Chapter 1- Rainfall

Paris

Rain poured down from the overcast skies over Paris. The streets were mostly empty due to the wet weather, but some stragglers remained outside, hustling back and forth, trying to limit time spent in the downpour. This was the residential part of Paris. There weren't many malls or museums or parks or stunning views of the Eiffel Tower. Instead, it was a long street with a line of mostly identical apartments and a mostly deserted street. The Eiffel Tower wasn't even visible because of the fog and downpour.

Hovercars drove back and forth down the street, driven by Omnics and Humans alike. Pedestrians moved to the sides when they drove by, avoiding the water thrown at them from the hover engine's passing wake. Meanwhile, most people carried on with plans indoors. It was a Friday evening, passing dinnertime at that point. Most people were getting comfortable inside the comfort of their homes, watching movies, getting out of their work uniforms, and beginning to enjoy a nice weekend. Most people, that is.

A man strolled down the street slowly, almost leisurely. He had sandy blonde hair, shaved short on the sides, and longer and swept back on the top. His skin was tanned, and his face was clean shaven, though his eyes were hidden behind mirrored aviator sunglasses. He was dressed in a stylish dark grey trench coat that was tightly shut against the rain. He also had a black umbrella in one hand and a black leather briefcase in the other hand, and his hands were both covered in black leather gloves.

The man continued down the street corner and stopped at the last apartment building on the street. It was a plain brick building with a wrought iron fence and a set of heavy wooden double doors. It was 191 Rue Nationale. The man walked into the lobby of the building, which was plain, with a simple set of stairs and a small cluster of mailboxes. He ignored the mailboxes, striding past them, and went to the stairs. Once he reached the top floor, the third floor, he exited the stairwell.

The hallway stretched on briefly, having four apartments connected, two on either side. He walked down the hallway, passing apartments 301 and 302, before stopping outside 303 and fishing out a key, unlocking the door, and walking in and locking the door behind him. He moved into the bedroom of the apartment. He set down the folded up umbrella and took off his trench coat, putting both of them on the bed, before flicking on the lamp with his gloved hand.

Underneath the trench coat, the man was dressed very finely in a black three piece suit with a blue tie. A sleek black watch was on his left wrist. He removed the mirrored sunglasses, revealing calculating and stormy grey eyes. The sunglasses were flecked with water, and he wiped them dry carefully, before setting them aside. The briefcase was placed on the bed, opened, and the contents inside were sorted.

Inside, there was a pistol, several extra clips, and a silencer, along with a small metal disc the size of a half dollar and an earpiece. He put the earpiece into his right ear, picked up the pistol and screwed the silencer into the barrel thread, and tucked the extra clips into the suit pockets. He then put the sunglasses back on, before walking into the kitchen of the apartment.

In the kitchen he removed the glove on his right hand, careful to not touch any surface in the apartment. He reached his hand up to his sunglasses and carefully flicked a cleverly concealed switch on the frame, before replacing the glove immediately. The regular tint of the glasses faded away, and the expensive technology that was carefully built into the lenses kicked in. Using a mix of x-rays, thermal imaging, and radio waves, the glasses extended the man's vision, allowing him to see through the wall of the kitchen, at least to an extent. The shapes inside were vague outlines rather than completely fine details. On the other side of the wall, in apartment 301, three men were gathered around a circular table, seemingly playing poker. Deeming the spot of the wall nearby to be acceptable, the man placed the small metal disc on the wall connected to the other apartment and pressed a button on it. A small red light flicked on, and audio from the other room began to play over the earpiece, the speakers conversing in fluent French. The man focused intensely on the other room, going quiet as he took in the new details of the room.

There were three men. One seemed to be smoking, as indicated by a heat signature near his mouth and being held by his hand, glowing a faint yellow light. A second, skinny person seemed to be shuffling the cards. The third man was hulking and loomed slightly over both of the others.

"-so, I said to the boss, the plan is all ready, I just got to pick you up at the airport, then we'll meet him near the Arc de Triomphe at midnight. Won't hear from him until then. We're on radio silence," a voice was saying in fluent French. The man noted the gravelly qualities to the voice. Lung or throat damage, probably from smoking. The suspicion was all but confirmed as the smoker at the card table returned the cigarette to his mouth as the speaker finished talking.

"Gives us a few hours for a friendly game of poker. Better to do business when it's less busy anyways," a second voice replied, this time in relatively poor French, as if the speaker had only been speaking it a couple years. This voice was familiar to the man listening, and it was definitely the man shuffling the cards. Walter Emerich was an American arms dealer who had a gambling addiction.

"Sounds good to me. Say, where'd you find the big man," the first man chimed in, leaning forward in his chair, this time speaking around the cigarette, not bothering to take it out. The man listening frowned slightly, concentrating on the conversation. He had the meeting time and place, but he still needed the name and target.

"Jacques here is an old contact. He's here for insurance. Check," Emerich answered calmly, fumbling over the word for insurance and accidentally using the word computer instead of contact. Informateur and imformater were difficult for an accent, but the man listening understood what he meant with little trouble.

"Looks like he could break Blaise in half. Check," the smoker replied, gesturing towards the silent companion looming a full head over both of them. That was the boss's name confirmed. Now he just needed the target.

"Raise, 50. You and your boss don't scare me. I don't care whether you or Blaise or Walter want to blow up the Louvre. All I care about is your money. Now shut up and let me win some more of it." Jacques said, his deep voice growled. That was the target. Blaise, the Arc de Triomphe at midnight, to plan on blowing up the Louvre. That was what he needed.

The man pulled the slide of the silenced pistol back and released it, chambering a round. He took two steps back from the wall and raised the gun, carefully lining up Walter's head and planning how to deal with the other two. Deep breath in. Count to four. Exhale. Pull the trigger on the exhale.

Walter went down first, a headshot knocking him sideways out of his chair. Jacques, the biggest physical threat, went down next to a bullet in the base of his skull before he could process what was happening. The smoker starting to rise from his chair to escape but before he could rise more than a few inches from the seat, a bullet piercing his throat and sending him stumbling backwards, knocking over his chair. His cigarette flew from his lips and landed in the middle of the card table.

The shooter surveyed his work, ensuring for a few seconds that his work was done, which was telltale from the cooling body temperatures, before removing the listening device from the wall and bending over and picking the three shell casings off the kitchen floor. He then returned to the bedroom, packing his things away with cool and collected precision. The gun was slid into a breast holster in his trench coat instead of returned to the briefcase, just in case it was needed. The listening device was deactivated and put away in the briefcase, the earpiece alongside it. The sunglasses were deactivated, returning to their usual tint. He gathered his trench coat and put it back on, before picking up the briefcase and umbrella and leaving the room, locking the door behind him.

The man exited the apartment building, not opening the umbrella. He strolled leisurely onto the sidewalk, subtly scanning the street for any potential threats or tails. Seeing none, he walked off, pulling out a sleek black smartphone, holding the folded umbrella and the briefcase in his other hand. He pushed a simple contact and the call was answered before the first ring was over.

"Job's done. Cleaning crew needed in Apartments 301 and 303, 191 Rue Nationale, Paris," The man stated simply.

"Well done," came the reply simply, before hanging up. The man stopped, glanced around, and seeing no one, dropped the phone on the sidewalk and stomped on it, before picking it up and dropping into the gutter full of rainwater on the street side. He continued on, glancing over his shoulder before opening the umbrella again.

The man turned the corner at the end of the street, walking through the neighborhood. His next destination wasn't very far. A couple blocks later, he reached a park, and cut through. The park was mostly deserted, except for a couple people braving the wet weather like him. As he walked, planning his route to his next stop, it began to rain harder. The grey clouds became almost black, and water poured down.

He sensed, rather than saw someone following him. The hair on his neck rose, alerting him of the sudden danger behind him. He continued walking slowly, knowing that keeping his pace calm would be smarter than speeding up and alerting his pursuer that he had sensed them. As he reached the end of the park and entered the financial district with shops and alleys, he glanced around. Noticing no immediate cars, he crossed the road briskly, skipping the crosswalks. He ducked into an alley behind a bakery, cutting off his pursuers eyeline, and immediately turned back down an intersection branching off. Then the man discarded his briefcase and umbrella and activated his glasses, allowing him to see through the walls.

Rain poured down, and heavy droplet rolled out of his now soaked hair, running down his neck and back. He stood in the shadows in wait, patient, silent, and still, watching his pursuer enter the alley through the brick wall he was standing next to. The pursuer appeared almost hesitant as he entered the alley, but he continued on, walking towards where the man was waiting. As the pursuer drew close, the shooter readied his silenced pistol, aiming it at the corner that the pursuer would appear around.

A tall dark haired man walked into the area where the shooter stood waiting. He was dressed similarly, in a black trench coat and black dress pants and shoes. A subtle bulge in his jacket's left breast pocket indicated he was a right handed shooter carrying a pistol. A carefully groomed mustache adorned his upper lip, and he scanned the alley, looking for signs of where his quarry had disappeared.

The shooter stepped out of the shadows, aiming the gun at the man's head. It was standard procedure to ask questions before shooting. His pursuer couldn't tell him why he was following him or how he was discovered if he was dead.

"Who are you and why are you following me?" The blond man asked to his pursuer's back. The man softly chuckled and turned around, facing the gun head on.

"Jason Sharp, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," the dark haired man said in a distinctly French accent. Jason eyed him coolly, only a small twitch of his lips giving away his surprise at being recognized.

"Charmed. Who are you?" Jason questioned, backing up slightly, ready for a fight. The man noticed, and laughed slightly, smiling.

"You don't have to worry about me. My name is Gérard Lacroix. I'm part of Overwatch."

Welcome to my first major Overwatch fic. I have the entire story plotted out already and several chapters are being written. Depending on how much enjoyment there is, I will update quickly I hope. I have a fulltime job and online college, but I'm also committed to finishing this fic. Please leave a review, they're the easiest way to tell me how to improve my writing and what I'm doing well on as a storyteller.