How Beauty Killed a Beast
A man who has been through bitter experiences and travelled far enjoys even his sufferings after a time
-Homer
The first permanent Human Society outside of the confines of Mother Earth was on the Moon. Going by the name Horizon, the lunar colony was designed in a way that facilitated eventual expansion and growth, for although scientists and Astronauts only lived on the Moon's surface, the plan was to eventually grow and allow civilians to call Luna their home as well.
That was before the genetically modified gorillas revolted murdered all of the humans aboard the colony.
Inside of the genetics lab, behind the door of Dr. C. Hammond, all was still. Although the office was in disarray, it was only partly caused by the murderous primates. The office, with smashed decorations and littered with glass, was not all a disaster by wanton and brutish destruction. On the contrary, the other half of the mess in the room was easily identifiable as the disorganization caused by genius-in-progress.
Along one of the side walls of the room was a tiny ventilation shaft. Although uninteresting alone, it wasn't until the screws on the vent cover began shaking and turning that the grate fell over, revealing a tiny animal inside.
What came out of the vent was Mammal of the Rodentia order, standing only a few inches tall and being covered in light yellow fur, better known to the common man as a "hamster". Like a tiny spacesuit, the hamster wore a jumpsuit with the number "8" on it as it dashed outside the vent and up the color tubing on the floor that lead up to the desk. Subject 8, much like the other animals at Horizon, was not a normal Hamster, but instead had been enhanced with genetically improved intelligence. Once on the desk, he scampered across his workstation and blueprints to the far end.
He hadn't much time. Like one of the other test subjects, he had decided to escape this fallen city and head back to Earth, but as he awaited to be free of this hellhole, he felt torn, and needed to come back for one last thing.
On the end of the desk, near the personal computer, was a framed photo, and in said photo was the picture of an old human woman with silvery white hair. Occupying the frame with her was Subject 8.
Doctor Cynthia Hammond was the one who had blessed Subject 8 with his brilliance, and although he wanted to leave this place, he couldn't go without at least taking her memory with him.
Subject 8, or "Hammond" as he was called, may have been made as a joke, but that did not change the good things that the doctor had done for him. As she worked, or when he needed a break from his advanced trigonometry, he would often stand on his hind legs on the desk and simply look up at her, mesmerized of how the lights behind her turned her hair gold and looked as if she had a halo around her. In that moment, she look less like a woman and more like an angel, the deity that had graced him with the gift of his intellect, and he her sole worshiper.
But that was long ago. Now, Cynthia Hammond was floating out in the void of space, beaten to death by rampaging Gorilla after she used her final moments getting Hammond into the vents.
If he stayed here, he would inevitably be killed, so the best way to honor her final act would be to survive, and the only way to do that would be to get off the Moon. For as close as he was to escaping, he knew that he couldn't leave without taking something with him.
Toppling the frame onto its front, Hammond got to work unlatching the back to expose the photo. But no sooner that the hamster opened up the trap door, a crash filled the office. A chair from the cafeteria had been dragged down the hall from where it belonged and was thrown through the glass window separating the office from the hallway, and as soon as the way cleared, a massive Silverback Gorilla stepped through the opening.
Moving as fast as he could, Hammond ripped the photograph out of the frame and bit down on the corner. Craning his neck up for the picture to not trip him, Hammond sprinted on all four with his prize in his mouth as he ran for the vent.
Try as he might, he wasn't even close to the small opening when the big pursuer scooped him off the ground. The big ape brought him up to his face and, with only a little bit of his primal strength, began to squeeze the tiny mammal.
Only able to make a tiny timid squeak, Hammond cried out with pain as his insides were pushed together. The force was so great that he felt as if he were about to pop, his cries of agony caused his mouth to open and let the picture fall from his mouth.
Knowing his life was about to end, Hammond fell to his last resort, and amid his cries of pain, bent his head down and bit hard into the Gorilla's leathery hand.
It worked, and the hamster was dropped several feel to the ground as the Gorilla used its free hand to nurse the big bite wound in on the side of his digit.
Not giving it a second chance, Hammond retreated into the vent, where he looked back. From the safety of the vent, he saw the bounty that he had nearly lost his life over wrinkling underneath the foot of a 500 pound gorilla, and although he wanted to wait the beast out, he reluctantly had to turn around and return to the hanger, for he had even less time to get back before his only chance of getting off this lifeless rock was gone forever.
Years Later...
It truly was amazing how resourceful humanity could be at times. Although half of Australia had been nuked to stop the Omnics, life still went on, and that meant for all of the inhabitants of the continent.
Junkertown, the largest settlement outsides of the shielded new cities, was a prime example that life was a matter of survival of the fittest. Although starting out as a joke, a junkyard owned by the grandchildren of particularly paranoid doomsday prepper, the scrapheap had turned into its own hierarchal and self-sustained society.
Either by agreement or force, Junkertown swallowed up smaller nearby settlements and grew until it finally became the sole authority of this lawless land. That wasn't to say that everything was fine within the city -far from it actually- but like the Holy Roman Empire thousands of years before, the Queen of Junkertown used bread and circus to keep her subjects behaved.
They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and if that was the case, then the ghost of the Colosseum would be blushing.
Junkertown's own battleground, the Scrapyard, was loaded to maximum capacity on this day. But like with the rest of the laws in this badlands, the Junkers within crammed even more bodies into stadium to attend the festivities of the day. They stood at the concourse, they stood in the seat, they even hung from the rafters; they did anything to watch The Wasteland's favorite sport.
But as chaos was being prepared up above, down below was a much calmer situation.
Made from the pieces of a garage, a doctor's examination room, and a school gym locker-room, three heroes prepared themselves in the ready room for combat in the arena above.
A man sat on a bench, he wore a pair of tactical cargo pants and a ballistic vest underneath a white sports jacket with the numbers, "76" embroidered on the back. The man, Soldier: 76, was currently loading pulse munitions into an en bloc clip for his heavy pulse rifle that was propped against the bench beside him. His red tactical facemask concealed his identity from most of the rest of the world, only allowing them to know him as a masked vigilante.
Opposite him was a large mass of blue fur with a tiny set of tools in his massive hands. Dr. Winston T. Gorilla, having secured his rocket boosters and armor, was making one last check up on his electric tesla canon before going to fight above.
Last, but not least, was a woman. She had bright blonde hair tied up into a high ponytail with bangs parted down the right side of her face. She was petit, with a very slim build, which was the same case for her armor, white layers of easy flex Kevlar nanoweave under resin plating. She had knee high metallic boots and orange carbon nanofiber triweave stockings and a loincloth as well. Although the question as to who would wear stockings to a battlefield was a rather interesting one, it was the last thing one would think of when the saw her final accessories. Firstly, a pair of metallic wings with bright yellow feathers protruded from her back, folded down as they were not in use. Next, a golden half-halo which connected to her head by air cushioned braces on the sides of her temple. Lastly, the woman stood with a six foot tall staff which was slowly misting a gentle yellow cloud from one end.
The motley crew of a masked vigilante, armored gorilla and angelic warrior would seem to be as random as a posse could be, but there was one thing that linked them all together, Overwatch.
The Organization, although now defunct, had left its members aimless after its disbandment, but after years of wandering the world looking for a purpose, the alumnus of the force banded together once again to make a difference in the world. So it wasn't glory and fortune that brought former Medical Officer Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Dr. Winston, or former Commander Jack "Soldier:76" Morrison to Junkertown, but instead, their mission.
A red light by the garage door on the far end of their compartment, an old traffic light to be exact, changed to green, and slowly, the door began to rise. The three, as ready as they'd ever be, rose and approached the opening, ready to enter the Scrapyard.