Welcome to something a bit new for me. I was playing overwatch some time ago (yeah, I play Overwatch, or at least I did) and I thought of a new character. A character that was based off chemical weapons. I know Ana is already like this but still, one that was based differently on the matter. Grab a condiment and snack of your choice, sit in a comfy seat, and happy readings.

Hattington Bar, 20:00.

Harter was at the bar with the interviewer. He didn't know why he said yes when he was asked to participate in an interview about his past, he kind of just said yes and went with the flow. He took a sip of whiskey, feeling a tingling sensation flow throughout his body. Something interesting about him was that he could never get drunk, no matter how much alcohol he downed. He had quite the tolerance. Alcohol just had no influence on him, but he drank anyway it anyways for the sensitive feel of it.

The women gave a tiny cough, wanting to get the interview over with.

"Er, can we start now? I don't know if you noticed but, I really don't like bars, or waiting," The woman said. She had prominent blue eyes, and dark brown hair. She wasn't very tall, only standing at 5 feet, 7 inches. She wore a grey coat, and dark blue pants.

"Alright, but just because you asked so nicely" he replied, putting down the shot glass in his hand.

"If you don't mind me asking, what is your name? Not your agent name, that is," She asked, pulling out a notebook.

"Harter Lukos," he answered, taking another shot.

"Well Harter, tell me about your childhood, and what drew you to join Overwatch all those years ago," The woman inquired starting to scribble down things on her notebook. The man looked around for a moment, and saw a mirror, and inspected himself in it. He was currently wearing a dark duster coat, and some dark pants to match. He noticed his jet black hair, with grey starting to creep up in it, and his short beard, which was kept in good order. His eyes were a nice brown, though behind them was a different story.

"I had a nice childhood, with a middle class family. Not poor, not rich, but just right. I had a dream of becoming a doctor of the brain and the nervous system's chemicals, a neurologist if you will."

Harter then had a flashback of being a kid, looking was looking at his parents. They were smiling, both happy that their child was happy. He smiled then, living back in the old days.

"Then right as I turned 20, I was off to college, to make my dream come true," Then Harter's slight smile faded. "But only 2 years later, the first omnic crisis arose. Most of my family died in the crisis, including my parents."

He had another image, of coming home only to see his entire neighborhood destroyed, and walking in the ruins of his home.

"I decided I was going to make them pay. I set off, with only the knowledge of chemicals, an idea sprouting in my mind, and the will for revenge. Maybe I could develop weapons that used the enemy's fears against them? I learned that certain omnics had operating systems that were made to replicate human emotions, such as happiness, nervousness, anger… and fear," He continued. Another image, this one of him tinkering with vials of chemicals, and pieces of scrap. He was building his weapons to fight back against the enemy. "I created the anti-shot. A weapon designed to neutralize a omnic's core function, and make it vulnerable to attack. I decided to test it against them when I was sent on a mission with a couple other agents."

"And how did it go?" The lady asked, looking up from her notebook.

"Heh, let's just say I learned that day that omnics definitely had some fear in them. When I had cornered some and immobilized them with the serum, they would scream in fear, swiping left and right, shooting everywhere but we were, shouting incoherent babbles."

"Did you feel remorse for their suffering?"

Harter looked to the woman with a wicked grin on his face.

"No, I enjoyed watching them suffer. Hell, I'm sure I was laughing the entire time as they slowly died, but why should I feel bad for them? They were getting the punishment they deserved, and I was helping with the omnic problem. When the head of Overwatch found out about the mission… well… he was less than ecstatic. The following week I was discharged from Overwatch, told that I abused the name of justice and used pure cruelty to punish those who did wrong."

Harter stopped talking for a moment to order another bottle of whiskey from the bartender.

"Sorry, but you've had at least 2 entire bottles already, I'm almost out," the bartender explained. Harter reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of money and gave it to the bartender. "One bottle of whiskey commin' up."

"Where was I?" Harter asked as he grabbed his bottle of alcohol.

"Kicked out of Overwatch for cruelty," The woman replied.

"Look, what else was I going to do to those omnics? Hold their hands and make goodie good friends with them? Back on track here, I was kicked out and from there, I just became a nomad. I wandered around, either perfecting my serum to work upon both synthetic life and organic life, or torturing omnics the entire way. One day though, I heard that Overwatch was taken down, attacked by terrorists. I don't know why, but after that I stopped, just lost the need to put cruelty upon robots. I went underground from then on, drinking and tinkering with my stuff. Eventually we ended up here today, talking to reporter chicks at bars while I try to get myself drunk."

"Mhm. What did you do when you heard that Overwatch was rebanding together, not too long ago?" The lady then asked.

"I'm still deciding… wait, did you say that they're rebanding?" Harter suddenly asked, turning to the woman.

"Uhm, yes, they are. It's been announced only about a few months ago that Overwatch was now reforming itself, under new leadership of Winston."

"Winston who?"

"Well, no one actually has a affirmate of his last name, but he's just been documented as Winston. Overwatch activity has been reported and confirmed for several months, how haven't you known about this?"

"Didn't I tell you I went hiding for a bit, tinkering with my toys?"

"Yes, don't you-"

"I don't communicate much when I hide, then again I am here… what should I do?"

"Uhm, join Overwatch again?"

"They're the ones that kicked me out when I was helping them fight omnics, the exact same folk who killed off my family!"

"That was years ago! Things have changed since then, similar ideals, new leadership, and new enemy. You can help them protect the world, like you did before."

"I tried that before, and that flopped on it's ample but firm posterior hard."

"Why are you afraid to try?"

"Afraid? You have any idea what fear even is, woman?"

"I'm sure it's not someone hiding in the shadows, spitting remarks at a group that's trying to help the world and complaining about something decades ago!"

Harter opened his mouth, but found that no noise came out. To attempt to cover that up, he put his bottle in his mouth and took a sip before attempting again.

"Ugh, alright, Ms. try-and-try, what do you want me to do? Go back to a group that kicked me out to the curb for trying to help?"

"More like torture. Look, just try to get back in with them. Apologize for what you did, say you thought it was right, but it turned out wrong!"

"What'll I do if they decline?"

"Well, then show them you can help. Take your choice, Harter."

Harter looked to the polished wooden counter and thought over it for a moment before getting up and leaving the bar.

"And where are you going?" The lady called.

"To go talk to an old friend," Harter replied, walking out the door and disappearing into the night, leaving the reporter with the check.