And lo...the epilogue has come.
To be quite honest, I was a bit terrified of uploading a story with little-to-no shipping involved to a section so heavily dominated by pairing fics (especially considering that A: my usual response to pairings is just to look at it, say "yeah, that's a thing", then move onto something else, and B: some parts of fandoms are, if I'm quite honest, a tad infamous for exploding at the thought of X character being paired with anyone but Y character). But, after seeing all the interest the readers seemed to have, my worries seem to have been for nothing. I've said this before, but it bears repeating: thanks again to everyone who stopped in to give this thing a read. I'll be sure to write more in the future.
But, until then, we have a first installment to finish.
Epilogue:
Amos took a deep breath as he made his way through the corridors of Talon's base. It was time to deliver his report.
He found Widowmaker waiting for him outside the mess hall, the place they usually seemed to meet. As per routine, he greeted her with a salute.
"At ease," she nodded. "What did you learn out there?"
"Right…so," Amos began. "Remember that Omnic Talon was experimenting with who dropped me out of a plane, then turned up in Egypt with an army of Bastions?"
"What about him?" Widowmaker raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, it, uh…turns out he was in charge of the Omnium."
"Hmm…which would explain where he acquired his resources," the blue-skinned sniper pursed her lips. "You speak of him in past tense, though. What happened?"
"Well," Amos said, breathing in once more. It was time to test the quality of his crafted half-truth. "I was watching the Omnium for a while, and a few minutes after I saw the Omnic go in...I saw some former Overwatch agents go inside. There was a lot of noise, and after a few hours, one of the agents came out with the Omnic's body."
Widowmaker shrugged. "C'est la vie. He served his purpose."
Amos blinked. Much as he wanted to ask what purpose that was, he thought better of it. "Um…oh…kay?"
"Now, then," Widowmaker began, folding her arms and studying her subordinate. "Based on these little excursions, I believe I can now determine where you will do your best work. Once I submit the proper forms, you will be working as a field medic on missions requiring a group. Any questions?"
"Um…well, just one," Amos said, looking down at his uniform. "Is there any chance that, maybe someday, I can…maybe…pick my own outfit? I mean, don't get me wrong, this uniform's growing on me—especially the helmet—but, uh, I was just in the freezing snow. In a T-shirt. And, uh…to be perfectly honest, I could really use some longer sleeves."
Widowmaker chuckled. "Perhaps we can arrange a few slight changes. But, if you keep up the good work, there may be a promotion in your future. And, with the rise to advanced agent, there are more…varied options of attire."
"Okay, thanks, I can work with that," Amos nodded. "So…one more thing? Let's, uh, let's say I get a promotion or two down the line…would that mean I can—I don't know—work with you more? I mean…I've had a lot of bosses over the years, but you're—honestly, you're hands-down the best one."
"Mmm…I imagine I am," Widowmaker said with a sultry smirk. Amos suddenly regretted opening his mouth as she came closer to him and looked him straight in the eye, steadily leaning in until her face was inches from his. "I'm a perceptive woman, Clemens. Do you really think that wearing your helmet all the time keeps me from reading you like a book?"
Amos' head withdrew into his shoulders in a manner similar to a turtle going into its shell. The only sound he could make now was a strained squeak, which only served to provide Widowmaker with more amusement.
"Ah, Clemens…never change," she laughed as she drew back. She then turned to leave. "You're dismissed."
Once Widowmaker was out of sight, Amos felt safe enough to stop imitating a turtle. Making sure no one was around, he sighed.
He really did make the strangest friends.
A ship drifted to a stop at the Ilios harbor, illuminated by the striking sunlight. Sailors filed off in pairs, each one carrying a box of supplies. Everything from food to clothing to artwork moved from the water-bound ship to the trucks on land.
"All right, last one," one of the sailors remarked. "Hey, these food boxes seem a bit light to you?"
"Eh, we'll figure it out later," his companion shrugged. "Break time's coming."
As the two sailors left, a familiar staff-wielding figure ducked into an alley, a collection of bulges in her shirt. Once out of sight, Tina unfolded the bulge and smiled at her haul of stolen food. She stuffed a chunk of the food into her mouth, then slipped like a shadow through more alleys. Eventually, she came upon a rather peculiar alley with what seemed to be a homemade wooden fence barring it off.
Good times or bad, she thought, her smile widening, there's no place like home.
Pausing only to devour more of her stash, Tina jumped the fence and sauntered down the alley, soon finding herself at a dead end. At this dead end, however, was a shoddy wooden shack that—like the fence—seemed to have been nailed together by amateur hands. Using her foot to carefully push the door open, Tina slipped inside the shack and shut the door behind her.
From a rooftop above, a man in a lightning-patterned motorcycle helmet observed his former companion's choice in living space.
"Is this really the life you want, Tina?" Thunderstrike sighed. "Perhaps we'll see in the future."
With that, he charged his body with lightning once again and leapt into the horizon.
Time off was rare, so Fareeha "Pharah" Amari knew to make the most of it.
Her apartment in Giza was close to where she worked, and the ample space in her living room gave her free reign to polish her combat skills. Fareeha had just cut through the air with a swift roundhouse kick when she heard a knock at the door. She raised an eyebrow; she wasn't expecting anyone.
Knowing herself ready to handle whatever situation she would be faced with, Fareeha opened the door. She immediately tensed; before her was a wanted criminal who had raided Overwatch bases that had been under the protection of Helix Security.
"Fareeha Amari," Soldier 76 nodded curtly. "Still playing soldier, I see."
Fareeha said nothing, clenching her jaw.
"At ease," Soldier 76 said. "I'm not here for a fight. I'm just making a delivery."
He held out an envelope. Fareeha cautiously took it.
"I hear you had that Raptora armor of yours painted blue in honor of your old friends at Overwatch," Soldier 76 continued. "Your mother would've been proud of you."
"You didn't know my mother very well, then," Fareeha replied darkly.
"Maybe better than you think," Soldier 76 replied. "Make sure you read that letter."
With that, he left. Fareeha's instincts told her to report the Soldier's presence, but there was something about the envelope he had given her that took her attention. There was a familiar quality about it. Something she hadn't seen in years.
She extracted the letter from its envelope, and read it over. Her face softened. Her eyes watered. All she could say was one word.
"Mum."
Tracer spread the last of the dirt over the impromptu grave she and Winston had dug for her old friend. She wiped her brow as she planted the shovel into the ground beside her.
"There we go," she remarked.
"I'll see if we can get a headstone made," Winston said to her. "Oh, by the way, I heard from the hospital Reinhardt is being kept in. He'll be fully recovered in a few days…though he insists that he's ready now."
"Yep, that's our Reinhardt," Tracer smiled. She looked down at the grave. "Could you warm up the Mako for me? I'd…like to say some things to Eli, first."
Winston nodded and left. Tracer sat down at the foot of the grave, pulling what seemed to be a rolled-up comic book out of her pocket.
"I'm sorry things turned out this way, Eli," she said softly. "My girlfriend always tells me I can't do everything at once, but…sometimes, I wish I could. Maybe then all those awful things wouldn't have happened to you…and we'd still be friends. I don't think I ever introduced you to Emily; you might've liked her. She's my rock sometimes."
With a sigh, Tracer stood up.
"I'm going to keep fighting for the future, Eli," she vowed. "For a future where humans and Omnics can live together in peace, like we always heard from Mondatta. And when we get there…I hope you'll be watching, from wherever you are. You and the people you love. Because I'll do everything I can to make up for all the mistakes I've made. That's a promise."
She gently laid the comic, titled Craft from the Stars, on Eli's grave.
"I think you—the real you—would've liked this comic," Tracer continued. "Most people would've left a flower or something, but I thought this would work better, since you've been such a big sci-fi fan."
Tracer bowed her head and allowed silence to fall upon her. Her mind dwelled on the time she had spent with her old friend from King's Row: the video games they played, the winters they shared, the movies they watched. Throughout those eight years, Eli had seemed to enjoy her company, more than he did any other human outside of his immediate family.
Now all Tracer had were memories of happier times in the face of the agonizing reality.
"Good-bye, Eli," she finally sighed, reaching under her goggles to wipe away a tear. "Maybe I'll see you again someday? Like I told Fareeha…who knows what the future holds?"
With that, she left. It was time to move on, and carry out her promise.
The grave went undisturbed for hours after Tracer's departure. Only when night came did a stranger approach, clad in dirty brown rags and tattered blue jeans. The stranger flicked some of his wild red hair out of his face with a smirk. He had found what he was looking for.
Being mindful of the tubes protruding from his wrists, the stranger dug his hands into Eli's grave. He lifted out the metallic head and pried it open, soon pulling out a small black object with glowing red circuitry printed across it. The stranger showed all of his teeth in a grin; this was just what he was looking for, in just the condition he wanted. With his free hand, he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and put it to his ear.
"¿Qué onda?" a woman's voice answered.
"It's me," the stranger said flatly, his voice containing a slight Japanese accent. "I've got your Omnic brain, and it looks like you were right on the money. There's still a glow; his body might've shut down, but he's still alive in here."
"I'll say this for Talon; they build their pet projects to last," the woman replied. "I'll send you a drop-off location once I'm back from Germany."
"Germany?" the stranger raised an eyebrow, casually tossing the brain up and down in his hand. "What's so interesting that you're all the way over there?"
"Oh, just making a new friend," the woman replied mischievously. "See you later."
The last Bastion, body still covered in plant life and the occasional bird nest, sat calmly on a log as its single blue eye gazed skyward. Birds soared overhead, and sunlight pierced the canopy of the Black Forest. There were no more metallic airships. All was well.
A small yellow bird flittered down to a nest on the Bastion's shoulder, depositing a small twig. The Bastion observed this with its single eye, then gently pried a splinter off of the log it sat on, offering it to the bird. The bird happily took the offered splinter, adding it to its nest as well. Even this tiny action was, in the Bastion's blue eye, the most wondrous thing.
Then the blue of its eye turned purple.
The Bastion stood up, looking around. The heads-up-display in its field of vision displayed a number of digital footprints leading out of the forest. With movement conveying a sense of purpose, the Bastion followed the footprints and made its way out of the forest, its avian companion flapping along beside it. All the while, a tan-skinned woman in a purple coat looked on, leaning against a tree with a devious smirk.
"That's right, amigo. Go and explore the world you've been away from for so long," the woman smirked, flexing her clawed fingers. "And, while you're at it, make a quick stop in Mexico and help me bring down LumériCo."
And, with that tie-in to the Sombra ARG, "Ripple Effect" is complete! If all goes well, I may put out a sequel around the 2nd or 3rd quarter of the year. I hope you've enjoyed what you've read thus far, and that you'll be looking forward to the future (mis)adventures of Amos and co.
Until then, see you around.