"They've...well, they've either disappeared, or been killed."

Winston's words slam Reinhardt like a physical blow.

Disappeared? Killed?

For a moment the world changes, becoming strange, unreal. Like waking up to find himself miles underwater. The voices of his teammates drift through him, like the slow roll of thunder.

"What? No!" Lena exclaims, distraught while next to him Brigitte drops her taco onto her lap.

"Who has disappeared?" Angela asks urgently, leaning forward.

Winston clicks his remote, and one of the news clippings enlarges so that they can read the heading:

"SEARCH CONTINUES FOR MISSING MARICOPA WOMAN"

"This I found just this morning," Winston indicates the screen with the laser pointer, and Reinhardt can see the minute jitter of the red dot as Winston's hand quivers. "It's Kiera Silvers. She's been missing for a week now." He clicks the remote again, bringing up the next clipping.

"MAN KILLED IN POSSIBLE GANG-RELATED SHOOTING"

The smiling face of an olive-skinned, dark-haired man fills the screen, vibrant and happy. He's got his arm slung around a pretty woman, and in the other arm a chubby wavy-haired child leans against him.

"This one is from three weeks ago. Piero Moretti, shot at close range with what is believed to be a shotgun. Obviously the work of the Reaper."

He clicks the remote again. This time the article isn't in English, but it doesn't need to be. Reinhardt recognizes the picture instantly. A woman, dark-skinned but with shoulder-length curly blonde hair. The last time he saw her, she had swept by him in the hallway on her way back to her rooms. Her team had just returned from a devastation mission in Poland.

That had been the mission he had lost Ana.

"This is from a news site in Kampala. It describes a missing Ugandan woman, who some of you may recognize as Mirembe. She disappeared five weeks ago."

Winston taps the remote again, returning the news clippings to miniature size.

"There are at least two more that I know of. In total three dead, two missing," Winston removes his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. He breathes in deeply before continuing. "Of these five, the ones who have gone missing are all women, while the men have been killed. I'm...not sure what to make of it."

Reinhardt doesn't know what to make of it either. It is too much. He's returning to himself, the unreality fading.

"No…" Lena breathes, her voice nearly a sob.

Around the table, no one speaks for a moment, paralyzed by the horror of it. Eventually, it is Torbjörn who breaks the silence.

"So, they're goin' around takin' out everyone on their list. Do you know any of the other names they managed to get so we can warn 'em?" he asks, pushing his plate aside so he can rest an arm on the table.

Winston replaces his glasses. "Yes. I was able to go through the sectors of Athena's server that Talon's worm hacked into and extract the corrupted data. I have a list of sixteen agents whose identities were recovered." He taps his pad and scrolls, as if going down a list.

"Well? Have you warned 'em?!" Torbjörn demands.

Winston raises his eyebrows at the impatient Swede. "Yes. I sent all of them a message through the official Overwatch channel, but only two agents responded."

"Well, what about the ones that didn't? Can't you track 'em down?" Torbjörn says urgently, gesturing with his prosthetic hand. When Winston doesn't respond with anything more than an 'uh', he continues, "Don't they got holopads or email addresses or P.O. boxes you can get a message to?"

Reinhardt finds himself nodding in agreement. Surely if Talon can find their agents, Winston and Athena can as well?

"It's...not that simple," Winston says, worrying the edges of his holopad. "The ones whose holopad links I had I sent a message to, but padlinks can change. Same with email addresses. I tried contacting them every way I could think of, short of hunting them down in person. The fact is, either their information has changed, or they know and don't want to respond, or…"

Winston doesn't speak the last option, but Reinhardt can guess what he isn't saying. Or they're already gone.

"Well, maybe we should go searchin' for 'em," Jesse says. "Ain't like we're doin' much here, just waitin' for the Russians to get their heads outta their asses and ask for help. Send a couple o' us with the information ya do have. I'm pretty good at huntin'down quarry."

"I agree," Genji says from across the table with a nod. "Send me as well. I will travel swiftly."

"W-well, hold on," Winston says, holding out one massive hand, "there's something I want to show you before we made any decisions. There's been a bit of a development in Russia, just this morning."

A development in Russia? Reinhardt hadn't seen anything on the news today. Unless it had happened within the last thirty minutes?

Winston clicks the remote again, and the news articles disappear to be replaced with what looks like a screenshot of a webpage. He clicks again to magnify it.

It's a screenshot from a video sharing website, the picture a bit blurry as if it was taken mid-playback. It's hard to make out at first what it shows; but if he had to guess Reinhardt would say it is a view from someone's window. The foreground is an indistinct black tangle, the sky a slate-blue overcast mass of clouds. Standing in stark relief against the dreary horizon is another dark, vaguely humanoid shape. It's reflecting the light faintly, off what might be metal plating.

Next to him, Torbjörn swears.

"Is that what I think it is?" he exclaims, slamming a hand on the table. "Why in the blue blazes hasn't this been in the news before now?"

Everyone looks at him, confused except Winston.

"Well, this video was uploaded on a Russian video sharing website early this morning. It was up for about 7 seconds before being deleted, and Athena only managed to get a few screencaps instead of downloading it. It's obvious they don't want this to be seen." Winston says, gesturing to the picture. "You know what it is?"

"Know? If it's what I think it is, I helped design the damned things!" Torbjörn roars, still staring at the image. "It's a bloody Titan!"

A Titan. Reinhardt feels a chill as he realizes the scale of this new problem. A Titan. The last time he heard those words, it was from the lips of a newscaster. He had been sitting in a pub in Greenland, having a drink in the late afternoon. The news was on, and had been tuned to a breaking story about trouble in Boklovo. There had been live footage from a helicopter of a metal behemoth wreaking havoc on the city, destroying buildings, crushing tanks, killing civilians by the tens.

It had been Torbjörn who had ended all that trouble then.

"Well, it's no bloody wonder that they can't end this war!" Torbjörn continues his diatribe, throwing up his arms in anger. "If that thing isn't guardin' the omnium, I'll eat my turret!" He continues to mutter darkly under his breath, whipping out his own pad and beginning to type frantically.

Reinhardt meets Brigitte's wide-eyed gaze across the table. This is bad.

"Uh...what exactly is a Titan?" Lúcio asks. "Some kinda huge omnic? Cuz that's what it sounds like."

Reinhardt looks at the young medic's confused face. Of course, Lúcio would have been much younger, the last time a Titan appeared. He would not understand what such a thing was capable of.

"A huge omnic, sure," Torbjörn says, still tapping furiously on his pad. "Bout a hundred meters tall, heavily armored, probably fitted with anti-aircraft artillery, heat-sensors, defensive drones, and a whole slew of nasty weaponry. Tch, it's no wonder they're not askin' for help. If word gets out about this, it'll throw the whole world into a panic!"

Angela raises a finger questioningly. "I do not understand. Would it not be better for the world to know? I would think more countries would be keen to help eliminate such a threat."

Torbjörn shakes his head at her. "No. Y' don't understand how the Russians think. Even during the Omnic Crisis, they didn't want help from anybody. They're a proud people, those Russians. Even though that last war nearly destroyed the whole country!"

Reinhardt nods, voicing his own agreement. "Yes. They will think any offer of assistance a threat to their own autonomy. They are too proud to accept the help of the other nations."

Wait. He feels an inkling of an idea.

"So...they don't want this information about the Titan to become public because they think they will be forced to accept assistance?" Angela says, wrinkling her nose delicately in disapproval.

"Eh, something like that." Torbjörn says, nose still in his pad. "Pride, and they don't want other nations poking their noses into their business."

Silence descends around the table again as everyone sits back to chew on the new information.

"So...you don't want us to go searchin' for the other agents on account'a this Titan thing?" McCree drawls.

Winston nods. "I think that once this gets out - and if I was able to screenshot it, I'm sure others have too - Russia will be feeling the pressure to do something. I think they'll be more open to accepting our help, and it'll happen sooner rather than later."

McCree scratches the wild scruff of his beard thoughtfully. "Howabout a compromise? We make the Russians another offer fer help, n' if they don't accept it or respond in the next week or two we move on t'findin' our people?"

Winston thinks for a moment, closing the holoprojection as he does. The sudden absence of the wall of light leaves the room dark and hollow.

"Hm...I'll consider it," Winston says grudgingly. "In the meantime Athena and I will keep trying to reach out to those agents. I'll send out a list of the names I have, and if any of you think you have any information that can help, or think of anything else in the meantime shoot me a message. Okay?"

Everyone nods.

And with that proclamation, the meeting is over. Reinhardt returns to his room in a daze and sits down in front of his computer. In the meeting he had felt a spark of some idea, like a window of insight into how he could get through to the RDF. In the time it's taken him to walk from the conference room to his quarters, that light seems to have blown out, like a candle in a stiff breeze.

Now, he feels simply numb. It's like his brain has shut down, overwhelmed by the number of emotions it wants to feel.

He pulls up his email and inputs Zarya's contact, then stares blankly at the cursor where it blinks on the page. He doesn't even know where to start.

Dimly, he tries to parse through his feelings. Sadness, at the agents they had lost before ever knowing they were in harm's way. Rage at Talon, for their underhanded, low attacks. Shock, at the sight of that grainy image of the Titan. Apprehension, at what it might mean. Reinhard watches his emotions unfurl like new blooms on the inside of a greenhouse, untouched by them except for the ghostly warmth of the anger, which feels closer than all the rest.

There is a knock at his door.

"Come in!" Reinhardt calls, spinning his chair around to face whoever is entering. It's Brigitte.

"Hey," she says, sticking her head around the doorframe. "you got a minute?"

"Certainly," he says. It will be easier to deal with whatever she wants, rather than be alone with his thoughts right now.

She slips inside, shutting the door behind her and perches on the edge of his bed.

"So...some meeting, huh?" she jokes weakly, her tone falling flat. It's evident she has been disturbed by it as well. He grunts in agreement, leaning back in his chair.

Brigitte bounces a little on his bunk, shoving her hands under her legs. She kicks a foot, as if trying to think of something to say. Her eyes go to his face, then to her own knees, then back to his face, as if she's reluctant to speak.

"How many of those agents did you know?" she asks quietly, flickering her gaze from his eyes to the floor. It's an intimate question, one that manages to penetrate his numb daze.

He rubs his chin, thinking in the names Winston had spoken. Of them, only Mirembe had been familiar, but that wasn't unusual. Back in the day, Overwatch had outposts and Watchpoints all over the world; it wasn't unusual for agents to never meet each other.

"I knew Mirembe," he says, finally. "She was stationed here at Gibraltar for many months, as was I. I remember back then her husband had cancer, and was receiving treatment periodically through us. She was a nice person, and a very good agent. Great track record of keeping her people intact. She was...she was one of the agents sent on the mission where Ana Amari died."

"Oh, Reinhardt, I'm sorry...I didn't know," Brigitte says, half-rising from his bunk, her face aghast. He waves his hand at her, shaking his head.

"No, it is alright. It was a long time ago." The old wounds ache like his bones before a storm; almost unnoticeable day by day, until the rains come and he drowns in his memories. "I did not keep in contact with many from the old days when I left. It is unfortunate that this is how I am hearing of Mirembe now."

Unfortunate. More like tragic, strange, and unreal. Had Talon taken her, disposed of her? Or was it something much worse?

Brigitte plops back down on the bunk, slumping over her knees. "Ugh. This really sucks." She rests her chin in her hands. "How do you feel about what McCree said? Do you think we should go look for the other agents?"

Reinhardt shrugs, his chair creaking. "I do think we should look for them, however I think without a good lead on their location, we would waste a lot of time. No doubt it would lead to a conflict with Talon." A conflict, that we may not win if we are separated.

"Man, it's just so frustrating!" Brigitte pushes her fingers against her cheeks, distorting them. "If Talon can find them, we should be able to as well! Can't Athena like, hack a national database or something?"

Reinhardt doesn't actually know what Athena is capable of. "I do not actually know," he admits. He may not know Athena, but he does know Winston. "I do think that Winston would be less inclined to use such methods to obtain information. Overwatch, while we operate outside the laws, tends to try to abide by them while achieving our aim. If we have no code of honor, we are no better than Talon."

Brigitte makes an incoherent noise of aggravation and throws herself backwards onto his bed. "Fine, we have to play by the rules. Mostly. But if that isn't bad enough, we have the Titan to worry about now?"

The Titan.

Reinhardt himself had never faced one before, but he had followed the news in Boklovo as it unfolded, and seen the images of the destruction. Torbjörn had even regaled him with the story of its origin and defeat - but imagining actually facing an omnic the size of a skyscraper? It was daunting, to say the least. There was one small detail Brigitte had missed though.

"We only have to worry about it if Russia will let us help," Reinhardt says. "Which seems remote."

"But why?" Brigitte seems to be determined to be frustrated, continuing this line of questioning. "Don't you think that now we know about this big secret thing, that we could use it as leverage or something?"

Her words spark something in him. Yes, leverage...the secret. The problem facing Russia, if there was some way they could get rid of it without the greater public knowing…

"You might be onto something," Reinhardt says thoughtfully. A plan is coming together in his mind, the words finally flowing. He knows what he wants to say to Zarya. Unceremoniously, he swivels around to face his computer, setting his fingers to the keyboard. Zarya's lack of insight into her superior's reluctance to accept Overwatch's aid was all that had come of his first correspondence, though they had kept up a routine discussion of weightlifting and powerlifting. Trading workout plans and changing routines was one way to get to know each other and keep an open line of communication.

Now, he would talk business with her.

"What do you mean? Do you think we could blackmail the Russians with the Titan thing, or - what are you doing?" Brigitte has come up behind him, peeking over his shoulder at his screen.

"I am sending a message to Lieutenant Zarya," he answers, typing his salutation.

"The one Winston was corresponding with?" Brigitte says excitedly, hanging further over his shoulder so that she's nearly cheek-to-cheek with him. "You've been talking to her? What's she like? What's she saying about what's happening there? Is she nice?" The rapid-fire barrage of questions distracts him momentarily from his writing, so he abandons it in favor of reaching up and placing a finger against her lips.

"Give me a moment to write this Shildlein, then I will answer your questions."

She retaliates by pretending to bite his finger, but acquiesces.

Reinhardt types for nearly ten minutes, reading and re-reading the text and altering it until he feels it's perfect. Then, he sends it off. With any luck, he will get a response within the next week and they'll be able to plan from there. Reinhardt stands up from his chair, stretching out with a groan and a pop of many joints.

"So? You gonna tell me about her? What you've been talking about?" Brigitte is positively vibrating with enthusiasm from her spot back on the bunk. He takes a seat next to her, leaning back onto his bed. He must have a pavlovian response to this bunk; every time he sits here, he's almost overcome with exhaustion.

"She is a Lieutenant with the Russian Defense Forces," he says, and Brigitte rolls her eyes at the obvious statement. "She was also set to represent Russia in the bodybuilding world championships before the omnium re-activated. You can find her online if you search; she is quite a formidable woman."

"Wow, really? Brigitte says, awed. "She sounds awesome. Has she told you anything about what's happening over there?"

"Some," he answers. "Not any more than what we already know. Mostly she has described the different omnic types they have faced." Well, except the Titan. "I have been trying to see if I can offer any excuse that she can give the RDF to allow us to intervene in Russia."

Brigitte turns on her side to face him, propping her head up on one arm. "So, it's been kind of a dead end."

"Yes. Until tonight. I think you are right; using our knowledge of the Titan, we may be able to persuade the Russians to let us intervene. If we can guarantee them a way to resolve this problem without involving the wider public, and without getting their own hands dirty it may sway them to agree."

Brigitte chews her lip thoughtfully. "So, that's what you said to her? That we could do it?"

"Not exactly…" he isn't sure if he wants to tell her that what he did do was essentially offer up Torbjörn's expertise on a silver platter. Torbjörn's involvement will come at the price of the rest of Overwatch's involvement as well. "I told them that we had inside knowledge of how to defeat the Titan."

Brigitte reaches over, grabs one of his pillows and then boffs him gently in the face. "You sold Papa out! Some friend you are!"

"I did no such thing," he denies staunchly, attempting to wrestle the pillow from her grasp. She clings to it stubbornly, even when Reinhardt ends up hauling her halfway onto his chest in one powerful heave. She relents her grip when he pokes her in one ticklish armpit.

"Fine. Well, if they accept it, I guess that's all that matters," she says, turning up her nose. She peeks down at him through one narrowed eye.

"Is Lieutenant Zarya pretty?"

"Brigitte!"

In the end, Reinhardt only has to wait two days for a response from Lieutenant Zarya. That morning after cleaning up the kitchen, he returns to his room to check his email in his free time before sparring with Brigitte. When he sees the message, his eyes widen and he immediately forwards it to Winston.

The RDF has accepted their offer.