There was nothing but darkness and pain for a long time; a long time, because in that darkness, it was impossible to keep track of time after five days passed. The pain made it difficult to concentrate. It spread from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. There was blood dripping and caked all over his body, but he could not move to stop any of it from happening, as his body was pinned to the ground by stones much heavier than anything he could carry on his own.

Jack Morrison, Strike-Commander of Overwatch—a man equally hated as he was loved by the masses—was dying in what remained of the Overwatch's Swiss HQ. Sheer willpower and a biotic field were the only things that kept him alive. But there was a problem: the biotic field could not heal him enough for him to break free of his concrete and steel prison. His body had sustained too much damage, more than what the device was designed to heal; it would normally be used to stabilize troops on the battlefield long enough for a doctor or medic to get to them and do the real work. So it kept him alive… barely. Then there was also a problem with its battery. It could only do so much healing before its programming told it to shut down and reactivate after a cooldown. Unfortunately, this meant that, while it kept Jack alive, he was bleeding out faster than it or his body could fix him. In reality, he was very slowly succumbing to his injuries.

It was fitting, in a way, for him to die there of all other places, even more with how slowly it was all happening. He'd dedicated most of his military career—most of his life, even—to Overwatch and its cause. And now, just as Overwatch was at the brink of being disbanded, he would be dying with it, it seemed. It was enough to make Jack want to laugh or maybe scoff, but trying to do anything brought the weight of the rubble down on him even more, not to mention crush his already broken ribs, likely causing more damage to his lungs. It would've been easy to resign himself and shut down the biotic field, at least then there would be no more pain. But part of him still had to make sure that his agents had survived. He'd closed the blast doors, trapping himself with those he was fighting, and, hopefully, giving the people upstairs more time to get out of harm's way. It had also likely foiled the coup, trapping all of those that tried to take Overwatch along with their leader and himself. It was worth it.

And so the days went by, maybe quickly, maybe slowly. Jack couldn't tell anymore. Water dripping from the stone above him was his only source of hydration. As for nourishment, he knew he could go for more than three weeks without any. Soon enough, if it hadn't already started, his own body would act as nourishment, eating away at the little fat he had and then his muscles. Too bad there weren't any rats around… not that he could catch them unless they willingly stepped on his face.

Suddenly, a light. It was faint but it was there. Or was it? He could be hallucinating. How else could he explain seeing the faces of those he cared about appear before him so many times? Angela, Torbjorn, Fareeha, Lena, and his parents to name a few. But what if the light was really there? What could he do then? Yell? No, that he could not do. Hit something in an effort to make noise? Both of his arms were broken and he could barely feel his legs. Praying crossed his mind, but he refused to do so. He'd done it once before, praying that is. That time he'd prayed for the life of his second-in-command. She believed in her own gods, so he prayed to those too. She'd always been more devout to them than he was to his. But that did very little to save her life. Why would this be a different case?

The biotic field was within reach, though. From years of using the same device, no matter how many iterations of it they'd made, if you broke the top of it while it was active, you could use it as a make-shift flare that lasted close to a minute before going out; call it a feature or a flaw. But if the light was not seen in that time, it was all over. He would simply bleed out sooner. It was a risk, but one that Jack was willing to take when he saw the light once again. Ignoring the excruciating pain telling him to stop moving, he got a hold of the device and popped it without a second thought.

The light, in a confined space like the one he was in, was blinding. Even the sound of the sparks flying muffled out anything else. If there was someone around, they would be able to see it… he hoped. With his eyes glued to the one spot he'd seen the light, Jack waited; he waited to see a shadow or, hell, even seeing an omnic would be better than staring blankly at the stone. But when the light went out, his ears still ringing, he could still see nothing, yet he kept staring. There was nothing else for him to do then but stare.

"Did you see that?" It sounded robotic, but that was definitely a voice. There was someone there after all! But how could he catch their attention now? "It came from over there."

"Show me." He heard a second voice say, this time human and with an air of authority about it. There were at least two there, though he could only hear the footsteps of one of them getting ever closer. They were coming. They would find him, he was sure. His eyelids were closing on him as much as those two were closing in on him. Maybe he could rest now…

"There is nothing here," said the second voice, sounding almost disappointed. This time Jack catches the femininity there was to it. A woman and an omnic. But they couldn't find him still. Jack's eyes shot open as he panicked internally. He had to do something. Again, he had no other choice but to take a risk.

Gathering all the strength there was left in him, he took a deep breath, and screamed as hard as he could, "over here!" His lungs hate him for it as do his ribs. The sudden movement caused the piece of rubble over him to lower itself some more on him. It crushed him more than ever. If they said something—if they heard him—he didn't know. The pain was all his mind was focused on. He could hear the blood pulsing in his ear and nothing more. But the light! Oh, the light look brighter than ever! And for a moment, he could see what looked like a head popping into view. They'd found him, but perhaps too late, as his vision blurred instantly and there was nothing but darkness and silence, but no more pain.

Images flashed into his mind. Whether these are glimpses of the world as it was, memories, or something else, Jack didn't know. He could see a glowing orb floating over him as he is carried away, presumably out of prison. He could see many small lights, almost like stars, and what he thought look like omnic optics all staring down at him as his body is moved and pulled, his bones cracking with the movements, but he could feel no pain. He could see the blue sky and a mountain range of a place he'd never seen before, with both humans and omnics standing around and staring his way. There were many more images that flash through his mind, but none of those were but a blur to him.

He could hear movement to his left. Someone was standing there, typing something onto a datapad. Slowly, Jack opened his eyes, but the world that greeted him is too blurry. He could see the figure to his left, but whether it was human, omic, or anything else (maybe another Winston) Jack couldn't say. Above him hovered another—possibly the same—orb of light he'd seen before. His movements must have alerted the one on his left, as they set down the datapad on what looked like a basic bedside table.

"You have awoken." It's an observation, not a question, though it was clear that whoever they are, they are directing it at Jack. He tried to move, to sit up, but his body wouldn't let him as it shot pain all through it to stop the movement from happening. A cold, mechanical hand landed on his arm. It is gentle, not wanting to do harm, but to stop him from causing any to himself. "You should not move. Your body is still recovering."

An omnic. It's clear from the tone of its voice.

"You are alive, but your body has you trapped still. Give it time. It must heal before you can heal," the omnic said in that calm voice again. Jack stopped struggling and the hand that held him left him. He couldn't help but notice the way the omnic talked and even carried itself. It was like nothing Jack had ever seen or heard before. There was a serenity to it, almost. It was a strange way to program an omnic, though then again, it could be that this specific model was designed to act as a nurse. "You must rest. Let your body heal. I will inform the others that you have regained consciousness."

Others meaning more than one. He'd only heard two voices when he was found. The voice of the omnic he heard back then was similar to the one that left the chambers, but Jack wasn't certain. Then there was the woman too, who Jack assumes is part of the "others". But who were these people to begin with? Looking around—moving his body was a no go—the room from the bed, eyeing everything he could see. There wasn't much. There was a very old TV hanging from one of the corners, a nightstand with the datapad on top of it, the door, the bed he was on (obviously) and a massive window with no glass and wooden blinds that slid to the sides that gave him a good view of a mountain range in the distance, but not much else. Wherever he was, Jack only knew it wasn't one of Overwatch's safe-houses—he knew all of those from memory.

After being in the room with nothing but the quiet humming of the glowing orb above him to keep him company, someone finally entered the room. The individual made their way to Jack's left before sitting down on the floor. It was easier to take in the details he could barely make out then. It was an omnic. An older model, perhaps fifteen years of age, if not older from what Jack could see. It's body was painted white with gold accents while its chassis was black and silver; not your everyday omnic by the looks. Without taking it's optics away from Jack, it took the datapad from its place and gave it a few taps before picking up Jack's left hand and placing it under him.

"I believe you know your way around this device, yes?" The voice was different enough from the first omnic he saw, but it was equally, if not more, serene. "You should not strain your body. We can communicate this way. I am sure you have many questions. I will answer them to the best of my ability."

Who are you? Jack's fingers moved slowly on the pad. He'd been using devices like that for decades, so he knew where each key would be. Typing with one hand made him slow, and the fact that he could barely move in the first place it made it excruciatingly so, but at least he could still do it. If the omnic was frustrated at this, it did not show it, instead looking at the screen patiently until the question mark popped up on the screen.

"Ah, my apologies. In the excitement of the news of your awakening, I forgot to introduce myself," it said, straightening up a bit. The omnic looked taller, though its body didn't seem to move after that. It brought its hands together in front of it and then gave a small bow. "My name is Tekhartha Mondatta. I am with the Shambali. It is a pleasure to meet you, Seventy-Six."

Jack frowned. Back in Overwatch, he had a file on the omnic. Tekhartha Mondatta wasn't only "with" the Shambali, no, it lead them; a group of omnics and, later on, humans that believed that omnics had souls too and that they all were equal. A cult of peace, if anything else. They had taken over an abandoned monastery in the Himalayas years back, which explained the mountain range he could make out in the distance.

Many questions popped into Jack's head, but something immediately bothered him about Mondatta response. Why are you calling me that? 76?

"It is a custom we hold," Mondatta explained calmly. "Two of us brought you here in hopes to keep you alive. Because of that, you were never introduced, hence, we gave you a name that is fitting in the meantime. You are number seventy-six to ever be let through the archway of the temple since the Shambali took over. The other that brought you did not want anyone to know who you were either. She suggested the name."

You named me 76 because I did not introduce myself, you say. But do you know who I am? It would be difficult not to. With all the news outlets around the globe setting their sights on Overwatch, not a day went by with his face not coming up at least once. It made him sick.

Mondatta remained silent even after reading the question. It seemed like he was mulling it over in his mind, thinking of an appropriate response. Its head lowered slightly as if to look at the ground. "I know of who you were, yes. A soldier. A hero. A benevolent man by the standards of some, malevolent by others. But that's who you were, Seventy-Six. You were a soldier. You were a hero. You were Strike-Commander Jack Morrison. A man that, along many others, died when an explosion went off in Overwatch's Swiss Headquarters."

But I am alive… I'm still here.

Mondatta nodded. "That you are, Seventy-Six. But as far as the rest of the world knows, Jack Morrison perished. The world has mourned you. They have buried you. They stood united, in silence, the day of your funeral, much like they did when you and the other Firsts brought an end to the Omnic War. Your friends and family shared memories of you—they shed tears for you. And now, they must heal, as do you."

A lump formed at the back of Jack's throat. There was mild prickling in his eyes. My family.

"Your father and your mother took the news hard. They were left with no choice but to relocate given the media kept on harassing them. Last I heard, they moved to Egypt. As I understand, they wanted to be there with your daughter."

Jack never had a biological child, but a name immediately came to mind before anyone from Overwatch. Fareeha…

"Yes. She extended the invitation to them and they agreed. Together, they will help each other heal."

That's good... Jack hand went limp as he turned his attention to the roof. If he could, he would've scream. If he could, he would've punch something. But he could do neither of them, so he had to make do with closing his eyes as hard as he could. Time passed and he half expected Mondatta to have left, but when Jack turned to his left, the omnic remained motionless. How long?

"You were trapped under the rubble for five weeks when we found you. You were in a section far too deep for anyone to access, even omnics. But we managed to do what the rescue team could not. We took you out and spent the next three days stabilizing you enough to bring you here by the advice of another. That was two months, one week, six days, and eighteen hours ago. You've been unconscious since then."

All in all, close to four months had already passed. No wonder the world thought him dead. You were the one that brought me here? I remember hearing an omnic…

A small nod. "Yes. The other was convinced you would still live when news first broke out of what happened. I tried to stop them, but they would not listen. Seeing no other option, I went with them, whether to be there and help them find closure or simply help look through the rubble. I did not expect we would find you alive. I ran calculations for the possibility of your survival. It was a small fraction of a percent—too slim to risk anyone else losing their lives over, but they would not hear otherwise."

Who was the other?

"It is not my place to say. They are conflicted with the situation. They have sat by your side before in hopes to see you awaken. I am sure they will come again now that it has finally happened."

And if they don't?

"Then it is their choice to remain anonymous. Though, I will speak to them on your behalf. After all, they were the ones that wanted your stay here be kept in secrecy. I am sure you will want to speak with them." The omnic moved gracefully, pulling himself up to stand. "For now, you must rest, Seventy-Six. Worry not about anything else. I will visit you again tomorrow."

Thank you. Mondatta bows again before leaving.

As days pass, there are only two people that Jack ever sees. Mondatta, true to his word, came and sat with him for an hour or two every day, answering any questions the old soldier had. The other was another omnic; a newer model compared to Mondatta. It introduced itself as Zenyatta. It was somewhat less formal than Mondatta, but still sounded like an old monk, despite its young age of ten.

Zenyatta was the one that made sure Jack staid alive. And when all the checkups were done, then the two talked about anything that was on Jack's mind. It was Zenyatta who kept him updated on the disbandment of Overwatch as well as how some of their agents were doing.

"Agent Oxton has yet to be seen since her day in court," Zenyatta explained as he floated with its legs crossed. "She has taken everything that has happened very personally. She is quick to defend Overwatch and yourself when someone attacks it."

Lena can be passionate about many things. Jack stops to think for a second. Of the few years he'd known Tracer, not once had he seen her without a smile on her lips for more than a few minutes, even after her incident. But from Zenyatta kept telling him, it seemed that it had been a long time since she'd smiled. He hoped that she was okay. Watchpoint: Gibraltar would do her some good. Winston was there after all. and the two of them had always been good friends.

McCree?

"He has yet to be found. As many other members of Blackwatch, a reward has been set for any information leading to his arrest. He's been spotted all over the United States and even Mexico since the Swiss Incident, but always vanishes when authorities close in on him."

Jack's about to type a response when he heard someone knocking at the open door. In the doorway stood what looked like Mondatta (his sight still hadn't recovered), hours ahead of schedule. The break in the usual routine alerted Jack that something wasn't quite right. "Good evening, Seventy-Six."

Knowing that Mondatta wouldn't be able to see the screen if he were to type something, Jack tried the best he could to wave. It is short and weak, pathetic even, but it brought Mondatta to a chuckle as he bowed in return.

"It seems your recovery is coming along nicely since you have awoken." Jack blinks once. "Excellent. I am glad. But to be truthful, this is not why I have come to check on you, Seventy-Six. It seems that the other is finally ready to see you."

For whatever reason, Jack's heart started racing. The other, the owner of the female voice he heard back in Switzerland, was checking in on him? He was glad, for he could use the opportunity to thank her, but at the same time, why had it taken her so long? From what Mondatta had told him, it seemed that this individual was actively avoiding him ever since he opened his eyes. So, why now?

Mondatta stepped aside and extends an arm out as if beckoning for someone. Sure enough, a new figure covered the doorway; human, for all that Jack could see. He could see they are wearing black and that their hair too is black, but that's all he can make out.

"We shall give you some time," said Mondatta as it turned to look at Zenyatta.

"Do not force yourself, Seventy-Six," Zenyatta reminds Jack before offering its own sort of wave and heading to the door.

Then there's no one left but him and her, whoever she was. When she didn't make a move, Jack wished he could get a hold of the tube going down his throat and rip it out so that he could ask her… anything. But with his arms still healing and her too far away to see the datapad on his left hand, he was at her mercy. He looked at the ground as he waited.

"Jack...?"

And his heart stopped. Slowly, he brought his eyes up. There's no way, he thought as he tried his best to focus and control his breathing. She's dead.

She took painfully slow steps towards him, her picture slowly coming into focus with each one. Her hair was long and black, as he'd noticed before, but there was also some gray mixed in. The black of her clothes wasn't just any other black, but the same one as his. She wore a blue beret, eerily similar to the one she wore. One of her eyes is covered by an eye-patch—it looked new and somehow awkward on her. But when he saw her other eye, he knows that there is no way he is seeing what he thinks he is seeing.

Am I dead? His fingers moved without him knowing. Noticing his movement, she broke eye contact to take a glance at the datapad.

"You aren't dead, you ass." There was no venom to those words. If anything, she sounded hurt.

Am I dreaming again? It looked like she's about to punch him before she decided otherwise. She took a seat on the floor, on the opposite side than Mondatta would usually sit, and lean closer to the bed. He could see her face clearly now, and there was no doubt in his mind who she was.

She took his hand, bringing it to her face and letting him check for himself. He wanted to squeeze her face when his fingers landed on it and he felt the warmth of her skin, but he could not. She was the real deal. Ana… You died. Years ago, you died. I sent a team to look for you. They said you were dead. You were supposed to be dead.

She leaned into his touch and gave him a longing smile he hadn't seen in years. One he had never seen, not really, for even in the most intimate moment they shared, she always felt distant and, at times, cold. "Only as dead as Jack Morrison."