shaped ditch and laid there, tears in her eyes, as she beat her fists into the dirt, begging to go home. A metal click dragged her from the inner hell of her thoughts. The sound of a body, just around the corner of her L shaped ditch, dragging against the wall, slowly, filled the quiet air. This is it, im gonna die in some tiny little hole, in this hell, alone. Then out from around the corner popped a blonde haired American, with more blood on the outside of his face than inside.
Jack Morrison.
He gave her a weak smile and a small thumbs up, before passing out.