"Fuck," Jack grunted as he tried to stand, only for his legs to fail him, forcing him to lay back down on the floor. Gritting his teeth, he moved a hand over the injured area. His linen shirt felt wet to the touch, and though he could feel his body drenched in sweat, he knew that it wasn't sweat he was touching. As to confirm his suspicion, he took a closer look at his shaking hand. "Shit. Shit. Shit!"

His last surgery had been three days prior. He was meant to take it easy; to rest. Ana even forced him to use that damn wheelchair until the cut closed. Instead, he'd ripped the staples that held him together right off. The blood wasn't going to stop itself and, guessing from how dark it was inside the room and out the window, there wouldn't be anyone checking in on him for a few more hours. But there was nothing for him to use to stop bleeding. There was a heater on the corner—one of those old steam heaters that were common in run-down apartment buildings. Jack had to crawl to it on his good side, as every time he tried to stand, pain shot through his side and forced him back down. He reached out to check on the metal pipes' temperature, but soon found out that, despite being hot to the touch, they weren't anywhere close enough to use for cauterization. That left him with only one viable option: use the staples that were already hanging off of him to close the wound.

Stitching himself up was something most veterans of the Omnic Crisis had done at least once before during or after combat because of the lack of medics. He knew the procedure well enough. The problem came in the shape of the staples themselves. He would have to pinch hard enough on them to pierce through the skin and then fold the edges to keep them from coming off again. It would not be a pleasant experience, especially when he was already in so much pain and breathing heavily.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he got a hold on the first staple with one hand while he pulled the skin together with the other. With a little effort, he was able to push in the staple through the other side, his teeth clenched so hard that they felt like they would shatter. And to fold the staple, he had to put all his weight onto it, pushing it down at an angle against his ribs. The whole experience left him gasping for air. One down, nine to go.

By the time he was done, the once clean floor was left a mess. If someone came in, they would think someone had been killed in there. It wasn't the best, but to keep the mess to a minimum was the last thing in Jack's mind. The room had a stench to it that was making him gag. It was almost suffocating. His mouth and throat felt like cotton. He couldn't breath. He would worry about the mess later. He had to get out of there or otherwise his mind would not be the only thing he would be losing.

With his head pounding, he considered his options. The wheelchair was still in his room, resting against the far wall in the room. It was the intelligent choice to use it, but Jack hated the way he felt when he used it—vulnerable and weak, like an old man. He could always crawl out, but that would make an even bigger mess, and the last thing he wanted was to make a commotion when everyone woke up in the morning. Besides, he was sure that the staples would come right out again if he decided to take that route. Lastly, there were crutches he'd used for some time still in the room. The problem there was balance. He was having a hard time standing up already. Walking would be a challenge, even with the added support of the crutches. But from all options, it was the most balanced. It wouldn't harm his pride nor his body as much as either of the other two.

Getting to his feet was a lot easier with the staples back in place, though still painful. Mostly supporting his body with his upper body because of the crutches, Jack was able to leave the room behind him, making his way through the courtyard. The fresh, cool air hitting his face was helping clear out his mind, but it was also having an adverse effect; the sound of the wind blowing was being replaced by the sound of gunshots and people screaming.

Jack kept moving forward, ignoring the sounds as best he could. And when he started seeing people bleeding out on the ground, screaming for his help, he pretended not to see them, instead focusing on the only thing he could. He had to keep moving forward. His old scars began to itch. It took all of his will not to scratch at them. The sweat on his body had turned blood red and the air around him suddenly felt hot, blurring his vision. Through it all, Jack kept reminding himself that it was all in his mind, but that didn't make anything look, sound, or feel any less real.

By that point, he was gasping for air like he was drowning. The long strides he'd been taking since he left the room had turned into more of a shuffle, as he fought all his senses. Forward. He had to move forward.

He could hear the voice of Torbjorn asking if he was okay. I'm fine, Torb.

He could hear the voice of Angela berating him for missing his check-up again. Tomorrow, Doc.

He could hear the voice of Lena reminding him to not be late for the celebration. Don't worry, I'll be there.

He could hear Fareeha telling him that he needed to take a break from work while he still had the chance. I'll see what I can do, Kid.

All lies and broken promises, in the end. He knew they were as he passed each one of them, heading deeper underground. He had to stop Gabriel before the man did anything irreversible. There was still time for them to turn things around. They were family. They made things work even after Liao disappeared. They made things work even after Ana died. They would work it out this time too, before anything happened to Gabriel. But where Jack had been hoping to reach out to his friend—even when it was hard to call him that after everything that happened—and bring him back to them, Gabriel had already made his decision.

Jack could feel the blood dripping down his face, the droplets landing on the floor as he looked around Torbjorn's forge room. The heat was unbearable, but that didn't stop the two men from fighting each other. Jack was pulling his punches, hoping that he could subdue Gabriel instead and reason with him. Gabriel, on the other hand, was fighting full force. And thought Gabriel was neither faster nor stronger, he had the upper hand in the fight. Swinging his knife, it connected with Jack's face, tearing at it for a second time. Jack mouth filled up with his own blood in an instant.

"Always a step behind, Poster Boy," Gabriel said as he prepared to launch himself on the offensive again. "Time for you to die."

The same thing happened with Amélie before, and Ana had paid for it with her life. Without hesitation, Jack knocked the knife out of Gabriel's hand. The man standing before him was no longer the man Jack had fought the Omnic Crisis with, nor the man that helped create, however reluctantly, Overwatch in a post-Omnic Crisis world. This was a man hellbent in killing everyone in the base for an unknown reason. A terrorist. An enemy. How many agents had already died because of him? Too many. That wasn't a person worth saving. Not anymore.

Jack forced Gabriel back, hitting hard enough to shatter bones, but that wasn't enough, it seemed, as Gabriel pulled out his shotgun. Jack knocked the gun out of his hand and grabbed Gabriel by the back of the neck. The forge itself was open. Jack ignored the screams as he threw Gabriel on the floor, unholstering his gun to point it down at the enemy. A molten-alloy mask. That would have to do. He left the forge room knowing that he would have to deal with the consequences of not putting Gabriel out of his misery, instead leaving the man he once considered his best friend in a slow and painful death.

"Cayde, status report." Jack hurried towards the exit, holding his face together as best he could. Too bad his biotic field was still on cooldown. Since discovering the ploy, Jack'd been trying to distract the Blackwatch agents and Gabriel while Cayde did what it could to dismantled the bomb.

"Something or someone is locking me out, Commander." The AI's answer brought Jack to a halt. "My permissions are being overwritten. I can't access anything in the lowest levels."

A split second decision. "What about the blast doors?"

"Negative, Commander. Whoever is doing this knows what they are doing. It's as if they knew the layout of this place down to the last wire. They work fast, too. I'm being locked out of systems left and right, center."

"What about the manual override?"

There was a pause. "...It's on basement level 6. But Commander, you can't be serious. In your current state, Super Soldier or not, you won't be able to make it back out before the door close. Scratch that, not even if you were at your optimal. You'll be trapped in there!"

And so he would be. If it bought his people enough time to escape, he would be glad to stay behind. All he could really think about was how all of them would hate him for staying behind. Would his parents be proud of him? Or would they hate him for leaving before them? Would everyone else forgive him for dying like that? He really hoped Ana's gods let him visit her once in awhile, at least.

He laid down, waiting for the end, setting down the newly refreshed biotic field aside. Might as well give it one last use. The explosion came soon after.

Jack fell to his knees, clutching his head, the crutches having been long forgotten somewhere on the ground. The images were overwhelming. He needed help, but his throat wouldn't let him get a word out. It was all in his mind. He knew that. But that did not stop things from seeming real to him. His trembling hand moved to stop the bleeding on his face.

Then he felt the all-too-familiar feeling of an orb of harmony. The effect was instant. Jack was able to finally suck in enough air, even if his heart was still racing and he still had to keep on breathing heavily.

"Sit," said Zenyatta as he now floated in front of Jack. The way he spoke left little room for argument. Jack, after some struggle, sat on the ground with his legs crossed, his hands resting on top of his knees and his back hunched. "You must take control of your body. Focus on your breathing. Feel the way the air courses from your mouth, down your throat, and then fills up your lungs. Expand. Contract. Let it flow out your nose."

Jack closed his eyes and followed the instructions to the letter. Slowly, his body stopped shuddering, and his breathing, though still ragged, was not as desperate as it was before.

"Feel the way your heart pumps the blood through your body. Focus on it. Listen to its beating. Feel the warmth of it spread through our body. Slowly, try to control its rhythm. Breathe slowly. Relax your body and only concentrate on your heart."

The voices became whispers. And then they were gone.

"Hear your surroundings, but do not listen to them. Focus on the whole, not on the individual. Do you know where you are?"

Jack could hear the wind again. Rustling leaves and grass. Some birds flapping their wings, but not chirping. There was an emptiness around him. Zenyatta was there as well as a couple of trees. The soldier could picture the statues of meditating omnics not too far behind where he sat. The garden.

"Open your mind," Zenyatta's voice seemed to echo. After that, he did not give Jack anymore instructions. He wasn't sure how much time had passed until he finally opened his eyes. It was still early in the morning, but the sun had risen past the horizon. In front of him stood Mondatta, who had gathered the crutches and held onto them as he looked down at Jack. Though he was surprised to see a different omnic in front of him, Jack was not bothered by it.

"Welcome back, Seventy-Six," the omnic said as he extended a hand. Without hesitation, Jack took hold of it and was able to stand with the help. It was strange how strong Mondatta actually was considering his small frame—even if most of it was covered in cloth, from the little Jack could see, Mondatta was by no means a construction omnic. Jack had seen smaller omnics easily overpower people twice their size, though. It made the soldier wonder if the omnics were always trying to hold back or if Mondatta was simply designed that way. Jack took back the crutches, allowing Mondatta to stand straight once more. "We should head back to your room. If the others saw you with your clothes covered in blood, it would raise many questions that we rather avoid."

There was no need to tell Jack why that was. Most people there knew not to ask questions when it came to who Seventy-Six used to be before he was brought in, and if anyone knew, they never mentioned it. Mondatta had vouched for him personally and asked them not to pry too much, which was why they kept their questions about his past to themselves. But, if he was seen walking around wearing a shirt drenched in in his own blood like it was nothing, then that would get people's curiosity and they would start talking. It would be safer for everyone else not to know who he was. There was no telling if there were people out there looking for a living Jack Morrison. The last thing Jack wanted—what he could not stand—was to see people getting hurt because of him. This was also the reason he'd decided to avoid leaving the temple if possible, which was easy enough, as there weren't many reasons as to why someone would leave in the first place.

They eventually made their way to Jack's room. The floor had been cleaned at some point. The small lights on Mondatta's forehead blinked, almost as if he found it amusing. He explained that while Jack continued meditating, Zenyatta cleaned the room before looking for him to report the situation. Mondatta had Jack sit on the bed and take off the bloodied shirt while he searched for something clean the old soldier could wear.

"I'm sorry for causing you so much trouble, Mondatta," Jack said as he tried to get comfortable on the bed, though the task proved difficult when someone else was doing such a simple task for him. "It's frustrating having to rely on others so much even for the small stuff."

"You may not like it, Seventy-Six, but you are still in recovery," Mondatta reminded him, as it'd been done countless times in the past. "Though they may not happen as often, it seems that the episodes you do experience are becoming harder for you to handle by yourself. You must learn to rely on others as much as you allow them to rely on you."

Mondatta was wrong. He still experienced the same amount of episodes that he did when he first woke up. The difference was that he knew how to hide most of them, especially the mild ones. He'd done so since the Enhancement Program. They never went away, he simply learned to find ways to escape them. During the Omnic Crisis, it was being with Ana. After that, it was sinking himself into work, not allowing his mind to take dark turns. Now, even having Ana back, things were different. He could not handle them the same way he did before, which was why he'd asked Zenyatta to teach him how to meditate.

Jack must have been unintentionally showing some of his hesitation, for Mondatta took the silence for what it was. Jack was hiding something. Offering Jack a clean shirt, Mondatta turned to look out the window, leaning his hands on the ledge of the window. "Given your position in the past, I take it you know why my brothers and I came here of all places?"

Jack raised an eyebrow. "It's an isolated place where the nearest human communities would not bother coming you, despite being easily accessible if they had the strength to do the trek. With how omnics are treated in most places, Numbani would have been the logical choice, with it having the best Human-Omnic relations in the world. But you wouldn't get much peace in a city."

Mondatta chuckled before he nodded, still looking out the window. "As expected of you, Seventy-Six. You are correct… for the most part. In truth, there was something else here that we sought. I'm not surprised to hear that you did not know. The world didn't know. The only record of their existence was a single record in a medical center in India, as they were sent here as aid."

"There was someone here you wanted to meet?" That was strange. From the reports Jack had read, the temple was abandoned for years before the Shambali took over. No one was supposed to be living there until the Shambali appeared. It was hard to believe that such a detail would escape Overwatch and the world for so long.

"That is correct. Believe it or not, my brother, Zenyatta, was here long before any of us decided to make the journey here. He was brought to the temple to take care of the monks decaying health and as well as the structural integrity of the temple itself, as the monks' health proved to be a challenge for them to take care of anything other than themselves. They were old, you see. Old and forgotten by their communities. And when they knew that no other human would venture to the temple, they resigned themselves to live as best they could."

"They didn't object to having an omnic take care of them? Most people born before the omnic war have always been more cautious of omnics."

"A good question. I did not know these monks personally. They all passed away long before we came here. But Zenyatta tells me that they grew past their hatred, or so they would tell him. Everyone that entered the temple was seen as an equal, no matter their origin. It was the creed they followed. This also extended to Zenyatta. To them, he was not an omnic, but one part of the whole."

That explained where Zenyatta had learned all about meditation. He was also the one that always felt more like a monk from the community. Jack wondered what inspired Zenyatta to join in the teachings of the monk instead of keeping to his task, but that answer could only be found by asking the omnic himself. He made a note to do so in the future. "What about the Iris? Zenyatta told me that he learned about it through his meditation. Does that mean that the monks taught him of it?"

"I believe they craved an apprentice. Each one of them had gathered the knowledge of a lifetime of training, which was handed down to them by their predecessors. They were willing to teach and Zenyatta was willing to learn. However, their teachings did not extend to the Iris, from what I understand. That name came only after we came here and he taught us what he knew.

"The monks had a different name for what they saw, as they each saw it in a different shape that attuned to their psyche. For some, it was an animal or an object, for others, a man or woman. As for us omnics, we could all see the same thing. It is shapeless, only emitting a glow that revitalizes you. It was through a consensus that we named it the Iris.

"A name is not something that allows others to make a connection, Seventy-Six. But in the greater scheme of things, it matters. You humans have had numerous gods throughout your history. Just look at ancient Greece and Rome. Their gods were almost identical, yet, they had different names. Ares and Mars, Helios and Apollo, Athena and Minerva. In the end, it is not about a name, but about what it represents."

"If Zenyatta was the one that taught you all this, sounds to me like he should've been made the leader of the Shambali. No offense."

Mondatta chuckled as he turned to look at Jack. "Worry not, as I thought the same thing, but Zenyatta refused back then. He had his own duty, you see. Despite the monks' deaths, he was still keeping the temple in pristine condition. I believe that he no longer does it because it was a task assigned to him, but because he wants to protect the final resting place of his teachers. He could feel indebted to them, or perhaps he thinks of this place like his home. I do not know his reason. But after he declined, my name was the one that came next. And so, here I stand. And to this day, despite our disagreements, I still ask for his advice, be it for spiritual guidance or for what we should do next. Zenyatta is an excellent teacher, you will find."

Jack's eyes narrowed. Mondatta was sneaky. Maybe too sneaky for his own good. "I get it. You're saying I should rely on the community more. I get it, I do, but—"

Mondatta shook his head. "Your circumstances are different, Seventy-Six. Though many of the people here, omnic and human alike, abandoned their previous lives to come here and work together for a better future, you did not have a choice. Jack Morrison died, and so you were born. Your new beginning is something not many in this world will be able to experience or understand.

"You should rely on Zenyatta, for he will help set your soul and mind on the right path for you, be that whichever it may be. He will help you deal with your present and prepare you for your future.

"You should rely on Ana Amari, for she will help set your heart and body at ease. She is your connection to your past. She will anchor you to your present and aid you find your future. And perhaps most importantly, her circumstances are very similar to yours, Seventy-Six. She's gone through many of the trials you've faced and are yet to face.

"You should rely on me, for even leaders can be blinded by the greater picture of things. I will protect your past, for you are not that man anymore. I will remind you of your present, for you must endure the hardships that come your way. And I will push you to your future, for you may not know that the world still needs people like you to defend it.

"As for the rest, I will leave it to your discretion to confide and rely on them or not. It is your decision to make. Whatever you decide, I will not stop you." Mondatta walked over to the door, pushing it open. The light outside was almost blinding, making Jack flinch and scrunch up his nose at its brightness. Thankfully, his optics adapted quickly, as he made to stand. "Now come. We mustn't keep the others waiting. I believe Zenyatta and Ana will be at the dining hall, ready to break their fast."

With some effort, Jack stood up. His hands instinctively went for the crutches he'd been using moments ago. He held them in his hands, looking down on them, before he set them aside and walked out the door. It was time to move forward.