A new day at the Watchpoint meant another day of work for the small members of Overwatch. Angela wasn't safe from work. Medicine did not take a break and neither did she.
Angela woke up early this morning to start her daily routine. A cup of black coffee and a warm danish pastry were her sustenance for breakfast. Nothing to heavy on her stomach this early. It wasn't a full meal but she could cheat a little from time to time. No one was in the mess hall when she entered. It was somewhat too early for the others to be awake, so she took her time gathering her things. She enjoyed the quiet since the last couple of days were filled with such chaos. She had to savor it while it still lasted.
The medical bay was dark. Orange and blue lights from the machines flickered through the darkness. The door opened with a soft swoosh and when the doctor stepped inside the room, its light came on at her movement. Her flats clicked against the tile floor as she walked, taking short strides to her workspace. A long yawn fell from Angela's mouth and she sat down in her chair. She placed her mug and pastry on her desk and stretched her body out to chase the remaining bit of sleep away. Time to get to work, she thought as she took a tiny sip of her hot drink.
"Let's see..." Angela mumbled to herself, starting up her computer and opening her email. Several new mails appeared in her inbox with a blinking dot on each, indicating the mails had attachments. The first email in her inbox, one named Lab Results, was what grabbed the doctor's interest. She knew good people who could process lab tests quickly and, as always, did not let her down. Angela needed to fill the gaps in Morgan's medical documents that Jamison could not provide. And she couldn't just ask Morgan herself.
After downloading the attachments and placing it a designated folder, she opened the document with a tap of her keyboard. Her eyes carefully read every bit of information that was on the screen. From the blood she sent in, Morgan was Type B-Negative. One of the rarer blood types, Angela recalled. White and red blood cell count were on the low side but nothing to be too concerned about. Some biotic pill would sort out the issue in a few days. Slipping the pills in her food and drink would certainly be the best and easiest way to administer them. Then again, Angela disliked withholding information from her patients. It was no different if they were children. She would handle the consequences if something unexpected were to happen.
Morgan's radiation levels were still on the worrisome side. It was considerably lower than it was when she first treated the young girl but it was not at a healthy level for a human. She should have factor the variable of Morgan being born in a place of full of radiation when drawing her blood. It was possible that the radiation could have leeched all the way to her bones. Angela took a pen out from a decorative holder by her monitors and scratched on her notepad: Monitor Morgan's rad level, prescribe biotic pills/ 10mg.
The second email was from New Age Prosthesis, an Oasis based company which created artificial limbs. Angela had put in an order for a new leg for Morgan though she didn't expect such a sudden reply. Your order is in transit, the last sentence of the email read. The good news was welcomed at this time in the morning. Now she had to figure out how to surprise Morgan with the gift. Angela had a playful side to her, she didn't want the child to think she was a stick in the mud all the time. Several ideas came to mind and the doctor scribbled herself another reminder.
When Angela reached the final unread email, something about it was unusual and thought provoking. Its title was left blank, leaving a suspicious 'no subject' closed in brackets. It only had an attachment, and what boggled her was that the mail was sent from Morgan herself. The Watchpoint had its own Entramail system. She didn't know that Winston even set the girl up with an email of her own. Did Morgan even know how to write an email? Angela dismissed the thought. It wasn't too farfetched her to ask Athena for aid. She had to wonder what Morgan wanted to show her that gave her the need to do it via email.
Angela opened the attachment. It was a picture; a drawing, to be exact. 'I'm Sorry' was written in black at the top of the page. A drawing of two figures in the middle of the page depicting the doctor and Morgan together. The rest of the page was colored brightly with a blue sky, yellow sun, and green grass.
A smile crept up on to Angela's face. The gesture of sending her a cute drawing as an apology felt sincerer than words itself. The doctor forgave Morgan minutes after the incident took place. Not like she would hold a grudge against a child. With a click of her mouse, Angela saved the picture to her desktop. It was too cute to get rid of and she added it to other drawing she accumulated over the years from other children.
The dim moonlight of the half-moon from the motel window and the yellow light of a cheap lamp were Junkrat's only company that lonely night. Sleep refused to come every night since they gave Scrappup to Overwatch. The sleep he would get is when he passed out of pure exhaustion. Ugly purple bags had formed under his eyes, his hair lost its volume, and he was much dirtier than usual. Where they treating him right? Was he eating okay? The thoughts battered at his head as he occupied himself with a notepad and pencil, scribbling nonsense upon the paper.
The deep bass snoring of Roadhog rumbled behind his back as his bodyguard slumbered with ease. It bothered Junkrat how easy the pig could just flop on the bed and go into a mini coma like it was nothing. Or was it envy? He couldn't quite think straight at that moment. It was whatever mush of feelings that squished together and created what he was now: a weak and sappy mess of skin and bones.
On the motel table's scratched surface in front of him were pictures. Pictures that he kept with him as mementos right when they left the Wastes and reached civilization. Bittersweet memories, they were.
The tired man halted his writing suddenly, letting his chewed-on stub what was left of a pencil fall from his limp metal hand. In his flesh, he extended a hand without much thought and picked up a picture from the pile. His sighting amber eyes rested on a mugshot. Junkrat stood on the left at full height, tongue out and face twisted to mock the photo taker. Roadhog, in all his large glory, stood to the right like a quiet giant. And in the middle of the frame was Scrappup, grinning wide and eyes half closed.
Junkrat was unable to hide the small smile that appeared on his face. He remembered when they took that picture. The police managed to catch them after a botched heist and snapped their mugshot before the pigs shoved them in a cell. They were out of that shithole thirty minutes later, taking a few of those pigs to an early grave. He had to admit, it was the most fun he had. The light-hearted giggles of Scrappup still rung in his blown-out ears. It was akin to an explosion, sudden and grandiose, but not as loud.
Scrappup, the nickname he himself given the kid, repeated in his head. All the time he spent with that mutt. He was wild, excitable, uncontainable, and imperfect just like he was. His mutt...His kid... Wet warmth began to fall from his eyes and roll down his cheeks to his angular chin.
Tears. He was actually crying. Junkrat didn't make an effort to wipe the tears from his face. It was better for him to ride out the dumb emotion. There was no way he could hide the obvious fact that he missed Scrappup and that he was an awful caretaker. He abandoned someone who needed him the most and yelled like a madman at the kid.
Simple tears soon transformed to full blown quiet wailing into the night. Hot snot ran down from his nose to his upper lip and the tears fell like heavy droplets. His heart ached so much. It was the worse pain he had ever felt in his entire existence. Worse that losing his limbs or getting his tooth ripped out of his skull. Junkrat felt this feeling before, once in the very distant past when he was small. Never did he expect to endure the exact emotion again. Thought it was buried deep under years of a hardened personality. Guess he was wrong about that, as always.
"Jamison..."
Junkrat hadn't noticed the larger man's snoring came to a stop until he spoke his name to his back. He didn't turn around, couldn't let his bodyguard see him in this state of weakness. Somehow, he managed to stifle his crying into sniffles. He rubbed the snot away from gathering in his mouth with his metal hand. The joints pinched at his skin a little but the tiny bit of pain was ignored.
"I-it's a fact that I'm a shit person," Junkrat's voice quivered as he spoke. He turned himself in the chair to face the man on the bed. Roadhog hadn't moved on inch from his original position, keeping his head flat on the pillow. It didn't stop Junkrat from talking. "I can't even raise a kid right without almost killin' him. Yelled at him when he needed me. Threw him away like a piece of junk." He buried his face in his hands. "I'm the worst there is..." He mumbled to himself into his palms.
"Maybe you are," replied Roadhog.
His head snapped up and Junkrat glared at the older man. "Oh, that's real fresh coming from you," he spat out. He then stood to his feet. "Bet you wanna remind me how I blew off his leg! Or how I forced his leg meat in a bandage as he cried and screamed! Or-or..." Junkrat forced his mouth closed, turning his lips white, and squeezed his hands into fists as he held his head down. How dare the fucker agree with his self-loathing.
Roadhog stood before him; a silent observer watching over a building collapse on itself. How he moved that quickly and quietly was a mystery like everything else surrounding the man. Junkrat's emotion released themselves in the form of molten anger and he lashed out. He swung his metal fist forward, not giving any regard to the larger man in front of him. He hoped his punch would land so he could just get rid of it all.
But Roadhog caught his punch with is left hand. Junkrat brought his gaze up to meet those plastic lenses. They looked down on him.
"I'm the worst too," Roadhog broke the silence with his deep voice. "I'm wasn't the pinnacle of guardianship either. Ever thought of that?"
Junkrat averted his gaze off to the side. Fuck, he really didn't think about that. He was all wrapped up in his own feelings to consider Hog's. He never said a word about the subject ever since Scrappup left.
Releasing his hand from his grasp, Roadhog flopped down on the edge of the bed. "We taught her it was fine to kill people. Especially people who ask too many questions or get in her way." There was something in the man's voice, but Junkrat couldn't quite put his finger on it.
He raised his head. "But you and me do it all the time," Junkrat said. "Plus, the feds and suits aren't real people to begin with."
"We're irredeemable, Jamison," Roadhog stated in a stern voice. "Broken beyond repair. Morgan is still fresh and new. She can grow. Change. Adapt. Soon, she will forget about us. It's better this way."
"Maybe...maybe it is..." Junkrat mumbled to himself. It hurt so much. How in the hell would he heal from something like this?
"Does it hurt when I do this?" Angela asked. She held onto Morgan's right arm with utmost care while the child sat on the observation table. The paper covering the leather table crinkled as Morgan shifted her weight. The doctor's delicate finger pressed against Morgan's skin, not too hard but not too soft.
Morgan shook her head.
"Good, good..." The doctor muttered to herself as she recorded the reply. Angela continued with the check-up without another word between them. It was strange, not hearing the usual chatter from Morgan. Her gaze appeared to be distant, slowly blinking and staring off beyond the infirmary. She found it unnerving. It was similar to how she acted when she called Jamison. The quietness was killing her. Someone had to say something to make the tension fade. Angela opened her mouth but was interrupted before a word could escape.
"Me sorry," Morgan's voice came out as a tiny whisper.
Angela peered up from the holo-tablet in her hand to look at the child. She smiled and replied, "I saw the picture you sent me and you are forgiven, Morgan."
"But-but," The child stammered. "Me stomp on your foot! Me be mean to everyone and bite a lot! Me called you Fake Ma! And! And..." Morgan draped her arms over the top of her head and drew her knees in close to her chest, making herself appear smaller. "Why you no hate me?"
"Hate is such a harsh feeling to feel," said the doctor. Done with the tablet, Angela sat it on a small table next to her. "Not that I'm immune to hating things, mind you. Like wrinkles in my clothes or the smell of fish. But you, Morgan? You are someone I just cannot hate."
Morgan slowly relaxed her limbs and stared with her head tilted to the side. "Huh?"
"You're angry, sad, and confused. I understand what it feels to lose someone you love so much," Angela explained. "And I cannot fathom to hate you, especially when you're in a highly emotional state of mind. I only want what is best for you, Morgan. I made that obligation when you came into my care. You're a child with so much to learn."
The child still seemed skeptical. "You sure?" She asked.
"I'm positive," Angela said. "Winston, Lena, Torbjörn, Reinhardt, and I care about you. We couldn't hate you for the feelings you feel. I can't be like your mother but I can have you develop like a healthy child should."
Morgan's little eyes moistened and she rubbed them with her fist. She mumbled, "Stupid lady..."
Angela couldn't help but to giggle to herself. She rather have Morgan calling her names than being so quiet. "But I have to ask," she spoke. Her voice grew a little serious but maintained its lightheartedness.
"Do you really want to participate in Overwatch's activities? What we deal with is no laughing matter. From what I know, combat training is not easy. It will be long and hard."
With an affirmative nod, Morgan answered, "Me wanna help. Torb-born say me be his helper."
Angela managed to put two and two together. Torbjörn was making Morgan is apprentice? Well, it was unlike the man to take apprentices, especially ones outside his family. What was he planning to do with her?
"And Lionheart is gonna make me fight good," Morgan proclaimed. "Tracy too!"
"Lionheart? Oh, you mean Reinhardt," Angela said while she reached over for a little paper cup and a bottle of water then she handed them to Morgan.
"Uh! He like a big lion! Got big mane and roars and everything!" Morgan then took the items in each of her hand on command. Her eyes locked on the golden capsules in the cup. Her face twisted in confusion.
"Candy?" She asked.
"Not candy," Angela corrected. "Medicine. Biotic pills, to be exact. It will make you feel good as new. Now, make sure you swallow them and drink plenty of water. Don't bite into them."
Morgan's nose twitched as she sniffed cautiously. In a quick motion, she threw back the paper cup and swallowed hard. Her nose crinkled and she chugged half of the bottle's contents. She smacked her lips when finished. "Yucky," she commented.
"Medicine isn't supposed to taste good," said Angela. "That's how you know it's working."
His gigantic forge roared as its flames crackled, hungry for fuel. His tools swayed side to side that still remained to be used. Metal begged to formed into something powerful and grand. And a single child sat before him, curious and so new. This is what Torbjörn saw in his workshop. Hidden potential waiting to be unlocked and built up.
The dwarf man paced back and forth in front of Morgan, who sat upon his stool, watching him. He halted in his walk and turned toward her which caused the girl to jump a little. "Tell me," he began and Morgan's body stiffened, gripping the red stool seat tight in her hands. "Do you have the skill to be my apprentice? Can you endure my teachings? Or will you whine and cry at the hard work I have for you?"
"Uh!" Morgan shouted, bouncing and kicking her legs out. "Me handle anything!"
A tiny chuckle came from Torbjörn and he rubbed his beard. "At least those thugs gave you confidence, I'll give you that." Then he crossed his arms and frowned, "But you can't rely on that confidence alone to save your skin. To tell you the truth, you wouldn't last a minute against several Talon agents. Or even one of them. They will tear you apart. You probably will even fail your first mission."
He saw the rage fill Morgan's eyes at his words. She stood at full height on the stool and opened her mouth to spout out a retort. Without warning, her prosthetic leg slipped out from under her and off the seat. Morgan tumbled to the hard floor and the stool fell over with the clatter that echoed through the whole room. When Torbjörn stepped closer to the child, she bared her teeth at him and growled.
"But," he said as he puffed out his chest. "I'm going to teach you the skills you need to know to get you through in the end. And that's all you have when up to your neck in enemies."
Morgan sat upright and looked up at him quietly.
"Now, what is a person's mightiest weapon of all?" asked Torbjörn. "Take a guess. There aren't any wrong answers."
"Teeth? No, no. Nails! Legs? Your head?" the child guessed. It looked like thinking about the answers made her head spin.
"No, no! That's not right!" he yelled. "You're just throwing words at me!" He turned his back to Morgan and rifled through his tools. "A person's mightiest weapon is…" He turned about around with his hammer in his palms. It showed signs of being worn and used but still functioning after all these year. "The hammer. Because a hammer can not only forge weapons and armor, but it can create the strongest men and women."
She scratched the side of her face with her foot then sniffed the hammer. "Hammer makes people?" she questioned. "Hammers can't do that. People aren't metal."
"It's a figure of speech," Torbjörn replied. "I'm saying hammer discipline will make you stronger. Strengthen your mind, body and soul."
In response, Morgan tilted her head to the side. Torbjörn saw the thousand yard stare that appeared on her face. He sighed, this was going to take a while.
"Are you ready for a wonderful sparring match, little one?" Reinhardt's enthusiastic voice echoed off the walls of the room.
Reinhardt and Morgan stood in the middle of a large matted arena within the watchpoint's gym. They had the whole place to themselves for the time being. The gym had everything one needed to exercise and keep in top shape. Weights, treadmills, sandbags, and other various equipment filled the wide room. But Reinhardt wasn't letting Morgan use any of those. Not today, at least, and not without a spotter to ensure her safety. Today, the older man planned something for her.
"Now, this little battle isn't too serious," Reinhardt explained. He picked up a foam training bat and matching shield, looking down at child on the other side of the arena. "I would like to get a measure on the way you handle yourself in combat."
Morgan looked at the fist guards he fitted on her hands and sniffed them. Even though they haven't started, Reinhardt was already beaming with pride. A child her age wanting to prove herself as a hero? It was unheard of, unprecedented even. And Reinhardt was given the privilege to teach her all her knew in the ways of combat. He felt giddier than a kid in a candy store. But now wasn't the time to bask in his thoughts. It was time for action!
"I want you to try your hardest to defeat me," Reinhardt said. "Any way you know how to fight, I want you to use that on me. Now," he bashed his bat against the shield attached to his forearm. His feet planted themselves on the mat and he readied his stance. He yelled, "Bring it on!"
Dropping to her hands and feet, Morgan darted forward and threw herself at the man. Reinhardt raised his shield but instead of bouncing off, the child clung to it. Her little fingers curled around the shield's edge tight. He flung his shield in a wide outward motion but Morgan still held on. She batted her right fist against Reinhardt's cheekbone, just below his scar. The series of gentle baps were adorable with no power behind them to actually hurt him. It made him think what it would feel like if she didn't hold back or had a proper weapon.
Reinhardt swung his shield sideways and downwards. The force alone caused Morgan to finally lose her grip and fall off. Her back hit the mat which she recovered quick by rolling back on her hands and feet. She held her body low to the floor and, waiting for his next move.
"Ha!" Reinhardt yelled, swinging his bat vertically.
Morgan jumped back and the bat smacked loud against the mat's hard plastic. She darted in between and around his legs like an energetic little bunny rabbit, batting at his calves with each pass. Each time Reinhardt would turn to attack, she was already on his opposite side. She was too fast for him. He had to either slow her down or catch her off guard.
He swung his weapon horizontally in a low sweep. The child did not see the change in swings coming and she was hit directly in the abdomen. The heavy blow didn't knock Morgan off her feet as he wanted. Her feet dug into the mat and she wrapped her arms around the bat, grinning wide at him. No matter how many times he swung is weapon, Morgan was glued on firmly. Reinhardt was beginning to lose his steam. Morgan was cleverer than she appeared. Her little punches were weak so she resorted to wearing down her opponent until they were exhausted.
Reinhardt couldn't let the little one have the upper hand on him. He swung his bat in a powerful upward arc with a burst of energy. Morgan went flying in the air and Reinhardt feared he use too much of his strength behind the swing. As soon as Morgan touched down on her hands and feet, her prosthetic gave out. The child fell to her side as her leg completely shattered into metal, tire rubber, and cord. Quietness filled the room in an instant.
"Oh dear…" Reinhardt could only whisper to himself.
The joy and boundless energy had faded from Morgan's eyes as she laid on the mat motionless. She just stared at the pile scrap, quiet and still. The training gear was discarded and Reinhardt made his way to Morgan. Training wasn't as important as the well being of a child. He tucked his hands underneath her body and lifter her up gently in his arms. Trembles rocked Morgan's body as she grasped onto the man's shirt. She didn't make eye contact with him.
"There, there," Reinhardt said, patting Morgan on the back. "I think it would be best if we stop our training for today. You did wonderfully, little one." His voice was always loud and booming. It turned head and made others smile. But now? Now his usual voice was not appropriate at that time. Inside voices, quiet and calm.
"Useless," Morgan mumbled into his chest. "Me so useless now."
Raising Morgan's face up slightly by her chin, Reinhardt said, "Don't measure your value by the number of limbs you possess. You can do so many things if you put your mind to it, no matter the limbs you're missing. Don't give up so easily."
Morgen didn't say another word. Her eyes just stared up at him, as if searching for something. Whatever she was looking for, Reinhardt hoped it would bring her into better spirits.
Small puffs of white smoke rose from the heated tip of the soldering iron Winston held firm between two fingers. His eyebrows knitted in concentration as he welded wires down to circuit boards with utmost care. Parts of a helmet shaped like a canine's head laid in a neat pile, waiting for assembly. Torbjörn gave him the parts earlier in the day for adding specific modifications to it. Winston almost had a shopping list worth of software and hardware the engineer wanted. Nothing he couldn't handle.
It was a given to have Athena programmed into helmet. Morgan wouldn't have a single clue what to do if she found any kind of intelligence. Having Athena with her in the future made Winston relax a little. He could always rely on her. Her AI would be the mainframe of the helmet's functions, acting like a wireless hard drive. The helmet's memory would be able to hold a limited amount of data without dumping.
The thought of a child under the age of ten conducting espionage activities so farfetched. He wondered what was going on through Torbjörn's head when he came up with that idea. Was he getting ahead of himself and biting off more than he could chew? Would Morgan rise to the occasion and keep calm under pressure? His anxiousness was put on the back burner; he had a job to do.
Winston studied his list thoroughly. Sensors in the nose and ears of the helmet; the small note said. So having the helmet in the shape of a dog wasn't just for show or aesthetic. Amplified hearing and smell would benefit the wearer but it could possibly have negative effects when powerful sound technology came to play. It would take him a while to get it humanly safe; interdisciplinary science wasn't his forté. Science was a job of failed tests and experiments, as WInston knew so well by working on his Barrier Generator.
Infrared vision was next on the list. Simple enough to do, Winston thought. The hallow sockets of the helmet stared at him as its white eye fixtures rested on the table close by. Taking a pen flashlight between his teeth, Winston carefully inserted tiny circuit boards in the sockets using tweezers that were comically small in his huge hands. He took the liberty to include ultraviolet sensors along with the infrared. Wouldn't do much good if it only had infrared on its own.
He then fitted the fixtures over the sockets, which stuck in quick. The helmet did not have its own power source just yet so connecting it to a battery would suffice. The helmet powered on as electricity coursed in its wires which made its eyes glowed white. Winston smiled. It was good to have a success on the first try. Good to know that none of the wiring was misplaced.
"Winston,"
The scientist raised his head and saw Morgan close by his side. She wasn't there when he started tinkering with her helmet. How did she get here so silently? It seemed she like visiting him while he was working. "Hello Morgan," Winston greeted. "Done with Torbjörn and Reinhardt for today?"
The child nodded her head. "Uh, but me leg broke." She lifted what was remained of her left leg in the air and gave it a wiggle.
Winston frowned, "I'm sorry to hear about your leg, Morgan. I hope you're not having any trouble getting around the facility without your prosthesis."
Morgan didn't respond to his comment. Instead, she asked a question. "Who will make me new leg? Rat make me old leg."
"Well," Winston said as he disconnected the helmet from the battery. "There are people in the world whose jobs is to make new limbs for others just like you. They will make sure your new leg will last a very long time and fits perfectly to you."
Morgan squirmed in place at his words. She then pointed a finger at the helmet on the table. "What's that?" she asked.
"It's just a little side project I'm working on." Winston replied. He assumed Torbjörn didn't want Morgan knowing about the combat helmet. He would keep the whole truth from her for the time being. "I should be finish by later this evening."
She watched him work for a moment but soon the girl disappeared from his sight. He was about to worry until he felt a weight clinging to the back of his shirt. Her tiny fingers and the heel of her single foot dug into him as climbed up the length of his back, as if the action was normal in itself. She pulled herself up and draped her torso over his right shoulder. Winston smiled and continued with his work. He did not mind her being there, it didn't bother him.
"What's that?" she pointed a finger down at the table. Her finger pointed at the silver magnifying lamp he was using on the smaller bits of hardware.
Winston answered eagerly, "It's a magnifying lamp. I use it to see tiny objects close up." His hand gripped the top of the lamp and brought it closer to the child.
Morgan's hands pressed against his chest and she lifted her upper body at a 45 degree angle. A series of curious coos came from her when she peered through the glass, tilting her head side to side. She pushed it back in place when she deemed done with it. Her hands slid down Winston and she returned to her neutral position.
"What's that?" Morgan repeated and pointed a finger down at the table again.
Winston explained everything on the table that the child pointed towards. He didn't mind to do so until she felt satisfied with the answers she received. The room around the pair grew quiet as their conversation died down and the only noise was the sound of the soldering iron sparking here and there. The quietness was something Winston became accustomed to over the years but sharing it with another person was different. Even if the person was just a child, the company felt good. He hoped Morgan will visit him more in the future.
Quiet noises sounded off up in his office above the silent couple. On one of the many computers which covered the tabletop, a picture of the world map displayed on a single screen. There was a series of beeps, causing the border of the monitor screen to flash orange. A circle shaped target focused on the continent of Asia for a moment then zoomed in on China, coming to a stop on the city of Lijiang. Watchpoint Reinstated; Large white text scrolled across the bottom on an endless loop.
