Author's Notes:

Alright, this is the first of what I hope to be a number of non-canon Overwatch stories, looking at possibilities of operations during the Omnic Crisis. I'll likely be introducing non-canon characters into the mix as well: I know that this may seem irritating, given the pretty large existing character base, but I felt it might be an idea to try out. Also, aside from Tracer, Morrison, and perhaps Winston, I need to learn more of the character's personas so as to accurately portray them in these stories.

On the note of the non-canons, you may notice them be referred to by two different names in the space of a paragraph. Sorry if that happens, I just can't quite settle on names easily. I really sympathise with professional writers, who do this as a means of income rather than a hobby. This story's already on Edit #14 or so, as I've had to come back and change something and re-upload, and fix typos and... you get the idea.

I'll try to keep up with posting new chapters as much as I can. No guarantees though, I'm quite busy between now and January.

I've rated this story T to be on the safe side. Don't wanna get banned on my first chapter.

Contains mild language. Possibly a few suggestive themes and occurrences.

EDIT: I've decided to remove the dates from the story other than those referring to the past. I couldn't settle onwhat was reasonable and close-to-canon for the story so I've decided that no dates is better than wildly inaccurate dates.

1: The FNG

Watchpoint Gibraltar. 1800 hours GMT.

Tracer sat up and looked across the mess hall at the new guy, or FNG. He looked as battle-worn as Morrison, flanking him on his right side, yet no older than her, if that. And a little scrawny, too.

He walked across from the entrance toward her, directed by Morrison.

"Tracer, this is your new partner for Ops until he's got a few miles on the clock with Overwatch", Morrison begun.

"Yeah, like I need them, Jack."

"That's 'Commander', Omega.", Morrison cut in. Obviously, this FNG, Lamont or whoever he was, definitely hated authority. How had she had the misfortune of being assigned him, rather than being taken under Reyes' wing in Blackwatch? That said, she noted him wince ever so slightly at the use of his callsign.

"Tracer, eh?" He turned around, a quizzical look on his face, "odd name to have."

She looked at him, head cocked slightly as though to say, who the hell do you think you are?. "It's my callsign".

The stranger gave out a slight laugh, before retorting, "I work better in a first name basis. I don't trust people if I don't know them on a first-name basis."

She stared blankly at him for a moment, deciding what would be the best action: or at least, the action least likely to see her reprimanded by Morrison.

"Lena. Lena Oxten."

The stranger gave a wry grin, and extended his hand.

"Nice enough name. The name's Lamont. James Lamont."

Lena snorted with laughter, "Heh! That sounds a bit like 'James Bond', don't you think?"

James' smile widened. "I know."

Morrison, even smiling slightly at how James had managed to bond somewhat with Tracer, simply noted "I'm glad to see you two are getting along already. Briefing's at 1900. I'll leave you two to get to know each other a little more."

With that, he turned and left. As he disappeared around the edge of the opening into the hall, Tracer turned to her new accomplice.

"You really don't seem to have a penchant for following orders, do ya, love?"

Now she got a slightly better look at him as he sat down beside her. He was dressed in what looked like an old pair of British issue combat pants- the type that had been phased out of front-line units years ago- with an olive-coloured T- shirt on top. She could see the tattoo on his right shoulder.

A black and yellow symbol. She recognised it from her time in the RAF and various Test Flight Squadrons. Radiation.

Why he had it was another question.

"I know. It's just not something you get used to again too easily, when you've worked freelance for the past five years or so-" He stopped, noting the somewhat shocked look on Tracer's face. "-not that kind of freelance. God, how immoral do you think I am, thinking I'd work for sodding Talon?" He snapped.

"Sorry."

His apparent anger dissipated.

"Ah, it's nothing. Don't look so glum about it, most people respond like that to the word 'Freelance' these days. No, I was a mercenary, working for whoever needed someone who could whack Omnics. Before that, I was with Secret Intelligence.

That's where 'Omega' comes from"

"It's a bit of a sick joke. On another note, I noticed you ogling the ink earlier, so I might as well put you out of your misery." grinning a little as she noticed her flushing slightly, "that one was me. That's a story for another day."

She hadn't realised he had that sharp an eye. Perhaps he was a sniper? It'd explain his eyes being as sharp as his mind.

"And I guessed by your first response, you're not too pleased to have to babysit me on this run."

"Right. How come you're not assigned to- "

"Blackwatch? Easy enough: they do the kinds of things I used to, but I don't like their morals. Besides, Morrison figured it'd be good to have someone the same as you yet different to work with."

She took a glance at her watch. "Dammit, we should get moving."

"Yeah, let's. Last one there owes the other a pint when we get back?"

She grinned, smugly. Boy, this Rookie is about to get one hell of a shock. And lose a pint...