Chapter 10: Alone

The next morning, Winston lumbered into the barracks, brow contorted with worry as he passed by most of his comrades' bedrooms. Something had clearly gone wrong when Amos and Tracer had their private conversation. The former Talon grunt had outright skipped dinner, where Winston had been hoping to strike up a discussion of the former's problems. With this goal still in mind, Winston stopped outside of Amos' room and gently knocked on the door.

"Amos?" he ventured in a low voice. "Are you awake?"

No answer. The worry in the ape's brow amplified. He reached up to knock again, but before he could do so, the door across from Amos' slid open. Tracer ambled out with a stretch and a yawn.

"Morning, big guy!" Tracer greeted him in her usual cheer. Her face fell when she saw his worried brow. "Did I miss something?"

"Just a moment," Winston said. He knocked on the door again. "Amos? Are you in there?"

Still nothing.

"Something going on?" Tracer asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, I bumped into Amos yesterday, and I asked him how your talk had gone. He just said he didn't want to talk about it and ran off," Winston explained. His worry had become contagious, as it now appeared on Tracer's frown. "I was hoping to check on him, see if he was all right."

"Well, we don't need to stand around and talk about it!" Tracer remarked. Her eyes flitted over the keypad, just before widening. "Uh, Winston…I think his door's unlocked."

Winston followed her eyes, and found this to indeed be the case. "Well, since he isn't answering, and he may need help…"

He typed a few numbers into the keypad, and the door to Amos' room opened wide.

There was no one inside. The room was spotless. Tracer gulped nervously, her concerned frown evolving to a panicked grimace. A wave of guilt surfaced in her eyes.

"Tracer…I need to know something," Winston began in an unusually serious tone. "What exactly happened when you and he talked yesterday?"

Tracer bit her lip. "We…had a bit of a spat about that girl from Talon he liked. He kept saying that she's being controlled, like he says he used to be, but we know she's—I mean, I've seen her in action, and I wasn't buying what he was saying, and I just…lashed out at him."

She paused long enough to embarrassedly rub her head.

"I really messed up, didn't I?" the British woman remarked.

"We'll deal with it later," Winston frowned. "Right now, we need to find Amos, and soon. I don't want to think about what he might do, given his current level of emotional stability."

Amos didn't want to move an inch. He saw no reason to.

He had no means of reaching Widowmaker, the closest equivalent he had to a true confidant within Talon's ranks. Tracer had effectively betrayed him, having led him to believe that he could truly trust and confide in her just before her crocs trampled him underfoot. The rest of Overwatch either hated him simply for the badge he wore, or would—at the very least—fail to understand the gravity of Widowmaker's situation. In the end, Amos felt more alone amongst his long-time heroes than he did in the ranks of their worst enemies.

His body remained a crumpled lump on the floor of the outdoor supply closet. Brooms and buckets and all other manner of cleaning utensils surrounded him, but all he noticed was the pain. The wounds from Tracer's barbed words were still fresh. If all those terrible descriptors were about him, maybe he wouldn't mind so much; after all, he had come to expect the worst from people. But, about someone he cared so deeply for, someone who truly needed help…

A faint touch of sunlight peeked through the crack beneath the door. Amos sighed. He had a feeling that he was expected for breakfast…but why should he ever leave this closet? Why should he surround himself with false friends who would inevitably continue to callously dismiss his words and intentions? Why should he go somewhere he obviously wasn't welcome?

Time stretched on as Amos lied on the closet floor, the nagging doubts in his mind poking and prodding him in tandem with the growing light that steadily crept into the closet. Given the overall distrust the reborn Overwatch had for him, they would probably assume that his isolation meant that he was trying to contact Talon. Or, they could guess that he had simply decided to go into the city below and feed the lust for violence they assumed all Talon soldiers had. Amos frowned bitterly at the realization that he would have to go back into the base, if only to defend himself; his choices, as always, were extremely limited. Quashing his heart's desire to remain on the floor until the end of time, he pushed himself to his feet.

This caused several brooms to fall on his head.

"Ow!" he blurted rather loudly, rubbing the spot where the brooms hit. With a groan, he donned his discarded helmet and vest, stepped over the fallen brooms, and opened the door.

Amos was met with the sight of a familiar silver-and-green figure sitting cross-legged on the walkway. Genji's swords were sheathed, and his focus seemed to be on the horizon. The familiar sight of Overwatch's Japanese representative filled Amos with an equally-familiar dread, prompting him to try and tiptoe around Genji.

"Good morning," the ninja said before Amos could take two steps. "How did you sleep?"

Amos blinked.

"Um…okay, I guess?" he shrugged. Genji nodded.

"Amos, was it?" asked the former Shimada heir. "Would you care to watch the sunrise with me?"

"Well…that would probably be better than what I should be doing," Amos shrugged and sat beside Genji. Should the cyborg decide to decapitate him, it would at least be quick.

Genji only emitted a slight chuckle in response to Amos' dour words. Beyond that, there was silence as a fiery orange light covered Watchpoint Gibraltar. The remaining shadows of night were driven back to whence they came, and like a king ascending to his throne, the sun climbed above the horizon and took its place as the monarch of the sky.

"It is beautiful here," Genji remarked quietly. "I could never appreciate it before."

"Yeah…it is nice," Amos mumbled.

Silence passed between them once more, as if honoring the risen emperor of the sky. It finally broke when Genji looked over to his new companion.

"By the way…I heard what happened between you and Miss Oxton," he said plainly.

Amos sighed and prepared a retort, but Genji simply put a hand on his shoulder.

"I am sorry she would not understand," the ninja finished.

Amos stared for a moment. "Okay, now you've lost me."

Genji removed his hand and looked down at himself.

"I was once…a selfish and reckless individual," he admitted. "I was expected to inherit my family's criminal empire, but I was more interested in entertaining myself, even if it meant hurting those close to me. My brother, Hanzo, was tasked with straightening me out. We came to blows…and I was left for dead."

If Amos' heart could sink any lower than it already was, it would have. "…I'm…sorry your family did that to you."

"I have moved beyond grief," Genji said with a slight smile in his voice, "but I am getting ahead of myself. Overwatch found my broken body, and they offered to rebuild me if I helped them destroy my family's empire."

Amos blinked and raised an eyebrow. An unsettling thought slipped into his brain; would his lifelong idols have just left the young Shimada to die if he refused to fight his family?

"I made the obvious choice," Genji continued, "but I became something the world despised. Even I hated myself. I left Overwatch the moment my debt was paid, and wandered the world until I met a Shambali monk by the name of Tekharta Zenyatta."

"Tekharta?" Amos repeated. "Like Mondatta?"

"In a sense," Genji replied. "Where Mondatta preferred grand speeches and preaching to large groups, Zenyatta spent more time building connections between individuals. He sought to forge one such connection with me. I refused, at first. I thought no one would truly want to help a half-machine monster like myself. But, he never gave up on me, and in time, he took me under his wing."

The cybernetic ninja looked down at himself.

"Now…my soul is at peace," Genji continued. "I see a greater picture than I did before. I no longer harbor a grudge against my brother. In fact…I wish to redeem him." He looked to Amos. "You and I have some common ground in that sense. We both wish to save those who are important to us."

Amos only held his legs and looked to his feet. "Look…I appreciate your being nice and all, but…I just—I don't know, I…honestly, after yesterday, I'm having a hard time believing you're really on board with this."

"Understandable," Genji nodded. "But let me assure you, I have nothing to gain from deceiving you."

"That hasn't stopped some people," Amos muttered.

"Then let me illustrate."

The familiar sword found its way out from its sheath. Amos cringed at the sight of the weapon that once threatened to drink from his throat, but Genji simply held the blade out in front of him.

"This is my sword, Ryū Ichimonji," the former heir said, allowing his weapon to catch the shining sunlight. "If I were to strike you down with it, would the sword be at fault?"

"…um…no?" Amos blinked. "You're…kind of the one swinging it."

"Exactly," Genji nodded, re-sheathing his blade. "If what you claim about the one called Widowmaker is true, then she is the weapon, not the wielder. And removing the weapon from the wielder's hands will benefit all of us, particularly if finds itself in our own hands."

Amos paused as he mulled over Genji's words. He had to admit, the cyborg made a convincing argument…but was being convinced a good idea, especially considering the previous day's events? And what would happen to Widowmaker if she were to find herself in Overwatch's custody? Before he could ask his burning question, however, a blue light suddenly whizzed by him.

"THERE YOU ARE!" Tracer cried as she blinked next to Amos, giving him a swift punch in the shoulder. "How many times do I have to tell you stop running off?! You had us all really worried!"

"…noted," Amos mumbled bitterly, rubbing the spot Tracer had punched. He turned his gaze to the ground, the sight of her only grinding salt into his wounds.

"He is fine," Genji assured her. "I happened to find him in that storage closet when I came out here to watch the sunrise."

Tracer gave her comrade a bewildered look, then glanced inside the closet.

"Amos," she said slowly, eyes widening slightly at his makeshift bed and the fallen supplies. "What were you doing in there?"

Amos quietly clenched his jaw as he suppressed a maelstrom within him. He had so many things he could say to her, so many thoughts threatening to burst out of his mouth. As experience had shown, however, there was no point in telling her anything she didn't want to hear. But, Genji looked to him, as if also expecting an answer.

Finally, after taking a deep breath, Amos sighed. "That's where I slept last night."

Tracer's jaw dropped as she whirled on him.

"W-what?!" she balked. "Amos, we have all these beds here! Why would you want to sleep in a bloody closet?!"

"…I don't want to talk about it," Amos mumbled through gritted teeth. "I need to go."

He stood up to leave, but Tracer's hand wrapped itself around his arm again. She immediately felt his miniscule muscles tense in her grip as he froze.

"Could you please just let go for once?" Amos hissed.

"Amos…are you okay?" Tracer asked quietly.

His only response was to tear his arm out of her grasp and start trudging away.

"This is about what happened yesterday, isn't it?" Tracer pressed. "Is that why you don't want to talk to me?"

Amos said nothing, clenching his jaw and sinking his head into his shoulders. Before he could get very far in his quest for solitude, Tracer suddenly blinked into him and threw her arms around him. His skin practically crawled at her touch.

"I'm sorry, love," Tracer whispered. The fact that Amos was still wearing his helmet made the embrace slightly uncomfortable, but she dared not mention it. "I didn't mean to be hurtful, I really didn't. I just…I don't want you going down a bad path."

"I believe I should take my leave," Genji said. Amos tried to reach out to him without breaking the hug, but the ninja had already leapt off the walkway and was inside the main building in a flash. With Genji gone, Amos' hand fell limply by his side, just in time for Tracer to pull away.

"You all right?" she gave him a friendly smile. He glanced at her, then looked away.

"…I'm fine," Amos lied. Honesty, he figured, would only make this situation worse.

"You want to come to breakfast with us?" Tracer asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Everyone's excited to get to know you."

"Yeah, I bet Ana's vomit-inducing dart rifle and Reinhardt's fireball-spewing hammer of death are just 'dying' to meet me," Amos sighed, using his fingers as quotation marks for good measure.

"You let me worry about them," Tracer said with a slight giggle.

"I would, but worrying is about all I'm good at," Amos rolled his eyes beneath his helmet.

"Aw, that's not true!" Tracer insisted, giving him a light shove before throwing one arm around his shoulders. "You gotta give yourself some more credit, love! You watch, someday soon you're gonna be a great hero!"

"Yeah, no," Amos grunted, removing Tracer's arm as if it were diseased. "I'm no hero. Trust me."

"Aw, come on! You're a great guy!" the time-hopper insisted. Amos stopped and whirled on her.

"Well, my taste in women leaves a lot to be desired, doesn't it?!" he snapped. "Not to mention the fact that I'd rather give people rehab instead of just shooting them like you did with Eli!"

Tracer opened her mouth to say something, but stopped. Her oft-jubilant expression twisted as the hurt set in Amos sighed, letting his forehead fall into his palm.

"Sorry, it's just…I need to be alone for a while," he sighed.

"But…I thought you hated being alone?" Tracer said quietly.

"Yeah, I do," Amos replied. "But at least I know I'm safe that way."

Tracer just stood there for a moment as Amos turned away again, this time successfully heading inside. She heaved a sigh of her own before following him in. She had a mistake to fix.

"Goodness, Tina, settle down," Ana scolded. "You eat like you have two hollow legs. And you're making quite the mess."

The Ilios-born street urchin was indeed shoveling down her breakfast at an alarming rate, spilling a fair bit of it on her clothes in the process. She briefly looked down at herself, examining the carnage she had wrought upon her garments, before shrugging dismissively and continuing to inhale everything in front of her.

"Ah, kids these days," Reinhardt chuckled, sitting at the table as well. Ana could only shake her head.

"Amos, come on!"

"No."

"Please?"

"No means no, Tracer."

"Look, just tell me how I can make it a 'yes' instead!"

Ana turned her head just in time to see Amos, pursued by Tracer, stop in his tracks and look at her.

"Please. Just. Leave me. Alone," he hissed slowly, putting his hands on her shoulders and pushing her away.

Ana frowned. "What's going on over there?"

"Oh! Uh, nothing, Cap!" Tracer forced one of her usual grins. "I have this under control!"

"Why does that sound like the kind of thing you'd say just before something you're in charge of blows up in your face?" Amos asked, a snide tinge in his voice.

Tina snorted some of her food out through her nose. "Ha! Good one!"

"Tina, that's disgusting," Ana admonished her. She ignored the rude gesture the younger girl shot her in response and looked back to Amos and Tracer. "As for the two of you, it doesn't look to me like everything is as 'under control' as you'd like me to believe. And, while I'm thinking about it," she added as she stood up, "I've been meaning to have a little talk with our new friend—I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"Who, me?" Amos blinked, pointing at himself. Ana nodded. "Oh, uh…I'm Amos."

The elderly sniper smiled. "Well then, Amos, would you like to join me for tea after breakfast? You're welcome to come, too, Lena."

"Sounds good to me!" Tracer grinned.

"Can I pass?" Amos groaned, raising his hand. "Not that I hate tea or anything, but if it's all the same to you, I'd rather keep company that doesn't want me dead."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Ana rolled her eye. "It's just sitting down for tea."

"Don't worry, love, I'll have your back!" Tracer smiled, lightly punching Amos' shoulder. He put a hand to the spot she had jabbed, gritting his teeth under his helmet as he swallowed another bitter comment.

"All right, fine!" he groaned. "Let's just get it over with."

"It's settled, then. We'll meet in my quarters when you're finished eating," Ana smiled and returned to her table.

Tracer grinned and moved to throw an arm around Amos' shoulders again, but he was already gone. He retrieved his food and left the mess hall altogether. On the way out, however, he came across Winston.

"Amos! I was just looking for you!" the gorilla greeted him. He cleared his throat to purge some of his enthusiasm before speaking again. "Is, uh…everything all right?"

Amos shrugged. "I'll live."

He made his way past the ape and locked himself in his room, where he ate his meal in silence. Winston frowned for a moment before going for his own breakfast.

With everyone's breakfast disposed of, Amos reluctantly trudged the halls to find Ana's quarters. The door was already open, revealing not only Ana herself, but also a number of tools of the sniper's trade: spare casings for her darts, tools for rifle maintenance, and a centrifuge seemingly design to synthesize whatever substance it was that the darts injected. Several chairs were apparently appropriated from the mess hall, oriented in a circle for this occasion.

On the walls, Amos also spied what appeared to be family photographs. Some of them depicted Ana alongside other members of Overwatch, in particular the late greats known as Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes. But, there was also a young girl in some of the pictures, sharing laughs and teaching moments with Ana. The dread that already permeated his chest spread further; that girl looked familiar.

"Glad you could make it," Ana called to him with a smile. "Have a seat. I assume Lena will be along shortly; you know how she is."

"Unfortunately," Amos sighed. He found himself a chair, scooting it back slightly so as to gain some tiny measure of distance between himself and Ana.

"You can take the helmet off, you know," the elderly sniper pointed out as she poured some tea for herself.

"I mean, I could, but…I like wearing it," Amos mumbled. "Makes me feel protected."

"You do realize I've shot through Talon headgear in the past?"

Amos paused, silently cursing his luck for the umpteenth time as he removed his helmet. Ana blinked once she took in his face.

"Huh. You don't look quite as young as I'd have guessed," she remarked.

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Amos sighed.

"What sort of tea would you like? I've got sage, mint, black—"

"Sorry I'm late!" Tracer blurted as she whizzed into the room, immediately blinking into the chair closest to Amos.

"No, no, you're just in time," Ana chuckled. "I was just about to serve the tea. What kind would you two like?"

"I'd like some black tea, please," Tracer smiled, crossing her legs in her chair.

"I'll…just take something not strong, I guess," Amos shrugged. "Never really had tea before, honestly, so….you know…no real preferences here."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," Ana smiled. She handed each of them a cup, and all three took a few collective sips.

"Now, let's address the elephant in the room, shall we?" Ana began. "What's going on with you two? You were getting along much better than this yesterday."

"We had a talk that, well…got a little out of hand," Tracer admitted with an embarrassed laugh.

"Ah, I see," Ana nodded. "What was it about, if I may ask?"

Tracer looked to Amos. "Uh…I think it'd be best if you were the one to…"

She trailed off, gesturing to Ana. The sniper gazed at the former Talon soldier expectantly, but Amos just sighed.

"Can we just not talk about it?" he asked.

"It's your decision," Ana shrugged. "But, in my experience, not clearing the air will only make things worse between you."

"Yeah," Tracer added, her tone of voice lowering into something more serious. "I really don't want us to fight, Amos."

"Could've fooled me," he muttered.

"See, this is what I'm talking about," Ana scolded. "I've seen two people who were once good friends tear each other apart before, and I'll not see it happen again if I have any say in the matter. Now, what is it you two were arguing about?"

Amos pursed his lips. "Just my terrible taste in women."

"Hmm…I see," Ana slowly nodded. "I take it you're interested in someone Lena doesn't approve of?"

Amos nodded.

"And this woman you're interested in…I wouldn't happen to have met her in Hollywood, would I?"

Now Amos clenched his jaw, Tracer nervously shifting in her seat at how unusually hard his expression was. "You shot her."

"And, unless I miss my guess, I saw you fretting over her safety as you evacuated her," Ana continued. She paused long enough to take a quick sip of her own tea. "I have to be honest…I can't say I particularly approve of your interests, either—"

"Look, I've already gotten an earful about this part, can we please just skip it?" Amos interrupted with a sigh. "I might be stupid enough to get myself wrapped up with Talon, but I'm not so stupid that I don't know what Wid—what Amélie's done. I know she killed Tekharta Mondatta. I know she killed her husband, and probably hundreds more people over the years."

Ana stirred her tea for a second. "She also shot my eye out."

Amos froze. "…oh."

There was silence for a moment.

"Well…this got awkward pretty quickly, huh?" Tracer quipped.

Amos just gave her a look that said "no kidding" in the driest possible way.

"If you're so aware of what an awful person Amélie is, why was there an argument to begin with?" Ana asked.

"Because—" Amos cut himself off. He had to brace himself; there was no possible way that Ana was going to take the news any more gracefully than Tracer had. "I've…learned something recently. About her. Talon messed with her head. She might not even know what she's doing."

"Oh, trust me, she's very aware," Ana retorted. "Whatever Amélie was before, she's a full-fledged terrorist now."

"I know what Talon does to its people, Ana," Amos replied darkly. Tracer bit her lip; she hadn't heard him speak with such determination before. "When you first get in, they put you through what is literally a boot camp from hell. They beat you senseless regularly. They take the bloodiest video footage from the Omnic Crisis they can find and they put it right in front of your eyes. They force you to run obstacle courses that could actually kill you, provided your 'instructors' don't shoot the slowest people in the back before then. You learn to bury your feelings, your conscience, everything that makes you who you are…just so you can stay alive."

Another bout of silence fell upon the room. Tracer gently placed a hand on Amos' shoulder, but he agitatedly brushed it off. He took a deep breath before speaking again.

"I was a different person before I was drafted into Talon," he said. "I was awkward, but not afraid of my own damn shadow. After the conditioning, anyone and everyone could be a threat, and the fact that I had trust issues even before then didn't help things. I had to learn to kill or be killed. And I even failed that," he added bitterly.

Ana's expression had softened by this point. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well...my first time in the field, I was supposed to kill a family because they saw Talon stealing something," Amos began. "I had the family at my mercy, but I just…I couldn't do it. This little voice in the back of my head—the one fragment of me that I still had—told me it was wrong. But then I remembered that the higher-ups, or even the other soldiers in my unit, would kill me if I didn't do the job. It was…around then that the brainwashing broke. All this fear and pain I had suppressed over the months Talon had spent conditioning me just…came out, all at once. The people who were scared to death of me had to get me to calm down and stop crying on their floor."

He looked down into his tea cup with a sigh, staring into its contents.

"Amélie's been conditioned, too. She went through all those awful things I was put through," Amos murmured. "But I was just a grunt. She's one of the best Talon agents I know, if not the best. How much would they have put her through to get her as good at her job as she is? And…and that whole thing where she doesn't feel anything? How many horrible things did they do to make her that way?"

Ana quietly set her cup down. "I think I understand, now, what it is you want to do."

"Really?" Amos snorted in disbelief.

Ana stood up, picked up her rifle, and returned to her seat.

"Look. See all of these notches?" Ana asked, running a hand down her rifle to show off the countless markings. "Every one of them is someone I've killed."

"Whoa," Tracer's eyes went wide with admiration.

"Congratulations," Amos said, the word soaked in a bitter sarcasm.

"Yes, I've been told that frequently," Ana sighed. "Never mind the fact that every one of these notches represents someone's mother or father, brother or sister, husband or wife, son or daughter. In my decades of duty, I've broken families and taken away lovers. Everyone has someone who cares about them. And I can tell that you genuinely care about Amélie and want to help her, regardless of her actions."

The tension in Amos' body lessened slightly. Ana noticed this and smiled sadly.

"As much as it pains me to say it, though…Amélie is still a threat," Overwatch's sniper sighed. "We don't know if your information is accurate, and even if she is controlled, the best we can do for her—and everyone on Talon's hit list—is to put her out of her misery."

Amos frowned as a familiar pain ravaged his heart. Just like Tracer, Ana had donned the mask of someone sympathetic to his desires, only to stab the knife into his back and twist it like a drill. The cut wasn't as deep this time—he was more expecting of it—but it nonetheless poured salt into the previous wound. After a moment to take a deep breath, he set his unfinished tea on the small table at the foot of Ana's bed.

"This conversation's going to go in circles, isn't it?" Amos remarked as he stood up. "I should probably get going, if that's the case. No point in making people spin their wheels."

"But, Amos—"

"All right, then," Ana nodded calmly, cutting off Tracer's protest. "Take care, Amos. It was good getting to know you."

"Yeah, sure," Amos rolled his eyes as he put his helmet back on and left without another word. Tracer reached out a hand as if to stop him, but Ana gently touched her shoulder.

"Let him go," the former captain advised. "I think what he needs is a little time to sort things out."

"I guess," Tracer sighed, plopping her depressed cheeks into her hands. Ana gave her a warm smile.

"You were right about him, you know," she said. "He's a nice young man. More lost than the moon in winter, but a nice young man."

Tracer smiled in acknowledgement, but still looked mournfully out the door.

"Don't worry yourself, I'm sure he'll come around someday," Ana assured her. "Why not help me finish off this tea in the meantime?"

"Winston, there is a point-oh-seven percent increase in your neural activity and a one-point-two percent increase in your heart rate. It is recommended that you—"

"Thank you, Athena," Winston groaned and continued tinkering with his barrier projector. He had checked it at least four times over for damage sustained in recent battles, but despite the projector's humble origins as a malfunctioning savior from Reaper's assault on the Watchpoint, the device was fine.

The ape sighed. It may not even have been imperfections in his work that he was worried about. After all, what kind of person would want to see two mutual friends going at each other's throats? And how long before things escalated into something drastic?

A light knock at his door drew the ape's attention, and he soon found the Talon grunt in question standing in the doorway.

"Hey," Amos raised a hand in greeting. "Um…you mind if I just kind of—I don't know—sit here for a little bit? I'd like to be somewhere a little more quiet, and it's—well, I wouldn't really call it 'quiet' out there. You know, with Reinhardt and Tina running around."

As if on cue, a calamitous crash could be heard from outside, followed immediately afterward by a string of baleful swears from Tina.

"Uh…no, I don't mind at all," Winston shook his head and tried to shake away some of his worries with it. "Make yourself at home. Sorry it's such a mess in here, I-I wasn't expecting company."

"Honestly? I've seen worse," Amos shrugged. He found a seat on the edge of Winston's desk, where he pulled one of his sticky grenades from one of his pouches. "Don't mind me, just…messing with my gear a little bit."

"Like I said, I don't mind," Winston waved the Talon grunt's concerns aside. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask; where exactly did you get that arsenal of yours?"

"Oh, these?" Amos held up his grenades. "I just threw this stuff together for a school project once. Mixed a few chemicals together, compressed them into a little ball, and…now I have little grenades that spray out super glue."

"That's awesome!" Winston cried, his smile evolving from one of casual friendliness to one of child-like excitement. Amos, however, cringed a bit at the enthusiasm in the gorilla's voice.

"It's…really nothing special," the grunt insisted. "It's not really any good unless I can actually, you know…hit something with it. Same with my wraps and smoke bombs, to tell you the truth."

"The fact that you made all of these things yourself while you're barely older than Tracer says a lot, though," Winston nodded. "Speaking of whom, how did things go with—"

"Horribly," Amos interrupted flatly, immediately going back to his tinkering.

Silence descended. Winston's smile faded. He shifted awkwardly in his tire.

"I, uh…I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "Um…if it's not too much trouble, I'd, uh…like to know what happened. You don't have to give any sensitive details or anything," he added hurriedly. "I'm just...well, if at all possible, I'd like for there to not be any bad blood between our people."

"Yeah, that would affect mission performance, wouldn't it?" Amos sighed. "Long story short…I want to try and undo my Talon friend's neural conditioning, but Tracer thinks it's a bad idea because she hates my friend's guts and thinks that everyone in Talon chose to be a raging lunatic."

His grip on his gear tightened as he spoke. Winston remained silent, listening patiently as Amos heaved another sigh.

"I only agreed to talk to Tracer in the first place because she said she wouldn't judge," Amos grimaced. "She lied to my face."

Silence fell upon the two once more. Winston took a moment to push up his glasses before speaking.

"I…have to admit, this is a difficult situation," the gorilla began. "But it sounds like you both have some valid points. Not that wanting to help your friend is a bad thing, mind you, but we've only just gotten Overwatch back up and running, on crutches at that. We're nowhere near equipped to give your friend the proper psychological help she'll need, regardless of whether or not we want to."

Amos let slip a disappointed sigh, but nodded. "All right…I can accept that."

Winston nodded, as well. "As for Tracer…believe me when I say that we all know she's a bit impulsive, and more often than not doesn't think things through before taking action. But, she really does want to help, even if she makes mistakes in the process."

"'Mistakes'," Amos repeated bitterly, nose still buried in his gear. "Right."

Winston frowned, then heaved himself out of his tire. "Excuse me for a moment."

He lumbered over to a shelf and picked off a book, eyes lighting up briefly at the sight of it. The gorilla then returned to his desk.

"One year, back at the Horizon colony…Dr. Winston gave me this book," Winston said as he handed it to Amos.

The grunt looked over the golden letters scrawled on the cover. "Journey to the West? Why this?"

"Imagination is the essence of discovery," Winston smiled. "That's what Dr. Winston always told me, and it's become something of a creed I live by. Inspiration for the latest and greatest innovations can come from anywhere, even the pages of classical fiction. And it's the kind of worlds we find in stories—peaceful worlds where no one lives in fear—that we were striving for, even back then."

"I used to read a lot of fantasy stories, too," Amos nodded sadly. "Always wished the real world could be like that."

"But, that's just it," Winston put a hand on the grunt's shoulder. "Don't accept the world for what it is; see it for what it could be. That goes for people, too."

Amos looked at him. "Did your doctor say that, too?"

"All the time," Winston chuckled. "Tracer isn't perfect by a long shot, but none of us are, and she does mean well. Give her a chance to prove it."

The Talon soldier quietly looked down at the book in his hands before returning it to Winston. Before the ape could put it back on the shelf, however, Athena's screens flared to life.

"Winston, our satellites are picking up significant Omnic activity in Giza," the AI declared. "Helix Security forces are on the scene, surrounding the local Omnium."

Amos blinked. "Um…Winston?"

"It's sounding a little too familiar to me, as well," the ape nodded grimly. "We're going to mobilize and investigate. Meet us in the hangar as soon as you're ready."

"Wait, what?" Amos sputtered. "You're bringing me?"

"Of course," Winston replied with an encouraging smile. "You're one of us, now."

He lumbered out of the lab, leaving Amos to stuff his equipment back into the pouches from whence it came. An apprehension as familiar as the situation welled up within him. This was the sort of thing the mad Omnic from months ago had done. But, Tracer had seen to it that he would trouble no one anymore; could someone else be following in his footsteps? Amos shuddered at the thought. So many bodies had been ripped into pieces by one Omnic's plans; what kind of harm could someone else, possibly even more volatile, inflict upon the average innocent?

What if Amos died in the struggle to stop this new Omnic ringleader? Only Genji seemed remotely interested in saving Amélie; who was going to help her if Amos wasn't around to?

He gave his head a shake. According to Winston, Amos was Overwatch now. He had to swallow his fear and save lives, just like he did in Talon. With this in mind, he prepared to do so.

Winston stood at the door of the Orca, awaiting the assembly of operatives. Amos came first, his handgun and gear stashed on his person. Reinhardt and Ana followed shortly afterward, with Tracer lagging behind.

"So, you're going to be coming with us, are you?" Reinhardt sneered at Amos.

"Uh…well, I mean, Winston said it was okay, so—"

The German knight leaned down and glared viciously at him. "I've got my eye on you, Talon."

Once his threat was in place, Reinhardt boarded the ship.

"Don't worry about him," Ana spoke up. "He'll be too busy charging headlong in the thick of things to pay you much mind."

"I really hope you're right about that," Amos sighed. He looked around at the assembled faces, finding two missing. "Where are Genji and Tina?"

"They'll be staying behind for this mission," Ana answered. "Her form is a mess, and he's the perfect choice to give her some pointers in hand-to-hand combat."

Oh…great, Amos thought, fighting a lump in his throat to give Ana a nod. Would've been nice to work with the one person around here who might actually be on my side.

"Oi, Amos!" Tracer called, waving a hand to him from the back. "Can we talk for a sec?"

The grunt in question was tempted to turn her down again, but he could feel Winston's expectant gaze digging into him. He relented with a sigh.

"Fine," he grumbled as he trudged over to Tracer. "Let's get this over with."

She nodded. "Listen…I really don't agree with you about you-know-who, and I still think you should give up on her—" Amos rolled his eyes and turned to leave again, but Tracer quickly grabbed his arm. "But, that doesn't excuse how I acted yesterday. I shouldn't have lost it with you, and I'm really sorry if I made you think I abused your trust. I swear I didn't mean to."

Amos held his tongue for a moment. He didn't want to just "forgive" her, to pretend as if her knife-like words had left no scars. He wished the time-hopper would stop clinging to her anger and give Widowmaker—no, give Amélie—a chance. He didn't want to "forget" the problem, he wanted to address it so that it would no longer even be a problem.

But, Winston was still looking on, as was Ana. Amos clenched his jaw hard enough to crush a rock between his teeth. Clearly, he was the only one expected to let go of any anger, while Tracer's hatred would only be encouraged. And the people of Overwatch would inevitably keep harping on having him "give her a chance" until he finally caved in and gave them the blissful ignorance they craved.

Tracer briefly scratched her head. "Soooo…we okay, love?"

Amos turned his words over in his head for a moment before answering. "I'll have your back in a fight. But, I'm never talking to you about anything personal to me again.

He knew that wasn't what she was hoping for, but it was the best he was willing to give; he had learned his lesson. As expected, her face fell for a brief second before perking right back up.

"Well…okay. That's fair," she nodded. "I, uh…I'm going to try and do better from now on. I'd like to try and win at least some of your trust back."

Amos waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, great. Can we get going now? I'm pretty sure there are people where we're going who might need help."

"You got it!" Tracer sprang into a salute, then blinked straight past him and into the cockpit.

Amos heaved yet another sigh as he boarded the Orca. Giza was the home of a security officer with a hatred of him matched in size and ferocity only by her colossal collection of armor-mounted missile launchers. He was traveling there on a ship filled with people who could (and, in some cases, did) pull the rug out from under him at the first opportunity. His only real ally, in any sense of the word, was a half-machine ninja who was going to be left behind at the base.

Yep, Amos thought as he fastened himself in. I am going to die.