Disclaimer: I only own the original characters and plotlines in this fanfiction. Everything else belongs to Blizzard Entertainment.
Author's Note: Yeah, so… I'm sorry. My report card came back, and I had to prioritize academia coming into exams. I know it's been a whole two years, but I'm graduating in a month and I'm feeling up for it again. Also didn't help that I rewrote this at least five times and never felt quite satisfied with it. Still not, but I think this is probably the best I can do. I had ideas galore for every chapter except this one and the execution just felt forced so… yeah. This chapter is mostly filler/setup for the meeting between Ghost and Overwatch, but I still wanted it to be good enough for you guys. The fact that I'm also working on yet another fic, this time for League of Legends, probably contributed to this hiatus.
I hope you enjoy. Also, if you can leave a constructive review, that would be great, but you absolutely don't have to.
Eichenwalde, Germany
November 18th, 2075
Jason jumped in surprise, mostly because someone had actually managed to sneak up on him. It was the first red flag that he was slacking off. He twirled around to see the imposing figure of Reinhardt Wilhelm himself standing a mere two feet away from him, blocking out most of the sunlight, only wearing jeans and a plain white sleeveless shirt even in the cold weather, with his one good eye staring at him. His arms were crossed on his chest, muscles curling all over his body. Jason knew that those arms could easily break him like a twig should Reinhardt want to. "Well, I… I was just… curious, as to who else could be here, so I came to check. I'm sorry", Jason stuttered. Realizing this, he cleared his throat with a cough, calmed himself down, and tried again. "I'm sorry if I'm intruding or trespassing on anything, I was just curious as to who else could be here", he said, gesturing to their surroundings. Reinhardt raised an eyebrow, then jerked his chin up slightly toward Jason's rifle, which was still slung on his back.
"Why do you have a rifle?" Reinhardt asked.
"What? Oh", Jason said. He was confused for a second. In his shock, he'd completely forgotten that the weapon was still on his back. "Well, it pays to be careful sometimes". Reinhardt hummed slightly in agreement, but still not fully believing the response. Jason was quick to reassure him, however. "Well, I was a soldier, US Army actually", he said, hoping that Reinhardt wouldn't see past the standardized cover story for his six-year disappearance from the public eye. It didn't seem like he did, so Jason continued. "Pulled in some favors after discharge, got to keep my gear. Don't worry, I'm not Talon or anything like that, I swear. And really, if I was, would you still be alive right now?"
At this, Reinhardt was a little calmer, noting the very good point at the end. He was still skeptical about the story. After all, this young man couldn't have been older than Brigitte by much. As far as his knowledge of the US military could tell, that isn't enough time to ascend to any rank higher than a Sergeant, maybe a Captain if he went through OCS, and mid-ranking soldiers don't often have the connections or power necessary to get favors like that. But his training said that this man wasn't associated with terrorists in any visible manner, and his instincts said that he is trustworthy to an extent, so he relaxed, at least for the moment. He then realized that he didn't yet know his name. "What's your name, young man?"
"Jason Garrett. It's an honor to meet you, Sir Wilhelm", he said respectfully, extending a hand.
"Reinhardt Wilhelm, but it seems you already knew that", Reinhardt said while shaking Jason's hand, a little taken aback by his old Crusader title. "Also, I go by Reinhardt, Mr. Garrett"
Jason nodded. "Well, then I go by Jason, Reinhardt", he said with a smile. "And, if I may, your country is gorgeous", he added, gesturing around them.
Reinhardt looked around with a hearty laugh before turning a little somber. "It's a shame that the war swept through here. This was once a beautiful town", the German said, sadness clear in his voice as he mourned the dilapidated town that was once his home. After a second, his tone became a little more cheerful again, and Jason was secretly glad. A sad, somber Reinhardt Wilhelm was an uncomfortable sight. "But I'm glad that you're able to see the beauty that Germany has to offer. Is this your first time visiting?"
"Ha, not really. I've been here before. Well, I've been to most countries before. But this is the first time that I've truly taken the time to appreciate it all", he said, gesturing around again. "Even here, amongst the ruined scars of warfare, Mother Nature still finds a way in to reclaim what was once Her's, Her beauty shining through"
Reinhardt was dumbfounded by this man, this kid really given his own old age, before him. In his mourning and guilt, he'd never seen things that way before, especially not here, where it all changed for him. He was too shocked for words, and Jason couldn't think of anything else to say, so they stood there in uncomfortable silence. The American man was just about to excuse himself and leave, not wanting this to be more awkward than it already was when he heard a female voice called out.
"Reinhardt! Where are you?", Jason heard. "There's a faint lilt there", he thought, espionage and culture training kicking in. "Is that Norwegian? No, that sounded more… Swedish? Yep, probably Swedish"
"I'm at the truck!", he heard Reinhardt shout, the German veteran finally snapping out of his thoughts. "Who could that be?" Jason thought. "His daughter? No, last I checked, he's a full-blooded German, and I don't think he has a kid or even a partner. But then, who could it…"
He would later deny this when recounting their first meeting to Lucio and Angela years later, but his brain shut down for a few seconds.
Coming around the front of the RV was perhaps one of the most beautiful girls Jason has ever seen in his life. And by that he meant naturally beautiful, not like the girls that had nose jobs and facelifts and overall full-body plastic surgery from his teen days when he was still neck-deep in debauchery. No, he could tell with surgical precision that this girl's beauty was natural, as creepy as that may be. She was also quite tall, coming up to about 6ft3 if he had to guess, giving her an inch over him. Her reddish-brown hair was tied back into a messy high ponytail with two braids going in front of her ears and hanging down her shoulders. Her face had light freckles on them, giving her a younger, more innocent look. And then there were her eyes. Jason couldn't help but stare into those soft brown eyes, full of innocence yet mature beyond her years, intelligence and determination shining through.
She had a black 'I like exercise because I love eating' t-shirt on with the sleeves ripped off, showing off her muscular arms and highlighting her impressive chest, straining against the front of the shirt with a small bit of cleavage peeking through the round collar. Jason had to swallow the generous amount of saliva generating in his mouth and use a decent chunk of willpower to forcibly ripped his eyes away and not get caught staring. He was still a young, hot-blooded male despite it all.
He noticed that she also had an old pair of red overalls on over the shirt, the color faded from constant use, only the left strap still hanging on her shoulder with the other dangling by her side and legs stuffed into brown high-top boots. There was a white cloth tied just above her left elbow and rubber gloves stuffed halfway in her pocket. She was every bit the image of a mechanic fresh out of the workshop. Her left shoulder displayed a black gear tattoo, which he recognized as the symbol of the Ironclad Guild. She must be one hell of a mechanic to be running around with that group.
He was able to register all of this into his brain in the small amount of time it took her to come around the front of the RV. The reasoning behind his ability to do so was a memory Jason had no desire of invoking, despite his photographic memory. An involuntary shudder shot through him at the thought of that night, and he quickly clamped down on his emotions before they showed.
He snapped back to the present just as the redhead was coming around to the side of the RV. The moment she saw Reinhardt, unharmed and in no immediate danger, her body relaxed. "Ah, there you are. What are you doing out here?" she asked. But as her eyes drifted down to Jason, they went wide, clearly surprised at his presence. And when her sight landed on his rifle a second later, she took a noticeably more hostile stance, her muscles tensed, ready to pounce and strike him down should the need arise.
"Rein? Who's this?" she asked slowly, clearly wary of him. Her eyes followed him as he raised his hands, palms flat out, and took a few steps to distance himself from the giant German in an effort to show that he had no ill intent, never letting himself out of her sight.
"Brigitte, this is Jason Garrett. Jason, Brigitte Lindholm, my goddaughter and squire", Reinhardt introduced, seemingly oblivious to the tense atmosphere between the two. Jason reached out for a handshake, taking note of her last name. Lindholm. That would explain the tat. The Lindholms were famous for their brains, after all, even though she's the only one he's heard of who has taken to engineering after the famous, or infamous in some circles, Torbjorn.
"Pleasure to meet you", he said, extending a hand and giving her his 'business dinner with new clients' smile.
She took it, if hesitantly, and nodded. "Same to you", she said, only making the briefest eye contact with him before going back to eyeing his rifle, his trusty Ares M254. Their hands parted, and they stood there awkwardly. Well, he stood there awkwardly as she stared at him, scrutinizing him from head to toe, her eyes snapping from his rifle to the watch on his wrist, then to his car keys, and then back to his weapon, obviously still suspicious of his intentions. The staring was making him nervous.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" he thought. He hasn't been made nervous by other people's stares, with one exception, ever since he finished training at The Factory. But now he found himself unable to relax under her gaze.
After about five seconds or so had passed in silence, he decided to put an end to the staring, for the sake of his composure, by slinging the rifle strap off his shoulder as casually as he could and unloading the power pack, making sure that the energy chamber was empty and the safety was on before stuffing both into his duffle bag, all the while ignoring Brigitte as her body somehow tensed up even more before finally relaxing as he zipped up his bag and slipped his shoulder through the strap again. Reinhardt saw it as a suitable moment to break the silence.
"Actually, Jason, would you mind helping us with something? I normally wouldn't want to have to ask, but our truck's engine is almost broken, and the closest place that sells the parts we need is in Rottweil, which is about fifty kilometers north of here. I was hoping…"
"That I could give you a ride?" Jason finished, getting a nod of confirmation from Brigitte. "No problem, I'm heading there anyway. But we have to go now because it's gonna take at least half an hour to do a round trip, and it's getting dark out", he said. "Also, my car's a two-seater, so one of you will have to stay behind"
"I'll go", Brigitte said, reaching into the truck for her bag, a classic-blue cropped denim jacket, and, after a moment's consideration, her flail. "I know the list of components by heart", she said to Reinhardt by way of explanation, before whispering something in his ear, her face tensed. He replied to her in the same hushed tone and nodded before walking off.
As the two walked off and out of sight, Reinhardt followed the trail of Jason's footprints, still fresh in the snow. The trail led back to the old hotel, where, upon entering, he immediately noticed the katana protruding from the floor, a single set of US dog tags dangling off of the guard. A closer look revealed some interesting info.
Garrett
Jason A.
659-07-1705 AB Neg
Atheist
Delta Force
After reading the info available on the tags, all but confirming Jason's story, Reinhardt took a second to take in the destruction around it. Scorch marks on the floor, dried blood splattered on the walls, and bullet holes were riddled everywhere. He knew from both experience and after-action reports that the OR-15s concentrated their forces on the East side of the town. This is the Southwest, and the damage seemed fresher. So, if this wasn't from the old battle that claimed his mentor, what exactly caused all this? And more importantly…
Is this a tombstone?
"Alright then, car's this way", Jason said while jabbing a thumb at the edge of town where he parked a few yards away. Motioning for Brigitte to follow, he walked towards his Aston, unhooking the control nob from his belt and nimbly twirling it between his fingers. He opened the frunk and secured his bag inside, gesturing for it to close itself while he watches Brigitte admire the engine through the rear glass cover, bulletproof of course, for a few seconds before clearing his throat gently, pulling her attention. "Let's go, Miss Lindholm. We're burning daylight", he said, slipping into the car with practiced ease, even with his tall and bulky frame. She followed suit, struggling slightly to crouch through the lowered doorframe before settling herself into the white leather seat.
"A hundred in - I'll say twenty minutes to give you some time to shop - within the speed limit is pretty much impossible, so would you mind if I speed a little?" he asked, barely suppressing a grin as his mischievous side broke through. The grin broke out completely onto his face when she nodded, which caused her to scramble for the seatbelt as he casually switched the car into Super Sport, an extra performance mode beyond Sport Plus that was only added after the Valkyrie GT didn't live up to expectations on or off the track. As he turned the front around to face the open road, he quietly thanked Chloe Stroll for meddling with Aston's R&D, leading to the biggest failure in their history.
During the economic recovery after the Crisis, Aston was struggling to compete against the likes of Ferrari, Maserati, even Porsche, and so they gambled everything on the Val's success, so much so that the resulting flop and media evisceration sent shareholders scrambling to sell at rock-bottom prices. His dad was all too happy to be their buyer, eventually taking over and outing Chloe from the brand, making Aston Martin a subsidiary of G&G International.
He smiled at that particular memory, the night his dad busted out the Old Russo-Baltique after recalling and reworking the Valkyrie GT from one of automobile history's biggest disappointments into a Le Mans and Gran Turismo champion, as he pushed the engine to its limits, passing 180… 250… 320kph, flying across the empty countryside road and cutting around sharp corners while the redheaded Scandinavian on his right had an expression of fear on her face, looking like she was barely keeping herself from either screaming or puking with her knuckles turning white around her flail. He chuckled silently at the sight. Some people just weren't meant for this speed, and he really couldn't blame her.
They made it to Rottweil proper in good time, even by his standards, glancing at the ornate clockface atop the central console to see that it's only been five minutes since they left Eichenwalde. That's gotta be a record. "I'm assuming you have a preference, so where to?" he asked as they pull up at a red light, waiting for her to catch her breath. "KKS, on Robert-Bosch-Straße. It's a Guild shop", she managed to say between gasps of air. Taking pity on the Swede, and not wanting to be pulled over by local cops, he decided to follow the 50kph speed limit the rest of the way.
They pulled up to the shop's parking lot and she couldn't scramble out of the car fast enough, stumbling on unsteady feet for a second before regaining her composure. "Thank you for driving me. You don't have to wait around. I know the shop owner, so I'll ask her to give me a ride back". A burly brunette seemingly in her mid-forties came out to greet Brigitte with a smile, wiping away the oil on her palms with a small towel.
He stayed in the car, reading their lips on reflex as they talk. She asked about Brigitte's wellbeing, then Reinhardt and Torbjorn. The Swede replied to each of Johanna's, which was apparently the woman's name, questions with a smile of her own. She was fine, her father was fine, Reinhardt was… being called back to Overwatch? Overwatch was back? That's interesting. He filed away that little tidbit for later, planning on asking a few sources for more info. Brigitte asked about parts for the truck before they walked inside and out of his sightline.
He waited until they were completely out of sight before retrieving an old Beretta 96A1 from his glovebox and stepping out of his car, locking it carefully before retrieving a spare duffel from the frunk. He then walked around the corner and arrive at a blue warehouse, a late-50s AmerTek keypad with a six-digit code on the staff door. He carefully traced the edges with his fingers before punching in the code. 3-1-4-1-1-3. The keypad popped out and slid up, revealing an advanced three-tier biometric security system made by Ares Industries. Jason punched in another code, Delta-Alpha-1-8-2, for the executive override profile he personally installed into the system, since they removed his personnel codes and went through the usual retinal scan while the system processed the fingerprints used to type the code in. All this took less than ten seconds.
The door unlocked with a small click, and he slipped inside unseen. Behind the cover of one of Rottweil's generic industrial warehouses was an abandoned Phoenix safehouse, one of thousands retrofitted into secured apartments and scattered around the world. While the main reason he went to Europe was to clear his head and honor his team, he also took the time to clear out forgotten safehouses and cache boxes nearby. He was lucky that none of them have been raided so far, but it seems like that wouldn't be the case this time. Someone was here. Judging by the steaming cup on the table and the imprint on the couch cushion, they could still be in the building.
Gripping his pistol with both hands, barrel pointed forward and never dipping, he went around the first floor, clearing room by room with textbook precision and care. There was no one covering his blind spots, so he would have to clear the place solo. Main room was clear, so was the kitchen. The gym had signs of recent use, a damp patch of sweat on the bench press and faint dirt tracks on the treadmill told him as much, while the armory was missing a heavy railgun, an old, and by old he meant pre-Crisis, ballistic pistol, the corresponding ammo, four frags, four flashbangs, and a tactical vest. Whoever's here was armed and armored.
Well, he's already here, might as well clear this room out. He screwed an Obsidian suppressor into his gun, stuffed two extra clips and a flashbang into his back pockets, and put the rest into the duffel, stashing it in the bathroom to come back to later. He proceeded up the staircase, running the wall and peeking around the U-turn before pressing on to the second floor, adrenaline keeping him responsive to even the slightest movements and ingrained training keeping his footsteps to a mere two decibels as he went.
He cleared both bedrooms at the west end of the corridor before moving eastward to the last three rooms on the other side, listening for any sort of unusual sound. There, second on the left. A faint shuffling sound, followed by the very distinct, albeit muffled, click of a 9×19mm Parabellum sliding into the chamber of a Beretta M9A3 and the near-silent charging hum of a railgun barrel. Taking out the flashbang, he crept towards the door and pushed it open slightly, chucking the flashbang inside and shutting the door again, safety pin sliding from his middle finger to the ground.
The telltale sound of the metallic cylinder going off was his signal to breach the room. Covering both visible corners quickly, then the two blind ones behind him, he found the other person standing by the far wall, shaking off the effects. It was a face he never thought he'd see in Europe, the white hair and red cybernetics under her eyes unmistakable.
"Vivian?"
Vivian Chase, callsign Sojourn, was a highly decorated field operative and commander of JTF 2. She worked well with Jack Morrison when the two military units got together during the Crisis, who reached out after the war to induct her into Overwatch. A few years later, she was recommended for a promotion by Ana Amari and subsequently given the rank of Captain, after a unanimous decision between William Petras, Jack Morrison, and Gabriel Reyes, for her exemplary record and natural leadership skills on and off the field. She ran point on dozens of the most crucial missions for Overwatch, including the pursuit and successful apprehension of Talon's head accountant Maximilien in Havana.
Understanding that every journey has to end at some point, Vivian chose to resign from Overwatch after over a decade of service in pursuit of other adventures in life while she was still young enough to do it. She was eventually approached by the Canadian Minister of National Defense two months before Phoenix's foundation and proceeded to become one of its founding members, serving under the direct oversight of her Prime Minister and the management of Victor Morrison.
She was also Jason's old captain, the one who trained him in both espionage and open combat, taught him every trick in the book along with her own experienced variations, and laid the foundation for the lethal weapon he later became. She was also one of only two people who truly cared for him during his first year. She protected him from the worst parts of the abuse he suffered by other operatives, the ones who looked at him and only saw a spoiled rich kid who massacred dozens in a tantrum. She taught him how to not only survive but thrive under intense pressure, watching as he grew into a leader amongst some of the most elite soldiers on the planet. The day he made Strike Commander, he saw the pride shining in her eyes as she pinned the platinum phoenix onto his lapel and saluted him. It was one of the best days of his life.
But it didn't last long after that. A few months before the Eichenwalde op, she handed him her security ID, turned in her resignation letter, and told him that she was going to try for a quiet life back in Canada. They stayed in touch, and he kept limited tabs on her just to make sure no one on their extensive list of enemies rear their ugly heads her way. As far as he could tell she'd never left the continent since resignation and was content with civilian life, volunteering at shelters and food drives and living off of her generous Overwatch and CANSOFCOM pensions.
Which then begs the question: What the hell is she doing in an abandoned Phoenix safehouse in Germany, stealing high-powered weapons?
"What are you doing here? Why are you here?" he asked, the barrel of his gun still aimed right between her eyes. Vivian immediately whirls the railgun around to the sound of his voice before properly seeing him. "Kiddo? What are you doing here?"
He took a small step forward, gun still steady. "You first. What are you doing halfway across the planet, raiding safehouses?"
She kept the railgun pointed at his chest and looked him in the eyes. "Stand down kid, you're outgunned", she said, giving him a playful smirk. Despite every fiber of training telling him to keep his guard up, he gave her a smirk of his own. "Maybe. But you're outmatched. You know that, so do I, so why don't you drop the gun and answer the damn question?" he replied, maybe a little more forcefully than he intended.
Her face turned serious, and he felt his heart tighten with guilt just a tad as she aggressively threw her railgun across the room before visibly deflating, slumping against the wall, and sliding down onto her rear, where muscle and bone met bionic titanium augments. "Last week, I came home from one of the shelters I volunteer at to a door broken clean off its hinges and a dozen Talon grunts waiting for me, armed to the teeth. My arm was unloaded, so I turned tail and ran. I guess they saw me somehow because rounds started flying my way. I barely got to the car alive. Gotta give it to them though, those fuckers just won't quit", she said with a dry chuckle. Jason had holstered his gun by now and was fully listening to her. "It took me a full two hours to throw them off my trail, then next thing I knew I was southbound to LA. Guess I was hoping that Phoenix would be willing to help, but all I got after a full night of nonstop driving was an abandoned base and a team of armed operatives gunning for my head. I had no help, no place to stay, limited cash, and even fewer options"
"What'd you do next?", he asked her, only to receive a bashful expression from the older woman as she glanced up at him.
"I broke into your place". It took Jason a second to fully realize that she somehow knew about and successfully broke into his fortress of a childhood home in Bel Air. "I thought that you wouldn't mind that much given the circumstances, so I took a shower, patched myself up with a medkit, and looted your safe. By the way, kid, behind the portrait? Really?", she asked, having the gall to look amused. "Anyways, I took about ten grand, five in dollars and the rest in euros, before leaving the next morning. I also found the documents and entry card for your hangar where you stash the aircrafts, impressive collection by the way, so I went there and took your Orca to Europe, hoping to track down Reinhardt. Left it in the forest a few miles outside of Stuttgart and hitchhiked the rest of the way here. Was holding out hope that they hadn't disconnected the satellite system yet so I could track the guy. That leads to where we are now. I'm sorry for all the theft, kiddo, but I was desperate", she finished, staring at the ground. Jason, on the other hand, was shocked. What were the odds? What is this, a fucking novel? What's the chance of him meeting her as she's looking for Reinhardt when he just drove the man's goddaughter into town!?
"You know, it just so happens that I recently agreed to let a certain Brigitte Lindholm hitch a ride here. I could take you to her if you want?" he offered cheekily, finding amusement in how her face turned from shock to disbelief to other emotions he didn't bother identifying before settling for relief. He offered a hand and pull her up before retrieving the discarded railgun on the floor. "I think you dropped this, ma'am", he said in an exaggerated British accent, causing her to roll her eyes knowing that doing a flawless British accent, any accent really, came as easily as breathing to him.
She took the gun and dismantled it into separate modules. Frame, stock, barrel, capacitor, and ammo pack placed neatly next to each other on the floor. She didn't need to say anything as Jason went to the corner on her right and retrieved a mobile military weapon's crate, helping her secure each piece into its corresponding place in the foam mold before snapping it shut with a click.
When they arrived back at the car, Brigitte had already left, so Jason drove them towards Eichenwalde as Vivian nervously drummed her fingers on the door, unfazed by the breakneck speed as they shot through the countryside back the way he came. Neither of them had any problem with the comfortable silence, but Jason had to ask. He had to know.
"Hey Viv", he started.
"Hmm?" was the reply as she turned away from the window to look at him.
"Did you get a call from Overwatch, by any chance? Maybe a message or something?" he asked lightly, framing it as a spontaneous question with no real reasoning behind it, giving his mentor full control of the conversation.
She saw right through it. Of course she did. He wasn't being too discreet.
"How'd you know?"
"Brigitte slipped up outside the shop". Vivian gave him a look. She knew Brigitte well enough to know that info like that wouldn't be revealed anywhere close to a stranger unless she thought that he couldn't tell what she was saying.
"You read her lips, didn't you?"
He sighed and averted his gaze, embarrassed. "Instincts kicked in. You know how it is"
She did, she'd drilled that instinct in there after all. The atmosphere had shifted into awkwardness, and, in an effort to distract them both, Jason turned on the central screen, which automatically tuned into the Atlas News channel. What they heard next was alarming.
"…widespread panic in the wake of the sudden Null Sector attack has people asking: Is this an isolated incident, or the beginning of a new war? This is Atlas News, reporting live"
Without a word, he found the next entrance and turned sharply onto the A4 Autoroute heading straight for Paris, Sojourn, not Vivian, grim-faced next to him.
His suit might still be a broken mess, but his helmet and gloves were stashed in the glove box, and he had a bag full of weapons. It'll have to be enough.
Paris, France
November 19th, 2076
Lena Oxton likes to consider herself an optimistic woman. Her cheery, bubbly, happy-go-lucky personality is something that can only be obtained through optimism, after all. But even she was struggling to find a silver lining in her current situation. Sprinting through the streets of Paris with civilians and Mei, looking back at Winston, her best friend, who was standing his ground against a Titan-Class Null Sector omnic. They both knew Winston wouldn't be walking away from this fight, but he was still willing to buy them some time to escape. Lena felt a tear roll down behind her goggles as she turned away and heard the charging hum of the giant's pulse cannon.
She glanced back one last time, just in time to see all three of the Titan's shots deflected off the blade of a very familiar cyborg. Genji had arrived just in time. The sight of him made her gasp as she felt herself start to hope again. As silent as ever, he threw a trio of shuriken at the smaller omnics and dashed into the fray, slicing through enemy lines. A honk to the left made her turn to see a van barreling through the blockade of cars before a giant suit of armor busted through the roof.
"Hammer…DOWN", Reinhardt screamed as he slammed his rocket of a hammer into a nearby group of omnics, crushing them into sheets of metal. She couldn't contain her excitement anymore. "Yes! The cavalry's here", she told Winston before reloading her guns and blinked back into the fight, eager to get going again. She vaguely heard Echo's voice and the chime of Angela's nanotech before the Titan's chest piece forced her to evade as a giant laser cut through the street. She blinked back behind Reinhardt's shield, the German digging cracks into the asphalt as he and his partner tried to hold back the beam of fiery death.
"How are we going to stop this thing?" she heard Angela ask. Winston's eyes went wide as he turned to Mei, who was tending to a child.
"Mei. Your backpack"
Mei gasped as understanding dawned on her. "That could work!"
She unslung her backpack and started to mess with the top wiring. "Tracer, pulse bomb", she called out, and Lena was more than happy to provide. It was her last one, but it wasn't like there were many other chances to use it at the moment. Mei was just about done when a sniper shot rang out and a Null Sector omnic previously aiming for her head from behind slumped to the ground, a hole between its eyes. She turned around to see Vivian Chase of all people slide around the corner and started laying into the enemy forces that had somehow snuck around behind them while everyone was distracted by the giant laser trying to incinerate everything in its path and Echo drawing its attention with her energy bombs. Genji dashed into the fray to assist his former teammate without hesitation, while the sniper, who she spotted on the roof, leaped down and started emptying an Ares assault rifle into the enemy, back-to-back with Viv.
She was pulled from the scene when Winston told her to go long. Adjusting her gloves, she made what might've been the farthest blink in her life, catching the weaponized backpack in midair while maintaining velocity… heading for the Titan's open palm. Fortunately, a single shot to the eye distracted the giant Omnic long enough for Genji to slice the hand apart, giving her just enough space to get into blinking range of the gaping hole on its shoulder. Once inside, she gently set the pack down before reversing her temporal field all the way back to Winston just as the thing blew up in a wave of frost. The ensuing crumble of a frozen Titan caused the surrounding area to lightly snow.
She smiled as the little girl they saved jumped around, trying to catch Mei's robot, before turning to Reinhardt, gushing over Brigitte, and introducing them to Mei.
"Monsieur, does this mean… Overwatch is back?"
A smile graced the Brit's lips as she nodded to her best friend, letting him know her stance with certainty.
"Yes. Yes, we are", Winston said proudly, everyone else posing dramatically behind him. Angela even got her wings out and hover.
A small groan nearby caught their attention, and Lena saw the mysterious sniper pulling Vivian up from the ground, surrounded by piles of scrap metal that had previously been Null Sector omnics. She finally got a proper chance to look at him, at least Lena was pretty sure the sniper was male, and what she saw puzzled her. Black polyester sniper gloves and the helmet atop his head clashed with the rest of his outfit, which seemed to be luxurious yet casual. An Ares M254 was in his hand, while a pair of katanas were on his back.
The blades were weird enough, but the M254 was a proprietary design, and there were only two prototypes in the world. Either he stole the gun, stole the blueprints, or Jason Garrett, the notorious owner of Ares Industries, was his benefactor.
Lena thought the first two were much more likely.
She had no idea how wrong she was.
Private Orca Aircraft, Spanish Airspace
Two Hours Later
Jason was silent as he guided the aircraft southward to Gibraltar, the old Overwatch orbital platform to be precise, where Winston had decided to set up shop. Jason had only been privy to that info after coming back from Germany with the jet. Apparently, Vivian vouched for him in his absence. She also turned right around and vouched for her former teammates, knowing how wary he gets around strangers. He took the helmet off to fly but had put on a pair of aviators to try and convince himself that no one recognized him.
Judging by the wide-eyed looks he got from Brigitte, Reinhardt, Mercy, and Tracer, he was only hoping in vain.
Speaking of Tracer, she was sitting in the copilot seat, looking dejected at not getting to fly and glancing nervously at him from time to time. To be fair, she was most likely a much better pilot than he was, but Jason made it a rule to either be in control or have an exit strategy on hand every time he stepped into an aircraft. There was no way in hell he was jumping out of his own jet unless it crashed, so he was the one flying. He could hear faint snippets of conversation coming from the main floor behind him, heard his name being thrown around in hushed tones like gossip, and decided to deal with it sooner rather than later.
When they'd heard Winston's pitch to recall Overwatch to active duty, Vivian knew it before he did: He wasn't walking away, especially not after the gorilla's offer to give him a place on their roster following standard background checks and medical exams. He'd seen too much horror in the world to just turn a blind eye, one of the reasons he couldn't sleep some nights, and his moral compass, while skewed, still pointed true enough for him to accept. It was worth it just to see Viv look at him like a proud mother. Still, it was hard to hear them whisper about him like that.
"Take over", he told Tracer, who jumped at the sudden sound of his voice before excitedly blinking over to his seat. He switched the jet to autopilot and left the bridge, crossing the floor to the loading bay at the back, where his Aston sat like a prized car on display. He deliberately ignored everyone, feeling their stares on his skin. If they wanted answers, it was up to them to ask questions. He pulled the duffels filled with weapons out of the frunk and stashed them neatly on a nearby shelf, head turned slightly as footsteps approached him. Light, soft contact, pacing neither rushed nor timid, but that elegant rhythm right in between.
Angela Ziegler.
"Hello"
Short and succinct. She was testing the waters, probing at his personality… and he was overanalyzing the situation. A downside of his training: There was no 'off' button.
"Hi", he replied, giving her an opening to lead the conversation as he did with Vivian. He still didn't know why she was talking to him, and until that part's revealed, he'd let things occur naturally.
"I don't know if you remember me, but we've actually met a few years ago"
Huh, so she remembered him. Of course, with his memory, every moment since he was four was permanently etched into his brain in vivid details, but he thought a woman like her wouldn't really remember a little kid at the time.
"I remember. You were working for Overwatch back then but took a subcontract with my dad to fund your private research on more radical applications of botulinum toxin and a nanotech delivery system, in exchange he got the patents for the new stage four brain cancer cure you developed", he said, shocking her. "And it's been over nearly two decades, so I'd say more than 'a few years' ago". At the frozen stare he got from the famous doctor, he opted to explain. "Photographic memory", he simply said, tapping his temple. She let out a sharp 'ah' in understanding before Vivian spoke up.
"Yeah, and it was pretty useful for intel gathering too. He's like a damn camcorder"
Angela jumped at the sheer proximity of the voice behind her, and Jason heard an amused snort escape before he could choke it down, smiling slightly.
"We're almost at Gibraltar, prep for landing", the Canadian informed them before going back to her seat next to Mei. Jason locked up his car, gave the Swiss doctor a smile that was somewhat genuine, and walked back to the bridge, but not before hearing her next words for him, quiet enough that only he could hear.
"I look forward to having you on the team Ghost"
He whirled around at that, but her face was morphed into a look he knew too well. The one that told him when a different approach would be needed to get what he wanted. Shaking off the bomb she just dropped, Jason headed up to the bridge, took the copilot's seat, and turned on the cloaking field as they entered Gibraltarian airspace. Unlike Spain and France, he didn't have a favor in the bank with this particular government, so they'd have to do this the old-fashioned way.
Just up ahead, jutting out of the cliffside of a promontory on the eastern coastline, was the old Watchpoint that would be serving as Overwatch's headquarters for the foreseeable future. Jason winced internally as they approached the landing pad. It'd take some work to restore this place, even with his resources.
But still, despite getting out once, now he was back into the game, on his own accord this time. And he'd be lying if he said that it didn't excite him somewhat.
Holding Cell A, Sublevel 1, Watchpoint Gibraltar
Jason was agitated.
Sure, he understood the need to be cautious. He understood that, until his background check came in, he couldn't be trusted, even with Vivian vouching for him. Despite that, he was a little pissed at being thrown into a cell like some common crook. Granted, they'd been gentle, and he'd gone willingly, but still…
He was getting out of this cell, one way or another.
Meanwhile, in Winston's lab, everyone was huddled around the array of monitors, waiting patiently for the files from Athena. The government records have been instantaneous, and they were pretty normal. Well, as normal as you get for a guy born to a father with control and influence over more than half the global economy. While the deeper, more secretive files were being retrieved, Winston and Torbjorn looked over his records again, starting with his profile in the Interpol system.
Surname: Garrett (United States of America) , Guillard (France)
Given name: Jason Antoine
Sex: M
Nationality(s): United States of America , France
Date of birth: 15 May 2050
Place of birth: Los Angeles, California
Current address(es): Penthouse 72, Floor 82-84, 111 West 57th Street, New York City, New York 10019, USA . 777 Sarbonne Road, Los Angeles, California 90077, USA
Father: Martin Garrett (DECEASED)
Mother: Céleste Guillard (DECEASED)
Siblings: N/A
Other relations: Amélie Lacroix (MISSING) (PRESUMED DEAD)
Occupation: Majority shareholder of G&G International and all subsidiaries
Estimated net worth: $837,931,000,000.00
Ignoring the fact that he was related to a former Overwatch agent's spouse to come back to later, Winston moved on to his academic records and was pleasantly surprised by the info. His IQ was measured at 133, he graduated valedictorian at Harvard-Westlake, class of '68, averaging a score of 97% throughout his time at high school and boasting a decent attendance record. Star player on the varsity basketball team and four consecutive D1 State Championships. Ranked third overall on ESPN 100 in 2068 and signed for UCLA. Then things turned south. His father was killed just months before his second year, and he dropped out. The records ended there.
A ping from Athena pulled everyone's attention to the main screen, where the secret files that had almost gone unnoticed by the AI were displayed. In the top corner of the page was a stamp of a red phoenix on a black circle, the word Phoenix spelled out around the symbol. The left side of the first page was a pixelated picture, which took Athena another half-hour to descramble, revealing a frontal picture of Jason with his eyes redacted. This was already promising to be a much more interesting read.
Author's Note: I already have the files typed up, and I'll probably be updating this story again. But then again, I know how unpredictable life can be, so I won't be making any promises. I hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as I've enjoyed writing it.
Until next time, guys.
