Disclaimer: I only own the original characters and plotlines in this fanfiction. Everything else belongs to Blizzard Entertainment.
Author's Note: The suit design for Jason is based on the cover image of this fic, with a few tweaks here and there.
Chapter 2
Eichenwalde, Germany
November 18th, 2075
"We're under fire! I repeat, we're under heavy fire at the hotel. Requesting immediate backup!", Lieutenant Commander Grant Hansen shouted into his communicator, his bottom lip trickling blood. Jason and Grant were currently pinned down behind some old metal crates in the hotel, Talon agents firing at them with SMGs from the other side of the lobby. As Jason reloaded his pulse rifle with his second to last power pack, setting it to short, concentrated bursts, he silently wondered how it had gotten to this point. This mission has started out simple enough. They received a tip that Talon was establishing a base here to create and recruit Omnics for their army. They were at an impasse with Talon at the time, not making any progress against them. Desperate for any chance to inflict damage to Talon, they had sent Jason's squad straight into a combat jet and had them HALO into the small abandoned town, with only the tip and a hasty satellite scan to work with, fearing that Talon would somehow catch wind of the strike beforehand and evacuate. Besides, it was just a standard sting op, they'd done it hundreds of times before.
As it turns out, they had jumped, literally, straight into an ambush. Talon made contact as soon as they left the jet, Widowmaker sniping off a dozen soldiers before anyone can even get under 3,000 feet, more got hit as they opened their parachutes, and Talon agents immediately boxed them in the moment they landed on the snowy ground. After a short, overwhelming gunfight, Jason saw an opening in Talon's offensive line and ordered a retreat deeper into the town. Reaper appeared a few seconds later with another handful of Omnics and forced them to split up, with Jason and Grant drawing fire for the rest of the team to escape. They had taken cover in the hotel lobby, using some metal crates behind the counter as shields while they reload.
Jason was sweating, even with his high-tech armor cooling system. His custom-made armor was almost identical to the cyborg body created for Genji Shimada, with only a few modifications. The suit was made out of a lightweight titanium-chromium alloy with an underlying carbon fiber weave for more flexibility and mobility, along with a compact molten power core to run the whole thing hidden underneath the top breastplate, which is a solid plate of titanium. The entire suit is matte black with red detailing lights that were toggleable to keep with Phoenix's uniform color scheme, topped off by an anti-reflective coating, ideal for blending into the shadows, and is also almost completely bulletproof to any kind of conventional ammo. His helmet has a retractable scope on his left eye, making it easier to shoot someone from two miles or further away, and was currently retracted.
He had sharp titanium hooks on his forearms, designed for hooking and disarming someone at close range. Or slitting a throat. He preferred to be versatile. There were built-in holsters for his backup pistols on his upper thighs, which were currently empty, his pistols spent, a magnetic strap and a cross-shaped sheath on his back for his sniper rifle or pulse rifle and dual energy katanas respectively. He didn't bring his sniper rifle with him that day, not that it would've been much help at close-range like this. The two of them were pinned down, and those Talon agents didn't seem like they'll be running out of ammo anytime soon.
Next to him, Grant was breathing heavily, his face soaked with sweat. They looked each other in the eyes, having fought alongside one another long enough to communicate with their eyes alone. As they were just about to settle on a plan, which involved Jason doing something very, very stupid with his power core, the back door was blown off completely, and a dozen people stepped through the new opening, guns pulsing with energy as they lay suppressing fire into the enemy line, forcing them to take cover, which gave Jason and Grant enough time to come out of their cover and regroup. The team shot down Talon grunts with deadly accuracy and efficiency, wasting next to no ammo and coordinate with each other perfectly when one of them had to reload. Jason was in the front of the pack, standing next to the new recruit, a kid named Alistair Morton. He was only 19, six years younger than Jason at the time, but was already a bright prospect with a genius-level intellect, graduating high school at fifteen, then top of his class at MIT and again at Stanford engineering, all before his 18th birthday. The kid was given a very tempting deal last year, five years of service as an on-site weaponry engineer in exchange for paying off his student loans and a hefty seven-figure annual paycheck to send back to his family, who were struggling financially. Suffice to say he snapped up the offer in an instant. Jason had vocally objected this method of recruitment, stating that it's no different to coercion and bribery, but given the predicament that led him here in the first place, there wasn't really anything he could do to stop the suits above.
"You okay, rookie?", Jason asked while reloading his rifle with the last power pack. He would have to go close-range after this, his team needed the ammo more than he does. Alistair glanced towards Jason through the lens of his standard-issued helmet for a split-second, his finger never leaving the trigger, his muzzle never straying from its targets thanks to the torturous weapons training they were all forced to go through. "I'm fine, sir. Just didn't expect my first mission to turn out like this", he replied with a thick Australian accent.
"Yeah, well, we're here now. Welcome to Phoenix", Jason smiled, despite everything going on.
"Feels good to be here, sir", Alistair chuckled. However, the smiles quickly melted off of both their faces as they heard the all too familiar sound of something metal rolling on the ground. Grant, quick on his feet, shouted "Grenade!" and launched himself on top of it just as the thing blew, knocking the entire squad on their backs and splattering them with his remains. As they got back up, Jason felt the air going cold unnaturally and heard the raspy voice of Reaper as the mercenary appeared. "Die, die, die!". His eyes went wide, and he tackled the nearest teammate he could find, which happened to be Alistair, back down to the ground just as Reaper drew his dual shotguns and fired into Jason's squad. He didn't even have enough time to get a warning across, as he lay there, Alistair in his arms protectively as he watched his team get mowed down mercilessly within seconds by the merc's armor-piercing rounds, which went straight through any cover they could find. Jason wanted to put a stop to this, to stand up and fight, but even if he could match up to Reaper alone, which he can, there are still Talon agents loaded to the brim with heavy firepower, ready to shoot anything that moves. He would've been gunned down in seconds, a few minutes at best, and then Alistair would be dead as well. The best thing for them now, as much as Jason despised the idea, is to play dead, then find an opening to retreat. His other teammates might be gone, but he would be damned if he couldn't at least save Alistair. Weirdly enough, the youngest active Phoenix field agent was also the only one to have his own family. His wife was seven months into her pregnancy with their first child, and he had a great life ahead of him.
That is, he would have, if he hadn't taken an abrupt breath in fear and surprise as Reaper passed them, a rookie mistake, causing the mercenary to turn around and casually put a shotgun bullet into his head, killing the young man instantly. Jason lied there in shock, staring at the blown-off head of the one person he could have protected, with Alistair's brain all over his visor, and his vision turned red. Oh no, Talon wasn't getting away this time, not without killing him first. With the last of his team now dead, he had nothing left to lose. He pushed himself off the ground, to the surprise of everyone present, and started emptying his rifle into anyone in his sight. Reaper fired shot after shot at him, breaking off pieces of his armor, which weren't supposed to happen, but he couldn't have cared less at the time. He just kept on going, killing off Talon agents indiscriminately. When he heard his rifle clicked, empty, he threw it aside and drew his katanas, cutting down dozens more in a rage-fueled maelstrom of destruction, his red blade turning a darker shade as it got soaked with blood, the powered edge burning it into reddish fumes. The only other time he'd ever felt that kind of primal rage was when he came to London to avenge his father.
However, in his rage, he didn't notice Reaper reappearing a few feet to his left, only noticing when he dropped his katanas in pain as three successive shotgun blasts were suddenly fired into his side, right in one of the softest and most damaged spots in his armor, the barrel of one of Reaper's shotguns pressing into his left flank. As Jason fell to his knees, he looked down to see that his armor had a hole half the size of his fist, blood gushing out in streams. Reaper was holding a shotgun in his right hand, barrel still smoking. The adrenaline was wearing off, and Jason felt the rest of the extreme pain invade his body as the adrenaline wore off and his vision blurred, the snow turning a crimson red with his blood. He collapsed, back propped against the crates he'd originally been taking cover behind.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't the infamous Ghost. For all the caution Talon took to avoid you, I thought you would be more impressive. Tsk, disappointing", Reaper mocked in his raspy voice as he dropped his shotguns, then turned and walked away from Jason.
Before his brain went into shock, Jason could just about see and hear Reaper ordering the remaining grunts to move out, that they were done here. He cast one last glance at Jason before disappearing in a cloud of black smoke.
Eichenwalde, Germany
November 18th, 2076 (Present Day)
Jason snapped out of his nightmarish thoughts as he approaches the hotel. It was still the same as they'd left it last year. Only the remains of people were cleared out after that mission, but while his fellow comrades were returned to their next of kin and given a proper military burial and memorial, each in their respective home countries, the Talon corpses were left at a German military morgue as evidence for any required paperwork, and eventually burnt and disposed. He didn't remember the next few days very well. They told him that he had died, that his heart had stopped, but the snow and cold weather, along with his healing enhancements, slowed his bleeding and decay long enough for them to revive him using the same nanotech that Mercy had used back when Overwatch was still active. His armor absorbed enough kinetic energy from the bullets to prevent them from creating too much damage, and yet again being just enough for him to stay on the brink of survival.
It took them exactly 45 hours and 18 minutes to repair or replace the damaged organs in his body, using an organic 3D printer invented by none other than Dr. Zeigler, then resupply his blood and jumpstart his heart, all the while putting him in a cryosleep environment to preserve his cells, or what's left of them anyway. They eventually managed to successfully bring him back, but a scar the length of his hand remained on the left side of his stomach, the bullet's decaying properties preventing him from healing completely, which serves as a reminder of his failure to this day.
A medical sergeant had then received the unfortunate task of breaking the news to him that the others all suffered too much damage for them to revive. His team was gone. For the first time since joining Phoenix, he cried. He cried in mourning for his comrades. He cried for any families or loved ones that were waiting for them to come home. He cried for Alistair's wife, who was now a widow, and his unborn child, who will never get to grow up with or even see their father. A few days and a heated argument with the intel division later, Victor, who had just a week before declined a position as a US representative on the UN Security Council, pulled him from active duty on grounds of trauma and PTSD, which Jason was grateful for as he didn't want to ever go back out into the field and be constantly reminded of his failure. Two months after they brought him back, all charges were dropped, he was given the green light to leave, and he never looked back.
Jason took a deep breath and looked around. He was there for a specific reason. Honoring his fallen comrades. His friends. He pulled one of his spare katanas from the duffle bag and stabbed it onto the ground, embedding it deep and firm. He then took a set of tags, his own, and hung them on the handle, letting them dangle over the guard. He kneeled there for a full minute, with one hand flat on the ground before him. He held his head low, mourning, honoring his friends, his brothers and sisters who had lost their lives in this very place exactly a year ago. "Goodbye, my friends. I'm so sorry. I've failed you, all of you", he whispered, his voice breaking as tears streaked down his face. After a few minutes of silence, he wiped the tears from his eyes, stifled the remaining sobs into silence, then retrieved his duffle bag and left.
On the way back, Jason caught a glimpse of what looks like a relatively new metal RV parked in front of the old castle. Curious to see who else could possibly be in this town, he snuck nearer to investigate. He took a pulse rifle from his bag, having pulled some strings to be allowed to keep his armor and weapons, because sometimes it pays to be extra careful, and proceed to the opened door on the side of the large RV and peeked inside, where he saw two sets of armor, big and bulky, most likely designed for damage absorption rather than mobility. There was a bigger one in a shade of dark grey with red details that seemed to have suffered quite a bit of damage to several areas, and a smaller, but still quite big, bright orange and silver set next to it. But it was what was next to the armor that told him about who this truck belongs to and made him slung his rifle back across his back. A booster-powered hammer in the same shade of grey as the larger set of armor, propped near the back of the truck, confirmed his suspicion that this truck belongs to Reinhardt Wilhelm, one of the legendary founding members of Overwatch.
Jason had heard tales about Reinhardt of course, he'd heard tales about a lot of Overwatch heroes back when he was young. One of the things he'd consistently heard about Reinhardt throughout these tales was that he was a very honorable and chivalrous man, a man committed to seeing justice served, attributes Jason has learned to respect. He was also supposed to be very big and imposing, and the last remaining Crusader. "Probably came back here to reminisce", he thought. He had always wanted to meet Reinhardt in person, but now? He didn't know what he should do. Should he go into the castle and introduce himself? No, that would be weird. And what if he's having a private moment? Also, let's face it, who was Jason compared to a man like Reinhardt freaking Wilhelm? The man was a hero in every sense of the word, while Jason was… what? A murderer? An assassin? He was all of that. And worse, he was a coward. Him being alone here today was proof of that. He could've stood up a lot sooner that day, fought, died a warrior's death with his team. But he didn't. So, he decided to make himself scarce. However, before he could do so, a large shadow cast down from behind him, and a deep German voice boomed.
"What do you think you're doing?"
A/N: Not much to say for this chap. If you want more, then drop a Follow down below. Review if you have any inputs, I always welcome them, and they are fuel for my writing. Hit that Favorite button if you like this fic. I'll see you all soon.
