Hello everyone!
While I've been mostly on the SnK/AoT spectrum of writing, I've decided to clear my mind with something new, and Overwatch's cinematic trailer gave me a good idea for it. So basically, I wanted to create a hero out of the trailer boy (The one in the blue hoodie.), and the concept of a young hero inspired by more experienced ones taking matters into his own hands just stuck to me. So, well, here it is. I hope I managed to deliver you guys a quality experience!
...
Jackson was exhausted.
Never before had he experienced such a tiring yet amazing day. What was supposed to be a trip to the Museum of Recent Human History in the sprawling metropolis of Baltimore to check out the brand new Overwatch exhibit became a tense (Even if surprisingly awesome) battle for Doomfist's Gauntlet. A battle that he and his brother got caught in, and even took part in, when he donned the legendary power fist to knock away one of the marauders. Not only that, but they were soon surrounded by the press and the police, all much interested in his heroic feat among the two other heroes that were too involved in the conflict, yet were now distant in pursuit of the perpetrators. They were held by the annoying reporters for almost an hour and a half, and were only allowed to leave by the time the sun was starting to set in the horizon.
A sigh escaped his lips once he set foot inside his home, allowing his still overly energetic brother to enter before closing the door behind them. Sweet heavens, he was drained. His right arm, the one used to wield the powerful Gauntlet, was sore and protested at the slightest of movements. On top of that, he felt mentally exhausted, the repetitive and intrusive questions from press members and officers alike echoing in his ears, and he swore he could still see the flashes of the cameras, blinding his poor eyes. He inhaled deeply, locking the front door and turning around to see his little brother sporting the biggest grin his lips could ever provide.
"Bro, that was soooo coool!" He exclaimed, flailing his arms with vigor despite too being winded from the ordeal at the Museum. Jackson had to admit, little Albert, at only 9 years of age, had a seemingly infinite storage of energy, as his broken right arm didn't keep him from doing almost anything a kid his age could do. "Tracer and Winston came and just kicked their butts! And you!" He took a pause, huffing from his excessive excitement. "You up and grabbed Doomfist's Gauntlet and punched that thief meters away! Just like the original Doomfist would!"
Jackson couldn't help but to smile. Albert sometimes was just too much for him to maintain his uninterested and bored attitude up and running at all times. He let out a chuckle, setting the keys to the house on the dining table and ruffling his brother's hair. "Yeah, it was… pretty amazing." His gaze fell at the memory of the Gauntlet malfunctioning after being used only once, and a wave of guilt washed over him. "I… still feel pretty bad over the Gauntlet though. I mean, I didn't expect it to be fully functional, and I kinda ruined it… What if the Overwatch get mad at me? They're disbanded and all, but…"
That earned him a friendly punch on the shoulder from his brother, who stuck out his tongue and shook his head, a goofy smile brightening his face even more. "Are you kidding me, bro?! Tracer wasn't even mad at you! Tracer! The super awesome time-travelling adventurerl!" He struck a pose, one very reminiscent of Tracer's trademark one, and spun imaginary pistols in his fingers. "She even said," A pause, and Albert forced a terrible Cockney accent, performing a quick salute, "You know, the world could always use more heroes!"
The older brother gave in to the imitation, forgetting his worries for a moment and smiling broadly at the small boy, ruffling his hair even more. Even if it was rather hard to admit it, considering his great disappointment with the Overwatch due to their disbanding, Jackson couldn't hold back the feeling of sheer inspiration welling up in his chest. Lena Oxton, also known as the fantastic Tracer, implied that he, an average teenager from Baltimore, had the potential to be a hero. In years he hadn't felt so much motivation and impulse to go and do something bigger, something that could bring change. After all this time living a monotonous life, it seemed that this event at the Museum had shone a whole new light in his life, opening the gates to a myriad of opportunities…
He cut his own train of thought with a quick shake of his head, being brought back to the real world as he caught sight of his brother poking at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"You there? You kinda doozed off for a moment." Albert said, snapping his fingers in front of Jackson's face.
"Yeah, yeah, I just lost myself for a bit." He replied, blinking several times, as if pretending to blink away his tiredness. "I'm a bit tired." His phone buzzed in his pocket, prompting him to reach for it in his pockets and check the screen. A call from his mother, he noticed. Jackson swiped his finger across the screen, answering it immediately.
"Jackson?!" Came her voice, laced with extreme concern and what sounded like a bit of panic. "Finally, you picked up! Is everything okay? How are you and Albert? Are you both at home? You didn't get hurt did you-"
"Mom, mom, I'm here." He interrupted her, earning a relieved sigh from the other end of the line. While her concern was greatly appreciated and understandable, he couldn't help but to feel slightly aggravated at her bombardment of questions. "I'm home with Albert, we're fine. The press was just annoying, and the cops just asked us about information on the guys who crashed the museum, that's all."
"Oh, sweet heavens, I was so worried… I'm sorry for not calling earlier. Boss didn't let me contact you or your dad despite the situation." She seemed calmer now, and Jackson inhaled deeply, allowing his annoyance to dissipate some. "I managed to get out of work, but your dad won't be around until later. I'm driving home right now, sweetie."
"Okay, mom. I'll be waiting for you." A pregnant silence fell, even with his mother's scared breathing. "And again, we're alright. I'm sure the press or the police won't come to bugger us."
"Of course sweetie, no problem." She said, releasing a deep breath to calm herself down. "I'll be there in a few okay?"
"Alright, mom. See you."
"See you, sweet son!" With that, she hung up, leaving Jackson with a small tint of pink on his cheeks for the usage of his childhood nickname.
While it may seem worrying for a parent to contact their children this late after a troubling event, he wasn't really surprised, or even enraged; His parents worked hard despite them not facing any hardships, aiming to give their sons a quality life, and were often unavailable due to the high responsibilities surrounding their occupations. Sliding his phone back in his pocket, he turned to Albert, who was already climbing up the stairs, making combat and blast sounds with his mouth as he did. "Hey, mom just called. She's coming home in a few to check on us."
Albert gave him a quick thumbs up, hurrying all the way over to the house's second floor, still imitating blaster sounds with his mouth as he went. Jackson simply chuckled and tucked his hands back into the pockets of his hoodie, following his brother suit. The younger boy was quick to enter his room, snatching away two small action figures from one of his shelves littered with similar figures. The older brother simply leant by the doorway as his sibling threw himself in bed, amusing himself with the toys, which, much to Jackson's expectations, were representations of Tracer and Winston in their Overwatch days.
The two remained in silent save for Albert's excited noises and the eventual 'clank' made from the contact between the two plastic figures. Albert was too involved in recreating the fight with the toys, sleep slowly getting to him, while his brother stared out of the window, admiring the orange and yellow hue of the skies with a blank expression while his mind ran wild with the memories of his day at the Museum and the sudden influx of inspiration that had been injected in him by Tracer's words. Could I really be fit for that…?
Before he could delve deeper into the possibilities and into the realm of imagination, Albert snapped him once again from his thoughts. "Hey, bro…" He started, tiredly, yawning and gently resting the action figures on his belly. His big, blue eyes met with his brother's matching ones, instantly getting his attention. "Would you consider Tracer's offer?"
"What?!" Jackson spat suddenly, eyes widening and arms being held in a defensive position. He was quick to notice the exaggeration, however, and sighed, leaning back against the wall and throwing the child a questioning look. "I mean, what offer? She didn't offer me anything! She just said that the world could use more heroes." He was going against his own will, in a way, as Tracer's words still lit the fire of excitement and motivation inside him. "That doesn't mean anything!"
"Of course it does, man!" Albert countered, smiling defiantly at his brother as he pumped his good arm in the air. "She totally said that because she sees a hero in you! A super, hyper, über hero!" His fit of sudden euphoria was cut down rather quickly by another yawn, making him rub his eyes. "Tracer, bro! You know, the-"
He was about to go on another imitation moment, but Jackson was faster this time, waving his arm. "Yes, yes, I know… but it's not like they'd get heroes recruited for the organization, right?" Jack turned to his side, eyes running over his brother's vast collection of toys and movies, as well as a few video games. His gaze lingered on the Overwatch figurines, mind racing back to the events at the Museum. "Like, most heroes were professional soldiers, others were brilliant scientists with awesome gadgets, and even adventurers with years of experience on their backs. Plus, the Overwatch got shut down years ago…" He let his words fluctuate a bit, as he remembered well that Winston's armor bore the colors of the Overwatch. Something in his mind wanted to believe that it was making a comeback, throwing more fuel to the fires of his inflamed spirits, yet his uninterested demeanor was quick to come back, pushing the possibility away. "So I dunno what you're-"
Jackson cut himself off as he heard a loud snore, whipping his head towards Albert, only to see the boy sleeping deeply, mouth open and a line of drool slowly descending onto the covers. Smiling warmly, he walked up to the unconscious Albert, gently putting him in a more comfortable position as well as collecting Tracer's and Winston's action figures to avoid disturbing his slumber. As he left the room, he neatly arranged them back on the shelves, yet he didn't seem to be able to take his eyes off of the Tracer figure, thoughts flying back to the failed heist.
Humming as his mind raced once again, he made his way to his own bedroom, throwing himself down on his office chair without much care. It creaked in protest, yet Jackson simply pushed his foot against his desk, spinning himself around slowly, eyes still fixated on the small Tracer in his hands. The memories of the Museum fight flooded his conscience, the one where he punched the purple skinned sniper lady meters away with an energetic blast and Tracer telling him that the world could certainly use more heroic types shining brighter than the others. The same feeling of bottled euphoria, the feeling that he could go out and take on Baltimore's criminals with his bare fists, the feeling of being something else… It was all greatly overwhelming for someone so uninspired throughout most of his life, yet so empowering and motivational that it somehow mined through his cynicism.
He sighed, sitting up and setting the Tracer figure on his desk. For someone who had never had a single drop of inspiration or a general goal in their life, this was more than enough incentive for Jackson. From a young age, he was a big fan of the heroic Overwatch, following their every achievement and even aspiring to join it, as impossible as it may have seemed. However, his mother's wishes of him becoming a successful robotics technician just like his father often clashed with his dreams, which were utterly crushed once the organization was disbanded by the dreaded Petras Act, eventually torn asunder by internal complications as conflicts rose across the world. This only served as proof to his mother for her to turn him away from it, leaving Jackson disheartened and eventually lacking in interest for most if not all activities.
But now… now things changed. He had been given the impulse he needed. Something in him told him that it was rather arrogant and egotistical to think of himself as a hero in comparison to the former Overwatch agents, yet this wish to become something more than just a boring robotics technician was irrepressible after what went down. A big, certainly goofy smile appeared on his face as he finally let his imagination run free, no worries or cynic thoughts barring his train of creativity now. As delusional as his idea was, he clung to it, having been finally given a somewhat achievable goal to pursue.
And with that, Jackson excitedly reached for a pencil and paper neatly arranged on his desk, tapping the pencil against the surface as his brain whirred with all sorts of ideas.
No matter what now, he was going to be a hero.
…
God above, since when was being a hero so hard?
Not that he had even gotten started at his new 'occupation', no. Jackson was inside his room, hands buried in his hair as he once again read all the information available on Jack Morrison, Overwatch's founder and one of its most respected and accomplished agents. The boy simply didn't know how to kick this all off: The enthusiasm still burnt inside him, seeing that it somehow repaired some of his energy from his childhood, yet the lack of ideas or at least a solid starting point or even a general direction to pursue his newly found objective was utterly frustrating.
Releasing a groan, he was quick to cover his mouth, allowing silence to settle for a moment with a panicked look in his eyes. He couldn't afford to make too much noise, seeing that it was 11PM, and all of his family was already in bed. He should be too, yet his excitement was too great to be contained, and for all he knew, good ideas had to be written on paper somewhere before they escaped his grasp. The lack of progress, however, caught up to him, and he bit down on his pajama's collar, a muffled groan following.
Silence came once again, his hands brought to his face as he leaned back against the chair, almost on the verge of giving up. A disappointed sigh came, and he went back to browsing the Internet… until something caught his eye. An advert to some shady, probably fake Overwatch game, with the original Doomfist on the center. His eyes shot wide with sudden realization. How could I have been so dumb! He thought, mentally punching himself.
Certainly, he wasn't exactly the most fitting successor to Doomfist, if he could even be called a successor to the amazing power-gauntlet man, yet the concept seemed like a start. Plus, his mother had ingressed him in his school's robotics class since the beginning of this year, and while so far he had only crafted simplistic mechanisms with his lack of inspiration, now he could certainly spawn something… interesting to say the least. His brain worked at what felt like lightspeed, and within seconds, he had grabbed his phone, his 'The Many Uses of Robotic Engineering' book, several sheets of paper and a pencil; His father's basement awaited him.
He quickly turned off his computer and opened his door quickly, looking from side to side in the house's darkened corridor. Silence still reigned supreme in the house, save for his father's loud snoring, which was noticeable despite their bedroom door being locked. Sighing in relief, he tiptoed his way to the stairs, his head whipping in every direction for any signs of his parents or his brothers waking up for whatever reason.
Jackson descended the stairs as stealthily as he could, feet gently touching every step before he applied his full weight on them. It may be 2056, yet wooden floors were still a pain to get around without sounding like a haunted house's front door. Even though the act of sneaking in his own house felt a bit clandestine regarding his mother's somewhat strict rules on bedtimes, it still was exhilarating, in a way, and the mere thought of visiting and tinkering in his father's was more than enough fuel to make him go on.
The subtle silvery rays of moonlight seeped into the open windows of the house, providing him with a level of lighting to find himself around the living room. Jackson made his way over to the basement door, right next to the kitchen counter, his heart starting to beat loudly in his heart. He was rather surprised, in a way. It has been a while since he felt this much anticipation, even if his craftsmanship skills weren't that great to create something even remotely akin to a gauntlet. His hands reached for the knob, and the door swung open slowly… revealing a pitch-black descent into darkness.
A shiver ran down his spine. Since when was the basement this dark, anyways? Just staring at it felt like a pair of glowing eyes would stare back, or some creature would snatch him away forever the second he set foot on the small staircase leading to the basement. Jackson shook his head, scoffing silently at his cowardly thoughts. Inhaling deeply, he sucked his fear as much as he could and stepped in; But not before long since fear was quick to return to him, arms desperately searching for the light switch until a dim yellow light flashed on the center of the basement, flickering some before shining at full strength. Jackson sighed, quickly closing the door behind him before the light could disturb his family.
Upon turning around, however, he was amazed, mouth gaping at the sight, even: Boxes filled with tools, large sheets of metal and other advanced materials, blueprints glued precariously to the walls, welders and blowtorches spread messily on the floor, scorch marks here and there, and even the odd and outdated Omnic skeleton model, its limbs spread on top of a large table as if it was awaiting to be assembled. "Wow…" He muttered, stepping more confidently towards the center of the basement.
It wasn't long until he started to feel giddy. Without even thinking, he dropped the objects he carried with him on the table, gently pushing aside the sturdy metallic legs of the yet-to-be formed Omnic to free up some space. Never knew that had this much stuff in the basement… He thought, eyes still wandering around his father's impressive inventory. Granted, the man had been a technician for years, and even though the basement hasn't been used in a while, it still sported a staggering inventory.
Now that he had everything set up, Jackson whipped out his phone, accessing the Internet browser and quickly searching "Doomfist". Several results appeared, yet, for reference, he looked at the pictures, zooming in the most detailed one he could find. A hum came from him. Well… he wouldn't be able to replicate anything of that caliber, obviously. The Gauntlet was bulky, covered in a strong metallic material, and sporting what looked like two fusion cores, let alone the colored plating, with the embed "DF". Yeah, he certainly wouldn't get even close to create something so complex, yet he was excited to aim for something somewhat simpler.
Opening the book he brought, he flipped the pages until he had reached the 'Limbs and Other Human-Like Contraptions' section, which covered in detail the crafting of mechanisms that acted like arms and hands. Just from the illustrations, he could remember some of his classes in Robotics, where he crafted a very simple three-finger hand. Furrowing his brows, he held his chin in his hand as he tried to find a good starting point. Not a moment until he noticed the unused Omnic limbs, more specifically the forearms. His hand reached for one, examining it closely. The fingers fell limply as they were moved, showing him that the arm had only been given the external plating, the insides still hollow as they needed the proper systems to create a functioning Omnic.
Jackson's eyes brightened as an idea came to mind. He gave the interior of the forearm a quick look, proving that it was hollow, and carefully inserted his left arm inside, hissing a bit as his hand brushed against a few rough edges. Much to his surprise, the empty fingers managed to accomodate his own, albeit rather loosely, and reacted well as he opened and closed his hand. Glee shone in his eyes at the discovery, a whole new world of possibilities appearing in his mind. Out of excitement, he stroke a brief power pose, throwing a series of punches… until it slid out of his hand, clanking limply on the floor.
"Oops…" Jackson muttered, gritting his teeth in worry, before scooping it off the floor and putting it back on the table. He went back to pondering on how to counter the problem, searching for a possible fix. Soon enough, he turned to the myriad of resources around him, immediately walking over to them upon spotting a few useful-looking components. Before he started collecting them, he stretched, joints popping and earning a relaxed if not sleepy sigh. "Okay, let me see what I can do…"
What followed was seemingly tireless hammering, welding, screwing, coiling, wrapping, measuring, experimenting, examining, researching, drawing and planning, time flying by as Jackson got his hands dirty, scratched and even lightly burned (He wasn't very experienced with a welder, leaving small scorch marks on his palms as he progressed.), his creation taking a rather cheap but solid appearance. In the process, he found himself wearing gloves and goggles, only encouraging him further with the craftsman vibe given by them.
A few more moments passed like seconds for him, and it was done. Well, he believed it was so, at least, but it looked pretty good so far. In all the time that had gone by (He had lost track of time as he was completely absorbed in exploiting his rookie robotics skills.), he had managed to coil two leather straps around the joints, making the gauntlet hug his forearm and hand more securely, even if he had to wear gloves to avoid injuring his hand when moving it. For a more combat oriented addition, he welded and strapped several plates of metal on the knuckles with duct tape, so that he could have that extra power against the bad guys that he wished to best. Jackson smiled broadly at his creation, as primitive and simplistic as it was, and couldn't help but to throw several punches into the air, the gauntlet only jiggling lightly with the aid of the leather straps. It stung here and there from the rough edges inside the hollowed arm, but that was a problem for another day.
"This is so awesome!" He exclaimed in a hushed tone, ignoring the soreness growing in his right arm because of the added weight. Sure, the gauntlet was nowhere similar or powerful as Doomfist's, but it could certainly hurt if connected with someone's face or chest, courtesy of the badly welded and later strapped-with-duct-tape metal parts. Granted, the force would reflect on his knuckles, as an Omnic's hand was in no shape or form meant to fit the hand of a 15 year old human, but he had to do with it for the time's being.
It didn't take long before his energetic fit finally ended, his shoulders slumping forward and a yawn making him rub his eyes tiredly. Now he was really exhausted. Deciding to call it a day, Jackson grabbed his phone with his free left hand, eyes going as wide as they could at the time: Exactly three and a half in the morning. Panic settled in, being suddenly reminded of school and his mother's anger should he wake up late to take his brother along as well. He didn't bother to remove his gauntlet, balancing all his belongings on top of it precariously, and shut the lights, leaving the basement as fast as the weight he was carrying allowed him to.
Left without anything else to do, he made his way to his room, albeit more slowly, considering that his creation was rather noise with movement. Once inside, Jackson carefully set his book and drawings on his desk, only putting the book over the papers to keep them hidden (From his brother, mainly, as the kid would certainly go ballistic should he discover his older bro's schemes.). With that done, he had to find a hiding place for his cheap gauntlet, removing the leather straps to help it come out. Perhaps under the bed…
As he scanned his room for a suitable storage spot, his eyes eventually fell on the mirror in his room, his image completely visible due to the moonlight creeping in from the window. Despite the messy appearance of his dark blonde hair, the rings under his eyes and the wrinkled aspect of his PJ's sleeves… Jackson seemed lively. Since the disbanding of Overwatch and his mom's gradually more pressuring advances on making him an eventual technician, he always looked bored or plain dull, as if something had robbed the life out of his blue eyes. Now, however, his face, while tired, appeared to shine with youth and exhausted joy, a small yet noticeable smile refusing to go away on his lips.
Chuckling at his rather silly conclusion, he crouched and hid his creation under the bed, the feeling of accomplishment within him still not disappearing. Regardless to say, he was happy. In just one day, he had played a major role in the outcome of a battle, been inspired by one of the greatest heroes the world has seen, and made a huge advancement in his ambitious idea of becoming something akin to a hero. Waiting no longer, he stretched and threw himself in bed, a joyful sigh leaving his mouth as he was soon asleep, face still marked with an expression of fulfillment.
Because for all that he knew, this day marked the birth of a new Jackson. Ambitious, ingenious, energetic, inspired, courageous. And if all went right, heroic.
…
Well, that's all for the first chapter. I really apologize if the lack of action made it boring, but I already have some stuff going on for the next chapter, which I'll start working on as soon as possible. Please, review the story and point out anything I may have missed in my proofreading, as well as something that may have an impact on the flow of the fic. It's been a while since I've written, and I'm rather rusty.
Anyways, I'll see you guys in the next chapter!
-SteelyThePally