Whenever you need someone…

Doctor Angela Ziegler paused in front of the door to the examination room, waiting on her own nerves as she stood with a binder in her hand. She had heard the rumors, the idle gossip around the medical facility; that the young medical prodigy had become obsessed with her own little project like a star struck teenage girl obsessing over a boy. For as much as she would deny it, at this point she had to admit that they were true. To set the rumor straight, she wasn't a teenage girl obsessing over a boy, she was twenty two years old, and while in retrospect she would have to admit she did seem obsessed over this project, she would secede that, at this point, it was done more out of regret and pity. After all, there was a difference between simply being alive, and living. The most embarrassing thing out of all of it was that she didn't even know his name.

Taking one final breath, Angela rapped her knuckles on the door, and after a few seconds of courtesy, she opened the door to the room.

Inside, the room was mostly dark. Flashing lights from medical apparatuses glowed in the room as well as machine parts and gadgets on all varying types. Power tools mixed with scalpels, blood packs with oil, and spools of wiring and cable intertwined with IV's full of fluid waiting in their sterile containers. Sitting in the corner, like the emperor surveying his domain from the confines of his dungeon, was a man.

To the unassuming eye, they probably wouldn't notice the resident of the room, especially in the dark with all the lights low and machines blinking in every which way, but what truly camouflaged this dark figure in the room was his metallic form. Armor and machine prosthetics nearly covered the man's body from head to toe. Secret compartments for armor and weapons were hidden in place where boring normal human flesh would be, synthetic organs had replaced their natural counterparts throughout the chest cavity. Even entire limbs were now gone, completely replaced by carbon fiber wiring and metallic chassis. The only thing that betrayed the metallic man from his surroundings were his remaining human parts, an entire flesh arm rested on the side of the chair while parts of his face that were not covered by his visor remained.

The doctor greeted the patient in the room, and received nothing in return. The man sat on his throne and stared ahead, only occasionally blinking. "How were your prosthetics functioning today?" she asked, approaching the side of the large machine chair, flipping down a console and looking at the screen inside. In response, all she heard was an apathetic, "Fine."

The doctor gave a slight sigh, and then returned to work. It was not easy to work on someone who didn't seem to have any response to stimuli, be it operating on a near corpse, or simply trying to converse with them, but patience was a virtue, and eventually something would break through. Although asking how a patient was feeling was second nature to any practitioner of medicine, there was more to the question than just formalities. The chair that her patient was sitting in was not just an ordinary piece of furniture, it was as much of a high tech piece of machinery as his cybernetics were.

Unlike the much more barbaric methods of old, the solutions to her enhancements were not as simple as lopping off a limb, cauterizing the wound, attaching a hook in its spot and calling it a day. No, the amount of extensive work put into saving this patient had involved an extreme amount of amputation and replacement. The amount of foreign elements and chemicals in his body was toxic, even additives to make his body adjust to his new metallic organs were almost as harmful as the malady they were trying to replace, but that was where the chair came in.

Although eventually there would come a time when the body would no longer need its assistance, the chair in this room was designed to purify and recycle the fluids coursing through the subject's veins. Like an oversized liver, this device plugged directly into its user and rejuvenated the body, removed the toxins in the bloodstream, and kept the occupant alive. After time and proper acclamation to his new body, the subject would no longer require to use it, but it would take a while, and with how much he was being pushed to fight, every second counted.

After seeing that his vitals were fine, the doctor closed the control console and made her way to the table to update her notes. All the while, the subject in the chair kept lifelessly staring ahead. It was uncanny to look at, one cybernetic eye and one human, but both seemed to be devoid of life.

After writing in her notes, the doctor turned around to face the patient and said, "Your response to your new body is quite remarkable. Progress has accelerated much faster than I had expected, almost too fast it seems. Feel free to tell me if you are feeling any discomforts or changes you would like to suggest."

The doctor was saying that in an automatic sort of way, not expecting an answer, which showed in how surprised she was when she actually earned a unique response. "My eyes." She dropped what she was doing and approached the patient, bending over to get a good look at his eyes. He continued, "they aren't moving fast enough. I can't focus if they keep splitting on me."

"My…" she said, "If your prosthetic is moving too quickly, we can work on that to-"

"No," he said, "Its too slow." The doctor was shocked, this had to be a joke. After initial testing, the iris had already been brought up to its maximum safe speed to compensate for the subjects remarkably fast reflexes, there was no way that his biological eye was faster than that. "I want you to take it out." He said.

The doctor gave a hard swallow, thinking of what to say, "I… I understand that it may not feel comfortable, but removing the prosthetic isn't a long term solution. I'm sure that if I talk to Commander Reyes and we take more time, it will surely-"

"No." he corrected. "the other one."

The doctor was silent, dumbfounded in a moment of shock and expecting her stoic patient to burst out laughing at her expense at any moment, but as the silence lasted longer and longer, she came to realize he was serious. Eventually, she composed herself and answered, "Well… I will have to request permission from Commander Reyes first… but in the mean time I will pursue alternative options."

"Fine."

She returned to her notes on the table, pawing through them to find any other orders of business that needed to be done before leaving, and found a dossier of the patient's profile. Glancing through it, she reengaged the conversation, stating, "Oh, and it seems there is a missing entry in your profile. If you would, what is your date of birth?"

The half man gave a sigh, completely apathetic to the request, but after noticing that silence would not be an answer, he finally said, "February 23rd, 2055."

The doctor paused for a moment, beginning to say, "wait, that's…" but as soon as she realized the significance of the date, she changed her tone and wrote the information down, replying, "thank you, Mr…"

Staring absolute daggers at her, the illusive man in the chair only said, "Sparrow."

Giving a sigh, the doctor closed the file and set it down. She thanked "Sparrow", and not finding any other excuse to stay longer, gathered her things to leave. Before leaving, she picked up the remote to the television in the room and turned it on, hitting the hot-keyed favorites and turning it to hyper-stylized cartoons.

Besides the television, the room was inactive afterwards, and after waiting to make sure that he would not receive any more visitors, Genji Shimada took the remote and turned the television off. Many things angered Genji –or as his codename went, "Sparrow"- nowadays, but there was something in particular about how that doctor would always turn the television on before leaving. Nobody was that dense to not see that he wanted to be left in solitude, and of course, turning it to anime as if he was some teenage otaku? Ignorance is what it was.

But no matter, he was free now, and if the daily routine around the base would foretell, he would be alone for the next ten hours.

"[You shouldn't have done that.]"

Genji smirked, the action hidden beneath his visor, "I got away with it, didn't I?" he thought back.

The drab steel armor of his chest began to glow green, like it was being dissolved away by acid. Forming from the glow came the head of a serpent, a great bearded dragon filled with spiritual energy drifted out of the torso and turned, wrapping around to look at the master who had inherited its power.

Speaking from the thought-bond that the two shared, the great green dragon spoke once more, "[She almost caught you. You must understand that even I am in the shadow of my former strength in this state. You must recover.]"

"You worry too much, Kita." He said, "and besides," he added, looking at his robotic arm and hand, "What would they do if they caught me? They've already taken one hand."

The dragon looked away in disgust, "[Petty thievery, is that what you've resorted to now? Shame. Shame upon you, Genji.]"

The cybernetic ninja scoffed at his old ally's concern as he lounged in his chair, feeling the ports and pods entering into his body to perform their function, "Save it for someone who cares." He said, opening up his hand and revealing some crisp folded notes hiding within.


"Huh?" Angela said aloud, "What's this?"

When Overwatch was originally formed, their beginnings were small and humble, but as the organization gained fame and notoriety, its staff and scope expanded many times over. With the growing pains of the organization, the need of larger living spaces expanded the room and housing requirements of a growing workforce. Single men in particular were more than happy to save the money and just live in bunks in a barracks, but for those with families or people who needed their privacy, a new base had to be made.

Thus, as more people stood under the Overwatch banner, a new complex was acquired. Although all secure, the new base had layers of defenses for the security of its subjects. For the needs of new families from all over the world, a school was built to accommodate the children, a suburb was made for the spouses of the enlisted individuals, and since most of the recruits of Overwatch came from the United States, a large grocery store was constructed within the confines of the complex to sustain them all. Although it wasn't as large as a modern day superstore, the MaxMart inside of the camp still was able to accommodate most of the needs of a family unit. Although Angela would often get her groceries elsewhere, it was indeed awfully convenient to have the store nearby, inside the fence line and en-route on her way home.

Although the store was mostly empty, floors being cleaned and shelves restocked by the nightshift, she found herself paused in front of a red cardboard cutout with a small shelf for items to be placed within. At the top of the stand was a printout of fireworks bursting in the sky with the word, "SALE!" in the center.

She had just ran into the store to grab a few things that she had thought of at the very last minute and then rush home, and her shopping cart had mirrored that. All that was held within was a package of a dozen eggs, two boxes of cake mix, a can of decorative frosting, candles, a cupcake tin, and wax-paper cupcake wrappers so she, herself, was surprised at the distraction right before checkout.

She reached into the display and pulled out a thin cardboard tab and red the front, "100 years of Passion! The Greatest Love Songs from the last Century." She flipped the tab over and looked on the back, seeing a long list of the songs on the back of the tab.

Valentine's Day had been earlier in the month. She had paid the holiday no heed, but since this whole base was made to be a little slice of America in the middle of Europe, it seemed that this chain store managed to get the promotions as well. She saw the price tag on the tab, and was about to return it to the bin until she saw the display that it was in had marked it down considerably. She didn't need it per se… but at the same time, she had to admit that it was a little too quiet around her condo some times. As she investigated the advertisement closer, the tab had no hard material on it, and instead held the download code for the catalog, and that the format of the music allowed it to be shared to all of her smart devices, from her personal computer, to her phone, to her car, to her television, and even her home's audio system.

As she stood before the empty embankments of self-checkout lanes, she checked the track listings again. Glancing through them all, she had to admit that she didn't recognize any of them. Were they all old? That possibly could be the reason, but more likely it was because they all seemed to be English or American Rock n' Roll and Soul songs, and she was Swiss. She was about to put the cardboard tab back where it belonged because she was weary that she wouldn't enjoy the selection, but then she stopped herself once more. This was supposed to be the best of the best selection, so she shouldn't just discount that it would automatically be bad, and when she thought of it, when she was learning advanced English in school, her teacher would have them listen to old Anglophone music to better understand the language and what its speakers said –or rather, don't say- to express their meaning.

After all, that was what helped the most when it came to her name becoming "AN-jel-Ah!"

And so, without further protest, she dropped the tab into her cart and proceeded to the self-checkout lane.

She scanned her items, paid for it all, and bagged them all up and put them back in her cart to pull to her car, but as she walked back to the entrance to the store, she had to stop and pause for a moment. Large plate glass windows lined the front face of the store, allowing shoppers to look in and out of the MaxMart, and although the inside of the market was bright with an artificial white florescent light, the outside of the store was pitch black. The night was a dark as ink, a cold February rain shower saturated the dark world and almost made it look like the cold void of space.

Angela tightened the straps and flaps of her trench coat a little tighter at the sight of the downpour outside. From the very bottom of her heart, she hoped that nobody was out there in the cold night.


Sparrow… He really hated that name. The stupid pet-name that his family had given him for his energetic behavior. It seemed that no matter what Genji did or was able to accomplish, he was always just a sparrow darting through the wind.

For as much as he loathed the title, a part of him had to agree that it was quite fitting. Maybe someday the realization that "the Sparrow" was what ruined the Shimada Crime Family would bring peace to his soul, but that was for another time. His thirst for vengeance could wait for a night. This little excursion was for him, first.

Genji walked through the alleyways and spaces between buildings in the cold night. He wore an old sweatshirt, a treasure plundered from a garbage can on an earlier foray out of the base when he was supposed to wait until morning. His hands, hidden in the center pocket of his shirt, held a small collection of money that he had spent the last month plundering from his "colleagues". Someone focusing on a task for too long was an easy pickpocket, money left on tables or in the dispensers of vending machines were just waiting to be claimed, and it wasn't his fault if someone left their possessions unattended or locker unlocked.

Emerging out of an alleyway, he looked around an old dormant street. Cars were parked, streetlamps were on, and lights were off in the houses. It seemed the whole world was asleep except for the liquor store on the exact opposite side of the street.

The Dragon emerged from the spirit world and appeared beside Genji. He said, "[This is not wise. You do not respect the consequences of your actions. You must return, find peace within yourself before the poison takes you along this path once more.]"

Genji scoffed at the counsel of his spirit dragon, "You worry too much. Just leave me alone for a night and let me enjoy something in the world." He then walked across the street, and headed towards the store, but Kita did not follow. The dragon had not been lying when he said that his strength was diminishing, it had cost him all that he had to simply keep his heir alive before, but now, as more of the man had become machine, and Genji turned his back on his advice for the final time, the great dragon could do nothing but close his eyes, and slowly fade into the night.

Genji entered the store, the bell on the door alerting the grizzled attendant as he sat at the counter and watched a small television before him. The clerk stood as Genji approached the counter and faced him. Was Genji impulsive? Yes. Yet, it had to be said that he was not completely reckless. His arrival in this store was not a surprise coincidence or chance, he knew the dangers of if he got caught sneaking out of the base, and so, as he lurked around the local town, he scouted out all of his potential stops and came to the conclusion that this was the only liquor store without a security system.

The man looked at the smaller customer hiding behind a hooded sweatshirt and demanded, "What."

Genji looked through the man's selection. The store was sparse and had no decorations, nothing but booze, booze, and more booze lined the shelves and freezers in the hole-in-the-wall shop, but none of that interested Genji. In his previous life, he had been a hedonist of only the finest of delicacies in life, and even in this lesser state, he knew that the only thing for him was behind the counter and on the very top shelf.

Settling on the only tolerable choice, he pointed up at the top of the shelf and said, "That one," before he dropped a pile of notes on the counter.

The man turned, reaching up into the sacred level of collection and pulled down the bottle, inspecting in bottle and giving a laugh. He set it down, but did not let his hand leave the top of the glass. What he had produced was a clear glass bottle, filled with an equally clear liquid. On the label, in silver lettering was the word, "Sunset". Below it was a picture of the sun setting over the coast of the Caribbean with a golden banner below it with the name, "Saint Vincent".

The owner wasn't dumb, only drunks, bums, vagarants, and ne'er-do-wells come to his store this late at night and ask for the expensive stuff. He didn't trust a man who hid himself behind a hood after walking into his store. For all he knew, this could have been some angsty teen sneaking out on Mommy and Daddy, and even if it cost a sale, he wasn't going to let anyone try to guilt him into this. "Can I see some I.D.?" he said, challenging his late night customer.

Genji, eyeing him from behind his disguise, stared down the storeowner, and after rummaging through his pockets, set down another wad of bills.

The man watched, and after seeing the robotic hand emerge and disappear before him, he gave a nod and an approving huff. He let go of the bottle, and without saying a word, he rolled up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo on his shoulder which showed an eagle flying with an omnic's robotic eyes in its talons. Below it was the word, "Buneswehr 113th".

He looked into his guest's eyes and saw enough, the horrors of war, the things that nobody was meant to see, the nights of waking up in combat to find yourself alone in a dark room although your mind was stuck in the past. He took the money for the beverage and backed away, letting Genji grab it and walk out into the cold night.


Although the lights were on, the drapes were closed in Dr. Ziegler's condo. Music filled all of the rooms of the residence, including the kitchen. In said kitchen, a small mess had been made on the counter by the oven, where a mixing bowl, kitchenware and ingredients had been scattered across its surface while the final product was cooking in the oven.

Although a studious woman, pride had overtaken Angela, and upon mixing and finishing the cake batter, she had decied to throw it in the oven to cook alongside her dinner while she washed off for the night. Although twenty minutes at 180 degrees Celsius would perfect for warming up leftover Salsbury Steak and noodles, it was not the case for cupcakes. But that issues was out of sight and out of mind at that moment, for she was in the shower and washing her hair to an electronic beat.

Although she couldn't dance, she felt the music flow through her and almost compelled her to try, but she resisted. What she couldn't resist, though, was singing along with the warm water as a she heard the demands of a love-struck woman demanding her love's commitment.

"Tell it to mein heart;

Tell me I'm ze only one.

Tell me if it's love or just une game!"

She had uploaded the new music catalog to her home system when she got home, and as she had started to listen, she would often play a song once to listen to what it had to say and then replay it to actually enjoy it. As she did so, she had a feeling that the album she had bought was less a collection of the best love songs ever, and more a bunch of old songs about love that happen to be public domain at this point. But, to be honest, she didn't particularly mind as she sang along to the electronic 80's beat. She had a feeling that this catalog was going to be a pleasant surprise, and was happy that she had decided to go ahead and buy it, for her other decision for the night was now smoldering in the oven.


A car flashed by, speeding through the rainy night, its headlights illuminated the bottle and made the clear liquid shine within. Genji sat on the side rail of this small bridge, paying no heed to the occasional traveler speeding behind him. He didn't care about the rain, or the cold, all he wanted was to have a bottle to himself in order to think back on his old life, on the old times.

The concoction was cold, but it burned like fire as it splashed against his lips and seared his tongue. It felt good, like a treasure from a time long since passed. It reminded him of his time in luxury, of drinking expensive drinks in lavish places with beautiful women. It numbed the pain, dulled his hatred, this bottle made him actually consider not hating himself as much. But, as his mind wandered, his innocent thoughts would bring him to rage, it would make his blood boil, the thought would make him think that the alcohol on his tongue ignite and cause his smoky breath to become fire. All of it inevitably would lead back to him, to Hanzo, the 'brother' who had done this to him.

When the thoughts became too powerful, he would have to stop himself, calm down and focus on the bottle. The greater his buzz became, the more he realized how much he missed something like this. If not for the fact that it was just a fine bottle of rum, then he would definitely appreciate how it cleansed his palette from all of the nutrient rich soy food he was forced to eat. As time stretched on, he realized how light he was beginning to feel, and realized that it had been too long since he had enjoyed a good drink.

His thoughts and hypothesizes may have been true. It had been over a year since he had last touched a bottle, and the sterilized food he was prescribed was indeed terrible, but it had a purpose. Back when he was Genji Shimada, he may have been able to down an entire botte of 151 Sunset, but as Sparrow, the cyborg that was more machine than man. His liver was metal now, and even if it could remove machine toxins from his bloodstream, a rapid influx of 169 Proof was a whole new experience.

As more and more of it drip drip dripped down his throat, the machines within him were becoming less and less able to function.

But then, like a knife through the dark, a voice cut through the storm around him.

"Sparrow… Not even death could teach you shame."