EDIT: Sorry for the wait, everybody, but I just kept rereading this chapter and feeling like it wasn't quite where I wanted it to be. I made some pretty significant changes though, and it's reading a lot more like I wanted it to (at about twice its original length, too boot). Hopefully you all like it too! Thanks for the patience :P.

AN: Hello again, everybody! We're getting into the good stuff now—so expect to start seeing a lot of familiar faces in the near future. I've loved reading your reviews so far—keep em' coming!

Anyway, let's get started...

Chapter 2: Gibraltar

Ian watched the ocean speed past several thousand feet below him from a window of the MV-261 Orca that carried him and his four-man team. The massive hovership had been the product of advanced propulsion research carried out by Overwatch years ago, which Ian found oddly fitting considering their destination.

He ran a hand through his short, unkempt brown hair as he turned his attention back towards the squadron of seasoned soldiers the CIP had assigned to his command. They had shipped out from the UN Headquarters in New York before the sun had come up that morning, and after nearly 10 hours of travel, their restlessness was beginning to show.

From the long table in the corner of the main cabin, a burly man named Briggs threw down the hand of cards he'd been holding.

"What's our ETA, Sergeant? I'm ready to see some action." Across from him, a woman with jet-black hair tied into a tight bun collected a small pile of money from the table.

"More like you're ready to stop getting your ass kicked in poker." Jones, a short, barrel-chested veteran chortled from behind his own hand of cards.

Jones, Ian had learned, wasn't much for talking, so grunts and chuckles made up the majority of his conversations. Briggs glared at the woman now counting her winnings.

"Shut your mouth, Martinez." Briggs growled. "It's beginners luck—I'll win it all back on the flight home." Martinez raised an eyebrow.

"Sure, Briggs. And I'll bring down fifty Overwatch agents with my bare hands."

Ian strode over to the table and produced a small holo-map from the pocket of his combat jacket.

"You'd be lucky to take down one Overwatch Agent fully armed, Martinez." When Briggs started to laugh, Ian grinned. "And you'd be really lucky, Briggs."

His tone became more business-like as he tossed the holo-map onto the table, causing a hologram of a sprawling compound to flash into existence.

"Listen up. This is Watchpoint Gibraltar. Back in its day, it used to be one of the most prominent Overwatch strongholds in the world." With a swipe of his hand, the hologram displayed markers over several points of interest. "We're going to be walking into a lot of unknowns here: we don't know if these people are ex-Overwatch or not, we don't know how many of them there are, we don't know if they've managed to turn back on the base's defenses—we don't even know if they're hostile or not…" He smiled sheepishly before adding, "I realize that's not a lot to go on."

The team's sharpshooter, a tall, slender soldier named Roxbern, raised his eyebrows.

"That's nothing to go on, Sergeant." Jones grunted in agreement.

Ian gave shot both Roxbern and Jones a look before turning his attention back to the map.

"What we do know is that someone fired an old Overwatch satellite from this control center." He circled one of the marked buildings with his finger, creating a red ring around it on the hologram. On the other side of the compound, Ian drew another circle in a patch of forest just outside of the perimeter gate. "We'll be dropping in here to try and avoid detection, entering through the perimeter fence, and making our way to the control center from there."

Just then, a red light began to flash at the head of the cabin. Seconds later, the pilot's voice came crackling over the ship's intercom.

"Approaching the drop zone, Sergeant. Prepare to dive."

Briggs was on his feet almost instantly, slinging a rifle over his shoulder.

"About damn time!" Ian picked up the holo-map and tucked it into his jacket.

"You heard the man—grab your gear and get ready!"

From behind him, that was the sound of hydraulics working and a rush of cold air as the jump doors opened. Ian grabbed one of the parachutes hanging on the wall and slipped it onto his back before placing two pistols into holsters at his waist. Walking over to the jump door, he braced himself on a grab bar and looked out at the open sky beneath him.

"Aim for the clearing in the woods when you jump," He called back to his team. "I'll see you down there."

With that, Ian leaned forward, let go of the grab bar, and felt the ground disappear from beneath him.

God he'd missed this.

/

Air whistled past Ian's face as he plummeted towards the rocky cliffs of Gibraltar. The wind was so fast that he had to breathe through his nose, and clouds appeared and disappeared around him in a flicker as the coastline rushed to meet him below—but Ian felt like he was flying.

Val's crazy, he mused. This beats sitting through politics any day. Despite the obvious dangers, Ian had missed the field desperately. He craved the exhilaration he felt in action, the challenge of outthinking and outmaneuvering your enemy, and most importantly, the immense feeling of satisfaction that came with a successful mission.

And to think, my first mission in ages is to investigate an Overwatch research facility—that's one hell of a 'welcome back'.

On their long flight over, Ian had committed the facility's map to memory, taking special note of any locations or vantage points that might pose a threat should enemies be lurking there. He'd also given into temptation and pulled up the CIP's information on known Overwatch agents. There was no guarantee Overwatch would be the ones behind the satellite launch on Gibraltar—Ian certainly knew his team would be safer if they weren't—but he couldn't help imagining the thrill of coming face-to-face with some of the world's most feared fighters.

Ian waited until the very last minute to pull his chute, guaranteeing that he would be vulnerable in the air for the shortest amount of time. By then, he could clearly make out the compact, overgrown facility perched at the edge of one of the peninsula's rocky crags.

He skillfully maneuvered his parachute towards the grassy clearing nestled within the trees outside of the Watchpoint's perimeter. In seconds, Ian touched back down onto solid ground, running as he landed to slow his momentum before finally coming to a stop at the far end of the clearing. After quickly gathering up his chute and hiding it in the nearby brush, Ian nodded in approval.

"Nailed it."

"Really, Sergeant? Nailed it?" Ian stiffened as Martinez landed soundlessly next to him.

"I… Wish you hadn't heard that."

Ian almost jumped when his comm unit crackled to life in his ear.

"Oh, your comm was on, Sarge. Everybody heard it." Briggs added smugly.

Ian turned around to see him and the others floating towards the clearing and fought to keep the red from his face.

"Perfect."

It took only minutes for the team to land, store their shoots, and prepare their gear. All in all, Ian was impressed.

General Reiker did say he was putting together an elite task force. His brow furrowed. Now let's just hope I don't have to use them.

Slinging his own rifle over his shoulder, Ian turned to address his waiting team.

"Alright team, the Watchpoint's perimeter fence is only a few dozen yards that way," he jabbed his thumb towards the forest behind him. "Our reports show that a section of it has fallen into disrepair since the base was shut down—that's our way in. Keep your comms on, and remember," he shot Briggs a stern look. "Do not engage unless you are engaged first, understand?"

When his team acknowledged his orders, he gave them a grin.

"Then let's get in there."

The short trek through the dense thicket of trees was thankfully uneventful, save for a tense moment when Briggs swore he heard something big rustling above them.

"It's that giant ape from Overwatch!" He whispered through clenched teeth, pointing his gun into the trees. "He could rip us in half."

When a macaque no bigger than a housecat stopped on a low-hanging tree branch to nibble on a piece of fruit, Martinez snorted with laughter.

"You were half right Briggs, it was a monkey. But I don't remember the holo-folders saying Winston was so small."

Briggs grumbled until they reached the 15-foot chain-link fence that stood at the Watchpoint's borders. Ian was momentarily discouraged when he saw the fence in good condition, complete with menacing barbed wire at its top, but was relieved when he saw the massive tree that had fallen straight through the barrier only a few hundred feet to their right. He motioned towards it with two fingers.

"There's our ticket in. Let's move."

They advanced on the tree quickly. After testing it's sturdiness with a few kicks to its base, One team climbed one-by-one onto the fallen trunk and carefully made their way towards the breach. Leading the procession, Ian slowed to a stop at the point where several jagged parts of the fence jutted out from either side of them. Prying a piece of bark off of the tree, he tossed it towards the fence. He frowned when the fence buzzed angrily back at him.

"Careful," he called back. "Looks like the fence is still electrified." His frown deepend.

And if the Watchpoint's power is back on, that definitely means someone's still here.

Ian turned sideways to create as much space between him and the electrified fencing as possible as he slowly continued up the trunk. From behind him, Roxbern sniggered.

"Better try and suck it in Martinez, or those tits of yours are gonna get you fried."

Ian heard a thud, followed by the sounds of wheezing.

"Talk about my 'tits' again, and I'll throw you into this fence myself."

"Just…a…joke." Roxbern wheezed as he labored to catch his breath.

"Knock it off!" Ian hissed back at them. "This is no time to be—"

CRACK.

Oh no.

Ian had only seconds to react as the trunk snapped under their weight at the fence line. Diving clear of the fence and falling wood, he landed hard on the ground. groaning, Ian slowly rose to his feet.

When he turned to check on the rest of his team, he was relieved to find them all relatively unscathed. He was less than relieved, however, to find them all still on the wrong side of the fence.

Ian collected his equipment that he'd dropped during his fall and walked over to the fence.

"Is everyone okay?"

Jones grunted, holding his shoulder. Martinez looked over the older soldier briefly before taking his arm and jerking it abruptly upwards. There was an audible pop, another grunt from Jones, and a sigh of relief.

"I'd say aside from Jones dislocating a shoulder, we're all okay Sergeant."

"The hell we are!" Briggs fumed, swatting dirt and splinters off of his gear. "We just lost our entry point, and we're split up in hostile territory."

"Calm down, soldier." Ian's tone was firm, but not unkind. "We're CIP Special Ops, improvising is part of the job. We just have to change our tactics a bit…"

Ian scanned his surroundings, taking note of the buildings, trees, perimeter, and anything else that might offer a solution. His eyes came to rest on a particularly tall tree that loomed just a beyond the perimeter.

"Alright, here's what we're going to do; Roxbern, you're going to get to the top of that tree and get a better look of the Watchpoint and the perimeter."

Roxbern nodded attentively.

"Good. Martinez, Briggs, I want you to check the perimeter for any length of fence that isn't connected to the power grid. Then worst case we can cut our way in." The two soldiers nodded in unison.

Ian turned his attention towards their final squad mate.

"Jones, are you up for a job?" Jones grunted, and gave Ian a thumbs up. Ian couldn't help but smile at that. "Great. I want you to head back to our landing site and get our parachutes. We might be able to tie them together and use them to get over this fence from Roxbern's tree."

When Jones gave him a brisk salute, Ian nodded in approval.

"Perfect. I'm going to scout out ahead, Keep your comms on and I'll keep you updated on anything I find."

"Sarge, you're just going to walk into an Overwatch base alone?" Martinez objected. "That's nuts." Ian grinned.

"All the more reason for you guys to hurry your asses up and get in there with me. Now get moving!"

Ian could tell the team was uneasy with him going on alone as they reluctantly dispersed from the fence, but all Ian felt was excitement buzzing in the back of his head.

Now, he mused to himself. Let's see what we can find.

/

Ian carefully made his way inwards, keeping his back to the wall whenever possible. From what he could remember from the Watchpoint's layout, they had made their entrance near the southern end of the compound. That meant that he only had to travel a short distance north to

reach the estimated launch site of the satellite.

Sure enough, Ian rounded the corner of the warehouse he'd been using for cover and looked up, grinning.

Bingo.

Despite the clear toll nature had taken on it in Overwatch's absence, Ian identified the structure in front of him as a launching station almost immediately. The tall, steel launch frame was covered in rust and overgrown with ivy in places, and several of its arms that would have held a rocket in place were clearly missing. Ian knelt down to examine the soot and clear signs of singed greenery that surrounded the station's base.

"I found the docking station," he reported into his comm unit. "Someone definitely launched a rocket from here recently."

"Great, but where are 'they' now?" Martinez's voice crackled through his earpiece.

Ian looked around at the base's other compounds jutting upwards in the distance. As his gaze drifted downward, his eyes fixed on a set of fresh tire tracks leading away from the site.

"That's exactly what we're going to find out." Ian unslung his rifle and turned off the safety with a click. He didn't know who or what he would find on the other end of the tracks, but he knew he'd feel a lot better with something to defend himself handy.

As he followed the tracks, Ian noticed his surroundings become less and less dilapidated. In some places, he even noticed efforts someone had made to clear away some of the encroaching greenery. It gave him an uneasy feeling.

I don't see your run-of-the-mill terrorists going through the trouble of fixing this place up…

"Stay sharp, everyone." Ian noticed his voice was quieter now when he spoke. "It's looking more and more likely we're dealing with Overwatch here."

"Shit…" Martinez swore on the other side of the comm.

"Don't worry, Sergeant." Roxbern added, "I've got you in my scope. Anybody who tries to sneak up on you won't live long enough to regret it."

"Thanks—just make sure you don't shoot unless it's absolutely necessary. I don't want a fight if we can avoid one."

Ian grimaced as he continued on his way. He'd wanted to see some action—he couldn't deny that—but a skirmish with some criminals and a full-blown fight for his life against ex-Overwatch agents were two different things entirely.

I don't stand a chance in a fair fight against Overwatch alone, even with Roxbern covering me. He thought, scanning the rooflines of the surrounding warehouses. My best bet would be to try and lure them into a position where I have the upper hand.

He thought back to his team waiting at the perimeter.

If it comes to it, I can try and lead any hostiles back to our entry point and try to flank them…

He passed a massive mounted turret which, thankfully, didn't react to his movement. He felt himself shudder.

…provided I don't get freaking murdered before that.

It wasn't long until Ian's trek deeper into the Watchpoint's sprawling grounds slowed to a standstill. A few yards down the dirt-covered roadway, the tire tracks he'd been following veered to the left and disappeared through the doorway of a massive warehouse. All at once, Ian's excitement, apprehension, and fear came rushing back to the forefront of his mind in a strange emotional cocktail. He took a deep breath to settle himself.

Here goes nothing.

Ian closed the distance between himself and the entrance as quickly and quietly before making himself flat against the aluminum wall of the steel warehouse. Exposing as little of himself as he possibly could, he leaned towards the entrance and peered inside.

For all of the buildup, Ian felt like the warehouse interior was a bit anticlimactic.

Near the center of the dimly-lit, cavernous space was a rusted truck with a long, narrow flatbed. Judging by the muddy tracks trailing behind it, Ian guessed that this was his rocket-carrying culprit. To its left, the warehouse looked to be filled with similar trucks, stacks of steel girders and the occasional pile of scrap. The right of the truck seemed more promising, with a small workstation set up against the far wall next to a line of lockers. The only thing that seemed to be missing was any sign of the truck's driver.

Ian cautiously entered the warehouse and meticulously checked every corner of the space before he slung his rifle back over his shoulder. Letting the tension in his muscles relax, he began to inspect the truck.

"I found the truck used to launch the rocket, but no sign of the driver." Ian reported over his comm. "Any signs of life outside, Roxbern?"

Static was his only response. When he tried his message again with no success, he sighed in exhasperation.

Damn warehouse must be blocking our signal. I'll try again when I'm back outside.

Ian resumed his inspection of the truck to find nothing of value. His most promising lead was the half-eaten energy bar sitting on the front console, which judging by its lack of mold seemed relatively fresh.

If only I had a lab full of DNA testing equiptment, he thought wryly. Then I might actually have something to go on.

His attention turned once more to the workstation to his right. With no other leads, it was his most promising option left in the dingy warehouse.

As he approached the workspace, a lone computer console sitting among the piles of old documents and rusted tools caught his eye. The odds of the old machine containing anything useful—let alone working—were slim, so when Ian brushed the thin layer of dust off the keyboard only to see the screen flash to life, he couldn't help the grin that came to his face.

"Now we're talking. Let's see what you can tell me…"

"Vocal recognition failed—please identify your Overwatch credentials." Ian jumped at the new voice, his hands grabbing wildly for his gun. After a few tense seconds, his gaze came back to the computer screen, which now displayed a glowing blue 'A'. He let out a deep sigh of relief.

"Jesus," he breathed. "You scared the shit out of me." He said to the computer.

"Error, user 'Jesus' not found in Overwatch directory." The computer chirped back in an elegant feminine voice. "Final attempt—please manually input agent username."

Shit.Ian kicked himself mentally and leaned over the computer console. He hovered his hands over the keys. What should I type? An Overwatch user most likely means a codename…He began to type in the first agent name he could think of.

T-R-A-C-E-R.

Ian pressed the enter key. There was a tense pause as the computer whirred and worked, until finally, the display sprang to life.

"Welcome, Lena Oxton." Ian heaved a sigh of relief.

"Thank god." It became quickly apparent that Ian had begun to celebrate too soon when he felt something hard press into the small of his back.

"Don't you know it's rude to go through a lady's things, love?" Ian tensed as the voice of a woman—most certainly from England judging by her strong cockney accent—came from directly behind him. He raised his hands as slowly and deliberately as possible.

How the hell did she sneak up on me?

"Hold on," he said slowly. "I don't mean any harm." He grimaced as the woman pressed harder into his back.

"I can tell, what with your assault rifle and all." In a blink, Ian felt the weight of his gun disappear off of his back, almost as though it had disappeared.

In his surprise, all he could manage was an indignant "Hey!" The girl behind him giggled.

"Sorry love, can't have you armed. Now, step away from the computer—slowly." Ian almost spoke up again, but thought better of it. Instead, he began a slow sidestep away from the computer with his arms up. All the while, he could hear the sound of the woman moving with him, her gun never leaving his back. When they had essentially switched places, the woman cleared her throat. "That's good. Now, turn and face me—and if I see your hands move even a little…"

"Understood, don't move the hands." Ian replied, trying to sound as calm as possible. He felt the gun leave his back.

"Go ahead, then."

Ian turned slowly, his hands frozen above his head, until he was face-to-face with his captor. She was young—about Ian's age—with a wild head of light brown hair and orange-tinted goggles that covered her eyes and the bridge of her freckled nose. She wore a pilot's jacket over a form fitting yellow body suit—but by far the most noticeable quality about her was the glowing blue device harnessed to her chest. Ian's eyes went wide as all the pieces fell together in his mind.

"You're…Tracer." He gaped. The girl waved the hand that now held his assault rifle.

"That I am," she replied before poking his chest with the barrel of his own gun. "And you're not. So why were you using my name to access an Overwatch console?" As Ian was about to respond, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Behind Tracer, the computer screen began to flicker. At first it seemed like the screen was just faulty—but quickly it began to flicker longer and more frequently. He narrowed his eyes, straining to see. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw a skull.

Tracer glared impatiently at him. "Hey, are you even listening to me? Hellooo? I've got guns pointed at you, in case you hadn't noticed."

Ian winced as his comm made a deafening crackling noise in his ear. Then all at once, the computer went black, leaving Tracer's device as the only source of light in their dim corner of the warehouse. Tracer seemed surprised for a moment before eyeing Ian suspiciously.

"What did you just do?" she asked pointedly. Ian shook his head vigorously.

"I didn't do anything! I was just staring at the computer, and—" He stopped as the computer flashed to life once more, but in place of the glowing blue 'A' that had greeted him before, a pixelated purple skull stood stark against a black screen. In his ear, a woman's voice he didn't recognize laughed through the static of his comm.

"Adios, burro."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "Adios?" Tracer looked at him like he had grown a second head.

"Adios? What are you—" Tracer stopped mid-sentence and rounded on the computer behind her. She took one look at the skull on the screen and cursed. Before Ian had time to react, the Overwatch pilot had holstered her own weapon, grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket and made it outside of the warehouse. Not a second later, Ian felt the shockwave of an explosion as the computer inside burst into flame, sending nearby metal and debris flying like shrapnel.

Ian was still recovering from his near death-by-explosion when he found himself slammed roughly against the wall of the warehouse with his own gun pointed directly in his face. Had he not been preoccupied staring down the barrel of a gun, Ian would have been impressed with the small girl's impressive strength.

"Who are you?!" Tracer ordered through gritted teeth. "Are you here with Talon? Did you give Sombra access to our database?"

Sombra, I've heard that name before. Ian remembered seeing it lingering near the top of the CIP's most wanted list. She was supposed to be the most dangerous hacker in the world—which meant if she was in Gibraltar's systems, Ian was in a whole different class of trouble. Tracer slammed him hard against the wall again.

"Talk! Or I swear I'll—"

"It's just me!" The words came out of Ian's mouth involuntarily. "I'm not here with Talon, or Sombra, or anybody! I—"

Ian went silent as, to his horror, the massive turret he'd passed on his way to the warehouse lurched upwards in a spark of purple light. His eyes widened as the turret slowly turned on its base to point directly at them.

Ignoring the smaller gun pointed at his temple, Ian grabbed Tracer's arms and, with all the strength he had, kicked off of the wall with his legs.

"GET DOWN!"

The two of them fell to the ground milliseconds before the deafening sound of the turret's high-caliber bullets tearing through the wall of the warehouse filled the air. Ian's body now acted of its own accord, clambering to his feet before grabbing Tracer's hand and pulling her to safety around a corner and out of sight of the turret.

"Bloody hell!" Tracer recovered quickly from the shock of the moment and retrained Ian's gun on him once more. She eyed him suspiciously. "I… don't know whether I should thank you or shoot you right now." Ian risked a smile.

"Personally, I'd prefer the thank you."

Tracer ignored him and pressed two fingers to her ear.

"Control, this is Tracer. Sombra is in our systems…Control?" She cursed again. "Sombra's hijacked our bloody comms."

Ian almost shared his similar problem with her before stopping himself. Somehow he doubted bringing up the task force he'd denied the existence of not a minute ago would help his situation. Instead, Ian decided to play dumb.

"Well, what should we do now?" Tracer shot him a look.

"You are going to stand right there while I take care of this turret." Her eyes narrowed. "And if you try and run away, I'll catch you before you make it a ten yards."

"I'm not planning on getting into a foot race with you, trust me." Ian said with as much glibness as dared.

Tracer eyed him for a second more before nodding slowly.

"Alright…" she turned back towards the way of the turret. "Try not to get killed." She said over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner in a flash of blue."

Gee, thanks. Ian thought as she left. Deciding to take advantage of his brief moment alone, Ian tried his comm again.

"Team—anybody—can you hear me?! We've got Overwatch presence in the base, but we're both being engaged by the Watchpoint's defenses. Do you copy?"

For a brief moment, Ian thought he could make out Martinez's voice through the static before it disappeared again. He growled in frustration. Ian assumed that Roxbern had noticed that something was happening and warned the others, but he could only pray they weren't rushing to join the fight.

I hope for their sakes they still haven't found a way into the compound.

Ian was jolted from his thoughts when he heard the deafening sound of turret fire erupt from around the corner. He covered his ears to block out the awful sound reverberating off the surrounding warehouse walls. But as quickly as it had started, the roadway fell silent. For a split-second, Ian assumed the worst had happened—that was until he felt a tap on the shoulder from behind. Ian nearly jumped out of his skin as he whirled around to see Tracer with his gun still in-hand.

"W-what the hell?" he exclaimed, holding his chest in a vain attempt to slow his heartrate. "How did you—" Tracer gave him a smug smile.

"I told you running would be a bad idea, love." Regaining some of his composure, Ian turned back towards the turret.

"Did you take care of the turret?" Tracer sauntered up next to him, still smiling.

"Nope…"

Before Ian could respond, there was a massive BOOM from around the corner, followed by chunks of falling metal.

"…But that pulse bomb sure did."

Ian could only blink in amazement as the turret's smoking wreckage continued to fall in the alley.

"You're crazy."

Tracer giggled.

"Only a bit." She prodded his side with his confiscated rifle. "Now, let's get you back to base. I've got some questions I'd like answered." Ian cursed inwardly as Tracer ushered him down the path behind them and further into the Watchpoint.

Out of the pan and into the fire. He thought morosely as they walked. If Tracer got him contained around whoever else was waiting for them at 'base,' Ian knew his best-case scenario was some kind of hostage should his team come looking for him. Fighting her here without a weapon definitely wasn't an option if he wanted to keep having a pulse…but maybe there was another way.

She hasn't noticed my comm unit, he thought. I'm alone here, as far as she knows. Maybe I can convince her I'm here as a friend.

"I'm telling you, there's no reason for this." He tried in his most innocent-sounding tone. "I'm not here to hurt you."

Just to arrest you and all your friends, is all.

Tracer laughed from behind him.

"Sorry love, you'll have to forgive me if I don't exactly believe you."

"It's true!" Ian said defensively. "I tried to tell you as much before we almost blew up!" Ian heard more guffawing behind him.

"Okay then, why are you here?"

He didn't have an answer for that. His mind raced, knowing that a delay even a second too long would give away his lie.

"To join you."

The words practically fell out of Ian's mouth on their own. Luckily for him, Tracer sounded just as surprised by the sudden declaration as he was.

"You…what?" she faltered, her mocking tone gone. Ian saw his chance to drive his cover home.

"You heard me—I came here to join you." He said with growing confidence. "Once I heard there had been a satellite launched from an old Overwatch base, I had to come see if it was really you." He looked over his shoulder and gave Tracer a smile. "Lucky for me, it was."

He watched as Tracer wrestled with his words, her brow furrowed.

"If that's true, then…" Tracers eyes suddenly went wide. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me." Ian raised an eyebrow, confused.

"Huh?"

It took Ian a moment to realize that Tracer was no longer looking at him, but past him. He followed her gaze back over his shoulder until something made him stop dead.

At the end of the roadway they were walking on, half-buried under discarded parts and age, sat the biggest mech Ian had ever seen. What had immediately caught his attention hadn't been the robot's size, however. It had been its eyes now glowing an all-too-familiar shade of purple.

Ian was starting to hate purple.

There was low rumbling sound as the hulking machine groaned to life, earth and dust falling away as it rose from its long-untouched corner. Its purple eyes pulsed with light. Ian swallowed hard.

"I don't suppose that's your friendly 'Welcome to the Watchpoint' robot, by any chance?" Tracer shook her head slowly, never taking her eyes off of the mech.

"No, that's more the 'we should start running right-bloody-now' robot." As the robot reached is full towering height, its head tilted downward to stare directly at the two tiny figures standing at its feet. Tracer grabbed him by the arm. "Come on!"

Ian swore as he took off into a dead sprint with the brown-haired pilot. Behind him, he could hear the metallic joints of the robot screeching against each other as it began to move.

The two sped around the corner they had come from, passing the smoking crater that had once been the hacked defense turret. Ian came up alongside Tracer and pointed towards the wreckage.

"Can't you just pulse bomb that thing like you did the turret?" Ian shouted between labored breaths. "Another explosion would be really nice right about now!"

But Tracer merely shook her head.

"I only brought one—I didn't think I'd be fighting off death twice today!" Despite their break-neck speed, Ian noticed that Tracer didn't seem winded at all.

"So what do we do?!" A wild smile spread across Tracer's face.

"We improvise."

Tracer tossed Ian's gun back at him so abruptly he almost didn't catch it. Ian looked down at the gun, and back up at Tracer in surprise.

"I've got gun privileges back now?" Tracer responded with a painful prod to his side with her own weapon.

"So long as you keep it pointed at the killer robot." Her gaze turned upward towards the tops of the warehouses that surrounded them. "I'm going to draw his fire from above—find cover and look for an opening!"

Ian opened his mouth to respond, but Tracer was already gone, leaving nothing but a bright streak of blue shooting towards the roofline.

She's not great at goodbyes. He thought dryly as he ducked behind a nearby pile debris. Behind him, he could hear the thunderous footsteps of the mech draw closer. A few seconds later, Ian saw the massive machine's head come into view above the roofline.

Okay, the team has to see this. Holding onto hope, Ian tried his comm unit once more.

"Team, it's Ian. Can anyone hear me?"

His heart sank when only static came back over the line…until the sound of Roxbern's frantic voice crackled through.

"Sergeant! Is that you? Thank god, we thought you were toast!" Ian breathed a sigh of relief.

"Roxbern, where are you guys? Talon is taking over the Watchpoint's defenses remotely!"

"You mean like that big-ass robot with the purple eyes?" Roxbern laughed darkly. "We noticed."

"Well, that big-ass robot is on its way to kill every last one of us." Ian shot back. "Now where are you?!"

"We're back in the Orca! But don't worry sir, we're making our round to light that thing up!"

Ian looked up to the sound of gunfire to see Tracer leap off of a nearby warehouse and onto the shoulder of the mech. It's rusted head twisted to face her, only to receive a volley of bullets that shot out one of its purple eyes.

Tracer…

Ian felt his blood freeze in his veins as he realized what danger was coming directly for the robot, and her with it.

"Roxbern! Do not engage the robot! There are friendlies in harm's way! Do you copy?!" Ian's panic grew as static began to retake his comm.

"S…geant…reaking….up…" Roxbern's voice cut in and out for a few seconds before being lost completely once more.

"Roxbern—Roxbern! Shit!" Ian swore, tearing his earpiece out and throwing it to the ground in frustration. No longer concerned about being spotted by the mech, Ian cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled as loud as he could. "TRACER!"

But between the groaning of the mech and the bursts of gunfire, the Overwatch agent was deaf to his warning.

Ian knew that there were at most a few short minutes before the CIP Orca began its assault, which would tear through the mech and Tracer both. Every move he made would be the difference between life and death. So when he saw a drain pipe leading towards the rooftop Tracer had used to jump onto the mech, Ian's body moved of its own accord.

Leaving his gun behind, he clambered up the pipe quickly and hauled himself onto the roof. He tried calling for Tracer again, but again he went unheard. he took off own the roof, running closer and closer towards the giant mech.

Tracer was still harrying the machine, seemingly unaware that Ian was now only several feet away from her. He was about to try and call her again, when his eyes caught sight of the glinting metal hull of his hovership approaching fast from the direction of the ocean.

Time's up.

With only a second to make up his mind, threw himself onto the mech's shoulder, landing hard on the unforgiving metal. He quickly steadied himself before running full-tilt at Tracer. The brown-haired girl had just enough time to look up at Ian before he collided with her, knocking her off of the mech and sending both of them plummeting to the ground. Thankfully, both of them knew instinctually to roll out of their two-story fall, but the impact still left Ian reeling.

Tracer turned angrily towards Ian, already unleashing a stream of choice curses his way, but Ian ignored her. He turned back to see his hovership reach the clearing, it's missiles primed and locked…but to his horror, he saw the mech's own massive guns already moving into position to release a deadly payload of its own.

The rest was a blur to Ian. He remembered two sets of missiles launching. He remembered lunging towards Tracer. He remembered the rush of air and white-hot pain on his back.

Then he remembered only black.