Torbjorn and Soldier 69 2
It was a very ordinary day at Watchpoint Gibraltar. Nothing unusual was going on, and the brave heroes of Overwatch were just kickin' it "sexy style".
Three heroes in particular, Winston, Torbjorn, and Soldier69, were sunbathing on the cliffside, all of them dressed in nothing but their thongs. They were getting more and more tan by the minute, Torbjorn's thick, meaty body turning into one of a golden-skinned Greek God.
"This is a very calming day." Winston said, and then glanced over to Torbjorn. His eyes went wide as hell. "FUCk, Torbjorn! You are making me so horny with that sweet ass!"
Soldier 69 turned his attention away from his deliciously flirtatious teammates to the sky, where he foolishly assumed God resided. Idiot. He's not in the sky. He's right behind you, right now. "Hold up… isn't this just the same story again?" Soldier69 asked the sky, which- again- is not where God resides.
"No, this is definitely totally a completely different story from the original 'Torbjorn and Soldier 69' that fell into obscurity a couple years back and was all but forgotten by its creators and fans alike." God said. "Plus, I can't even remember how the last one ended off and I couldn't be fucked to look back at it. So I figured I'd just make an entirely new and original story based off a similarly creative idea, and sell it for a million bucks."
Tracer blinked into existence in front of the three sunbathing hunks, her eyes shuddering with meth-induced hysteria. "Oi, n****s!" She frowned as a classic censor-bleep played from her mouth instead of the n word, which used to be her catch phrase for some reason. "Shit! What the fuck?! I can't say the n word in this one?! Oi, that's censorship! That's censorship mate I was born to say the bloody fuckin n word I tell ya mate I was born on bloody chewsday innit mate! I'll kill ya! I'll cut out the heart of the world and bleed into the eyes of God! I BURN TOO BRIGHT AND ILL BLOT OUT THE STARS! I'll NEVER DIE IN A WAY THAT MATTERS!"
"Shut fuck up tracer." Soldier 69 said. "We're tryna' get tanned and toned here, prick. Unless you've got somethin' cool to say, go back to the hellish warped realities from whence you caaaaaame."
"Shitshitshitshit." Tracer said, her body flickering in and out of reality like a glitch in an otherwise flawless video game, such as Paladins, Champions of the Realm. She started chewing on her own fingers, her eyes darting as if searching for a sign in the atmosphere. "Gotta think of somethin' cool. Gotta' think of something cool… oh, I got it! My childhood best friend Gaston just flew into town like four minutes ago, and he brought all his exotic scents and oils and even his exotic scents and his oils!"
Soldier 69 clicked the button on his visor that gave him auto aim, and also let him perfectly rate cocks through any material with pinpoint accuracy. "Tracer, I'm givin you three seconds before I auto-aim you ass back to 2018."
"Bear with me here, mate! I'm gettin' to the meat of things!" She looked aside, her gaze suddenly vacant. "I always get to the meat. I dig and dig and dig. I can't help myself. There's so much red inside us…"
Soldier 69 turned on his auto aim and tried to obliterate Tracer with his laser gun, but he forgot that auto aim only affects those of the Physical Realm. Tracer instantly teleported away, reappearing on Winston's bare back. The braindead gorilla was so enthused by Torbjorn's nigh-naked body tanning on the rocks beside him that didn't even react to her doing an Irish jig on top of him.
"Oi! No shooting Tracer! She's almost complete." Tracer said with an evil little giggle that wasn't suspicious at all. "Anyways, Gaston is totally coming down to Georgia to have a PaRappa the Rapper-type rhythm game rap battle with you guys. And-"
"Wait just a fuckin' second." Soldier 69 said. "Why's he going to Georgia?"
Tracer plopped down on Winston's back, rocking back and forth incessantly like a touch-starved, slightly autistic child. "UmMMM this is Georgia, mate. We live in Watchpoint Gibraltar, Georgia."
Was it not obvious this story takes place in Georgia, and always has? Like, Georgia, as in the USA state? Wow. Can't believe you didn't notice all the expertly woven hints I've spread through this beautifully complex web of new and original ideas. – God
"My bad." Soldier 69 said, a single tear rolling down his cheek and disappearing into his ruggedly sexy stubble.
"Anywho, Gaston just got here and he's ready to have that rap battle. And if you lose, he's going to take your souls."
"WHAT?!" Torbjorn suddenly took interest in the conversation, jumping up from the rock. "Bitch, get a clue! I can't be in a rap battle all day with a PaRappa! I'm scheduled to have GLORIOUSLY rough sex with my turret in five minutes! A fat twink's got needs, you know!"
Tracer's head did a one-eighty to look at Torbjorn, but her body didn't turn with it. "Toirbjrooooon. I'm gonna' eat your eyes. I'm gonna' take everything you ever were and ever could be and put it in a box. Please be a part of my Daily Quest so that I don't have to do bad things with you? Preeeeetty please?"
"Shit, bitch!" Torjborn said, slapping his own bald head. "I'm bald!"
"Ho ho HO!" A voice resounded through the rocks of Georgia, calling the entire gang's attention. It belonged to a beautiful, winged man descending from the Heavens- the Fourth Great Seraphim, Gaston. His hair flowed in the wind like liquid gold, his skin like obsidian- and from Soldier69's visor-vision, he could tell his cock ring was seven sizes too small.
"Fuck." Soldier 69 said, cursing beneath his breath and probably saying a couple slurs. He suddenly remembered Gaston. They had beef going back years, from the last time the Seraphim had descended to claim the souls of the Living Damned. "Gaston is already here. Looks like this is getting real."
Gaston landed atop the rocks of Giblratlar on his tippy toes, delicately balancing himself like a dancer. "Henllllo smol beans! It is I, Gaston, the Fourth Great-"
"FUUCK." Winston suddenly roared, bucking Tracer off his back and forcing her to recall back Beyond the Veil. He stood up to his full height of eight feet, pounding his chest as he approached Gaston. "Gaston, you baby-back bitch! You're the one who told the Brotherhood of Agony that I was only faking being gay for WOKE CLOUT and got me banned from my favorite gym, the Gym of Agony!"
"Hohoho, Winston? You're approaching me?" Gaston chuckled, shaking his head. He was wearing a classic, white tanktop-and-skirt combo, which showed off his angelic musculature in all the right places for Soldier69's tastes. "I suppose it always had to end like this. You went insane with horny rage after you became obsessed with Lil Skies back in 2018."
Winston initiated a sumo-esque stance, his legs spread wide and his hands on his thighs. He stared Gaston down like they were the last two cowboys in a gay wild west comedy-drama. "You know why I went to that gym, Gaston? To stare at the lesbians. I'm sure that was obvious to you, Gaston- because as a former Lil Skies fan, you would know what He once said. And as Lil Skies once said, 'I loooooooove lesbians'."
"I'm not here to rehash my dark past of being intellectually attracted to Lil Skies." Gaston said. "I'm here to visit my childhood friend Tracer, oil up, and have a rhythm-game style battle with you so that I can claim your unclean soul for my Soup of Filth."
"BAAH HUMBUG! You'll never put me in that damn soup, woke moralist!" Winston said. He smacked Torbjorn's ass, a power move to claim ownership of the sexiest man in the story and power up his own self-esteem. Torbjorn blushed and shit himself.
Winston grew four more arms and materialized an ungodly amount of mystical bongos from thin air, beginning to beat on them in a kooky, jungle-japes type rhythm; creating bouncy soundwaves that shook the rocks of Girbalratrar. "Behold my grossest move, 'Jungle Japes'!"
The funky moveset seemed to stagger Gaston slightly, but he was already ahead of the game. He started spasming and breaking all the bones in his body at outrageous angles and impossible speeds, making vaguely human sounds from his mouth that sort of sounded like music if you were a meth addicted schizophrenic.
"EHHH?!" Soldier69 was physically knocked back from the visceral assault on his senses, blood and black tar running freely from his eyes. "Gaston's starting with his FINAL MOVE, 'Impossible Odds'?! The dance older than the stones, the last remnant of a holocaust of ecstasy from beyond the stars?!"
Winston screamed and exploded in a shower of gore, his soul burning up into stardust and returning the Infinite.
"Fucky wucky!" Torbjorn said, covered in dead Winston. "Winston's dead! Again!"
Soldier69 fell to his knees. He couldn't believe it. The worst Overwatch character, dead.
"Now that I've proven that I'm no bottom-barrel bronze feeder," Gaston said, holding his arms out wide. The Impossible Odds hadn't taken a toll on his studly figure. "Are you boys ready to enter my Soup?"
Soldier69 shut his eyes, preparing for even the darkness to end.
"Wait!" A new voice called out. Soldier69 opened his eyes.
An extraordinarily average Japanese man was now standing there, his arms crossed. He was so ordinary that perhaps he could've been you, the girl reading this. "I heard that there are some guys beating off over here. And nobody is a better Beater than me!"
"Who the fuck is this?" Gaston said.
"It's Kirito." Said God. "He's here because Corporate told me I should try to incorporate a new Overwatch character into this sequel. And what better new character than the newest character, Kirito, a cheerful Japanese ninja girl who uses the power of a fox spirit to protect her loved ones?"
"HOOOooly shit." Soldier69 said, using the facepalm emote in real life. "Her name is Kiriko, you racist fuck! You brought Kirito, bland protagonist of the often memed isekai anime, Sword Art Online!"
"uuuuuuh. Oopsy doopsy?"
"That's right, Overwatch scum." Kirito scoffed. "It's me, Kirito. The beta tester cheater, the world's most renowned Beater. No one can beat off like I can. See, I've been blessed with the unique, Beater-exclusive ability to Dual Wield." He pulled two swords out of his ass, whirling them around. "That's right. Where most men have only one sword, I have two."
"That power sucks ass." Gaston said.
"Screew you dude! We live in a meritocracy, damn it! I worked hard for my God-given Beater abilities that I inexplicably have!" Kirito said. "See, I wasn't gonna' kill you fat old fucks, but now that you've insulted the good name of the Beater fighting style, the screams of your slaughter will echo for centuries!"
"Fuckk and suck me until I turn pink as Pickle Rick!" Torbjorn said, rolling in all that was left of Winston. "I miss Winston already! He was so fuckin racist and homophobic! I sure hope we don't end up going on a wacky time-travel adventure to revive him!"
"Yeah that shit would suck." Soldier69 said, nodding. "I'm glad that we just get to stay here and fight Kirito."
Speaking of fighting Kirito, the world's strongest Beater rushed forward with the hunger of a master duelist- his swords flashing in the Georgia sun.
Soldier69 chuckled and activated his auto aim as Kirito ran directly at them, thinking his victory already assured. Unfortunately, Kirito started deflecting the laser bullets with his swords like General Grievous and sent them flying back. They ripped through Soldier69 as if his iconic, stylish jacket (available now in merch store) and his flesh were nothing more than warm clay. He collapsed to the stones, the shock of his failure not quite registering in his quickly fading mind.
Torbjorn called out his name.
IS SOLDIER 69 DIE?! WILL THE OVER WATCH BE ABLE TO DEFEAT KIRITO, THE WORLD'S LAST GREAT BEATER (beta tester and cheater)?! IS GASTON GOING TO FORGIVE THE SINS OF THE OVERWATCH SQUAD, OR WILL THEY JOIN HIM IN HIS SOUP OF FILTH?! WHERE THE FUCK DID TRACER GO? IS GOD REAL OR…? FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON TORBJORN and SOLDIER 69 2! A COMPLETELY NEW STORY THAT WAS BORN OUT OF LOVE AND NOT BECAUSE THE AUTHOR WAS OFFERED THIRTY THOUSAND BILLION MILLION ELON MUSK FARTBUCKS (it;'s going to the moooooooon!0)