Minutes bled into hours into days as Torbjorn, Winston and Angela's staff worked feverishly to piece together what was only being called Caduceus.
It had been one month since Angela's drunken frolic in the shower had sparked the revelation that was rewriting battlefield medicine. No staff was allowed in the medical wing unless authorized by one of the three project leads. From the early hours of the morning until the sun had long set in the sky, people buzzed in and out; engineers with armfuls of designs, research assistants with coffee (and the occasional tub of peanut butter) and delivery staff bringing in parts and pieces.
Winston and Torbjorn had successfully brushed off the peppering of questions from the likes of Lena, Jack, Gabriel, Ana and Gerard. No one had even seen Angela, she'd set up a cot in the medical ward, and was using the sanitation shower in the brief moments she allowed herself to get cleaned up.
Torbjorn provided the mechanical prowess to come up with a design for the suit and staff. His only condition was that Angela help him on future projects once they finished hers; she agreed. Winston lent his chronal knowledge to what Angela had dubbed the "beams" and "resurrection." Initial tests had proved promising, her theory was holding. Like the flow of water pouring over her in the shower, a beam of healing nanobiological energy would tether itself to the nearest organic creature to her. This tether blanketed the recipient in accelerated healing through nanobiology as long as the connection was in place. There had been initial concerns that someone connected to the tether while not wounded would develop cancer cells, as the rapid cell turnover and repair the staff applied would go overboard without any actual damaged elements. Thankfully, testing seemed to indicate that was not the case.
The only major point of contention was the second tether. Torbjorn had insisted on it, arguing with Angela relentlessly about its necessity. While the primary beam healed, the secondary beam enhanced weapon functionality. Anything that did damage, the tether amplified: bullets flew faster, hammers hit harder, rockets made a bigger bang. Winston played mediator when Angela threatened to scrap the project over the second beam. Angela was staunchly opposed, she did not want to directly contribute to the deaths of others. It took a few days of arduous effort on Winston's part, but she eventually relented. While the beam amplified damage, that could potentially save the life of the person she was using it on.
What had originally been a design for just the staff now included an entire suit. Its defenses were minimal, but it allowed the wearer basic gliding and propulsion systems. Winston and Torbjorn had tried to talk her into a more practical suit design. She declined. Angela envisioned a beacon of hope on the battlefield, a symbol allies near and far could see, and know help was on the way.
"Angela, I think we're just about there," Winston pushed his glasses up his nose and leaned back to study their handiwork.
"So do I, Winston, so do I." Angela traced her fingers across the feather-like wings coming off the back of the suit. "I think I'm going to name it the Valkyrie Swift-Response Suit, or VSRS. What do you think?"
"Oh, such potential!" Torbjorn chimed in. "She's your baby, name her what you like."
"Valkyrie it is," she reached up and grabbed the halo off its mount, "Should we give her a try?"
15 reps, 10 sets.
Gabriel grunted as he pulled himself up; sweat trickled its way down his temple, threatening his concentration with a nagging itch.
Up, down, up, down. Working out relaxed him, and the gym seemed like the only damn place in Overwatch he didn't have to hear about whatever the hell the doc, monkey and midget were doing.
He finished the set, dropped to the floor and grabbed a towel at the water fountain. He hadn't made his mind up about the doctor. She was easy to look at, but he couldn't decide if her sass made him want to fire her or fuck her. Maybe a little of both. "Desestresarse," Gabriel thought as he threw the towel in a bin at the shower entrance. Warm water poured over him as he stepped into the shower, willing his restless mind to relax for a moment. Sometimes he wished he was a no-good teenager again, smoking weed in his basement and stealing malts from the 7-Eleven.
It was an easier time, despite the constant threat of gang violence. A judge had saved him from that life. Gabriel smoothed soap over skin and tattoos, reminiscing on the black robes that had saved his life.
"Can you tell me your name, please?" Steel eyes pierced through him from atop an oaken bench.
He clenched his fists, meeting the old man's gaze, "Gabriel Reyes."
"You are here on five counts of aggravated assault. Does that sound correct Mr. Reyes?"
"More like self-defense," he said to himself.
"Excuse me, Mr. Reyes, men do not mumble in my courtroom. Does that sound correct?"
"Yes."
"Now, this is your first time in a courtroom?"
"Yes."
"Mr. Reyes," the judge leaned forward, studying the angry, tensed young man. "Why do you look so upset?"
He didn't know what to say. Gabriel stared back, not sure if it was a trick. "Uh, it just seems like defending my mom, myself, is a stupid reason to be here."
A pause hung over the mostly empty room. A bailiff watched from the corner. His thoughts traveled to his mom, in some hospital being poked and prodded by doctors because she tried to protect her son. His dad wasn't there. Gabriel didn't care - he was used to being alone.
Creaking of a chair brought Gabriel out of his thoughts. The judge had shifted, watching him like a hawk watches the poor rabbit it's about to eviscerate. "I want you to tell me what happened. From what I've been told, you took down an impressive amount of men, most I believe in a gang, most I've probably talked with like this, and I'd like to know why."
"Is this old man fucking with me?" Gabriel wondered. He assumed people like this were busy trying to hand out as many sentences as they could cram into each nine to five.
"Mr. Reyes?"
Gabriel squared his shoulders and met the judge's eyes. "I live in a bad part of town. Dad isn't around much, and mom does her best to take care of me. I'm sure you get this shit-"
"Do not curse at the judge," the bailiff cut him off.
"Lo siento," he shot back. "A gang has been messing around lately, causing trouble. Vandalizing, stealing, beating people up. The cops weren't doing anything, whatever. They tried to start something with my mom. They were pushing her, trying to take her purse. She's way too stubborn, didn't give the stupid thing to them, and so one of them hit her."
He sucked in a long breath to steady himself; he had nothing to lose, might as well incriminate himself straight to the top. "I beat the hell out of them. No one touches my mom. I made sure they'd never touch her again."
A heavy silence fell over the courtroom. Judge and accused in a desperately one-sided battle, one struggling at the noose around his neck, the other not yet content to pull the lever. After what seemed like hours, the judge nodded to himself and stood up. "Mr. Reyes, I do not condone violence. The law says you should serve time because you had the unfortunate timing of defending your family a few weeks after turning 18."
"But," he paused. "You've managed to go these 18 years without falling into a gang, or getting arrested or causing trouble, and I believe that is commendable. So is defending your mother, something I hope any man would do. Because of these things, I'm going to recommend charges be dismissed, on one condition."
Gabriel's ears were ringing. The fuck did the old man just say?
"You obviously have a protective nature, and you can obviously hold your own. I want you to enlist."
What. Gabriel blinked. His mind moved at a glacial pace, trying to process what he'd just said.
"Does this sound reasonable, Mr. Reyes?"
"Yes," his mouth answered before his mind could.
That old man - Gabriel had no idea if he was even still alive - had put him on the path to Overwatch. "Gracias," he thought.
"The fuck are you daydreaming about, siestas and tacos?" Gerard's voice ripped Gabriel out of his thoughts and back into a bathroom now occupied by his naked ass plus one.
"This is gay," he growled, turning off the shower and grabbing his towel. "And where the fuck have you been? I half think your and Amelie's missions are just an excuse to go bang on some rooftop."
"Well of course, nothing keeps the romance alive like sweet, passionate lovemaking around the corpses of our enemies."
"You're fucking weird, Gerard," he laughed. "The hell do you want? Got a sixth sense to come bug me the one time I'm relaxed?"
"Woah woah," Gerard feigned disgust. "I don't need to know about your relaxing habits. Jack and I have been trying to find you for the last 20 minutes, that big project Dr. Ziegler's been working on is apparently done."
"Jesus I'm so sick of hearing about this mysterious thing. What is it?"
"Hell if I know, let's go find out."
She'd have to get used to the body suit, that's for sure. It clung everywhere. Angela flexed elbows and knees, testing for any pinching or discomfort.
"It feels good," she finally turned to Winston. Torbjorn had left some time before, on to the next project. "I don't think we'll have to make any adjustments."
"Wonderful," he said. "Let's do another circuit."
"Ya!" Lena said. "This thing is stinkin' sweet. You gotta let me try it some time!"
Overwatch had a football field-sized open terrain area for drills they'd been practicing in for the last hour. Each portion of the suit and staff had to be rigorously tested.
Simon stood about 40 feet down the field. Angela broke into a sprint, "Ich bin da," she whispered, activating Valkyrie's guardian angel propulsion.
Winston watched as VSRS's wings illuminated and Angela soared across the field to Simon, landing gracefully at his side. A little showy, sure, but beautiful. If Angela wanted to send a message, a literal angel on the battlefield was it.
A door opened behind him and Ana, Jack, Gabriel, Amelie and Gerard walked in. "Shut the fuck up..." Jack trailed off, the men struck into silence by the glowing woman in white.
"Hmph," Angela huffed. The people she really needed to convince had arrived; might as well give herself a fancy entrance before the barrage of questions. She jogged forward and engaged the suit on Jack, jumping as it launched her toward him.
"Oh my," Ana said as Angela landed in front of Jack. "Can that go up?"
"Yes," she smiled. "I, or whoever pilots the Valkyrie Swift-Response Suit, could reach you on any rooftop."
Jack's mouth hung slack, the men couldn't help but give her a once over, or thrice over. The collective hive mind of man had shut down.
"It is rude to stare," Winston said as he walked up behind her. "As she explained, this is the Valkyrie Swift-Response Suit, an in-field medic outfit designed to provide immediate assistance to soldiers on the battlefield."
"And this," Angela held up the staff. "Is the Caduceus Staff, the breakthrough we've all been waiting for. It's capable of near-instantaneous healing of any wounds sustained to the body. It also has the capability to amplify damage output."
"And bring back the dead!" Lena chimed in.
That was enough to snap the boys out of their stupor. "Bring back the dead." Gabriel repeated.
"Correct," Angela nodded. "Through Winston's chronal research and my nanobiology tech, the Caduceus Staff can revive fallen soldiers by, to put it simply, setting them back in time by a few seconds and rapidly repairing any damage in the process."
"This really works?" Amelie cocked her head to the side. "Anyone here have a cut or something? Gerard, you're always hurting yourself."
"Merci beaucoup," he rolled his eyes.
"No, please. It will work on any injury, and I would love to show you all," Angela motioned to Gerard.
Gerard shrugged and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a particularly ugly bruise across his back. Angela pointed the staff at him and pressed a button. Yellow light burst out the front of the staff, enveloping Gerard's back. Purple, black and blue quickly became green and yellow before fading into nothing. Angela released the trigger, an enormous smile covering her face. "It can do so much more than that, a gunshot wound, knife, it will heal any injury."
"Who's going to pilot this thing?" Gabriel asked. "Not you."
"Why not?" Angela shot back. "The VSRS is mine, and I am a doctor, it makes sense."
"Something being yours is not a good argument, and no it doesn't," Gabriel countered. "Do you have any field experience? Ever been shot at? Mortar explode 10 feet from you?" He turned to the others. "I'm not letting a high-minded doctor blow herself or one of us up because she doesn't have the slightest clue about war."
Jack cut Angela off before the two could start fighting. "Ok, first thing, Gabriel is right. This looks like it has a lot of potential, but you'll be a danger to yourself and others without any training. Second thing, you'll have to go through training before we let you go anywhere near a battlefield."
God he made her blood boil, even if he has a point. "I want to help people," Angela crossed her arms and glared at Gabriel. "That is why I am here. I will do what is necessary, and would like to start immediately."
"Once this gets U.N. approval and you pass field training, we'll be happy to have you, doctor," Ana turned to leave. "Now please excuse me, Fareeha is expected back any time."
"Oh goody, I'll come say hello," Lena followed Ana out of the stadium.
Winston broke the tense silence that followed their exit. "Angela, I'd like to run some tests on the suit and staff, if you wouldn't mind changing."
"Alright," she turned to Jack. "I would like to get started on this field training, Jack, if you could please let me know how that process can start."
"Absolutely," Jack replied. "I'll send over the overview and get times scheduled."
Angela followed Winston out the door, annoyed that Gabriel was right, and annoyed that another obstacle was between her and helping people. "I'll do anything to save lives," she promised herself.