Disclaimer: I only own the original characters and plotlines in this fanfiction. Everything else belongs to Blizzard Entertainment.

Author's Note: I took heavy inspiration, or in some places straight up copied from SCiPNET for the file's format, as some of you could probably tell, along with some SCP cameos sprinkled around. The underlined parts are supposed to be links to other files in the system. Also, all addresses and coordinates in this story are real, or as real as can be.

Hope you enjoy!


USERNAME: ATHENA

TITLE: [ERROR: UNIDENTIFIED]

DISPLAYING Personnel Dossier: Ghost , CLEARANCE LEVEL 1

[By order of the Director, all editorial functions pertaining to this file have been permanently removed]

The operative(s) in this dossier will be referred to strictly by callsign, as 'the operative', or by gender-neutral pronouns beyond this point

[RETIRED]

Callsign: Ghost

Real Name: [DATA EXPUNGED]

DOB: ██/██/████

Personnel ID: SS-██

Status: Inactive

Rank: SCDR

Commanding Officer: Director [DATA EXPUNGED]

Operation Site: [DATA REDACTED] [CLEARANCE LEVEL 2 REQUIRED]

Alias(es): [DATA REDACTED] [CLEARANCE LEVEL 8 REQUIRED]

Description: [DATA REDACTED] [CLEARANCE LEVEL 7 REQUIRED]

The operative known as Ghost was inducted into the organization on ██/██/████ by the Director, who offered a deal which traded service to the organization in exchange for [REDACTED] following the events of [DATA EXPUNGED]. The operative was personally trained and presumably cared for by LCDR. Vivian █████, callsign [REDACTED], following a mandatory training period of █ months at the organization's specialized training facility, also known as [REDACTED]. The operative was initially given the callsign [REDACTED] before changing to 'Ghost' following the success of Operation Umbra.

"…so quick and silent, we didn't know the job was done until [Ghost] smeared the target's blood onto the window as a signal. Hell we didn't even see how [Ghost] got into the compound in the first place. Security definitely didn't know about it until after we'd gotten to exfil. That's how [Ghost] earned that callsign, 'cause no one ever saw [Ghost] coming after that" – LCDR. Grant ██████ during an interview with [REDACTED], █ months after Operation Umbra.

It should also be noted that the operative was given the rank of Lieutenant Commander (LCDR) by the Director and received a [REDACTED] immediately after this operation.

Ghost also served as a combat pilot from ██/██/████ to ██/██/████ [1], recording six (6) confirmed kills of enemy aircrafts and combat drones over eleven (11) aerial missions.

Ghost has a healthy preference for alcoholic beverages, especially [REDACTED], and has a history of street racing, which translates to a natural talent for evasive vehicular maneuvers in the field. The operative has also shown an affinity for chess and can often be seen playing against the Director during periods of free time between missions.

Ghost is also known to manipulate those around them to suit their own needs and prone to accumulating favors from other members of staff, regardless of position, while also being seemingly quite charismatic and the object of infatuation for several other operatives and general staff members. It is unknown whether the operative has responded to, or is even aware of, these infatuations.

The operative displays an almost inhuman level of proficiency for multiple types of weaponry, including but not limited to:

- Sniper rifles

- Automatic pulse rifles (prefers the [REDACTED] [2] rifle)

- Plasma-edged katanas

- Throwing knives

The operative has also mastered espionage, multiple styles of martial arts, combat tactic, and various forms of manipulation, along with a fluency in multiple languages.

Ghost was selected for Project [REDACTED] on ██/██/████ and was given [DATA EXPUNGED] over the course of █ days, resulting in [DATA REDACTED] [CLEARANCE LEVEL 7 REQUIRED]. The operative also had their spine replaced with a titanium augmentation [3] along with a cybernetic installment in their left eye [4] on ██/██/████ by Dr. [REDACTED] during an emergency surgery following the aftermath of Operation Red Son, which was deemed a successful mission despite significant casualties. Ghost was given the rank of Strike Commander (SCDR) by the Director after this operation.

The operative was suspended from combat operations following the aftermath of Operation Shining Knight and retired three months afterwards.

Psychological Evaluation: [PERSONAL KEYCODE REQUIRED IN ACCORDANCE WITH ETHICS COMMITTEE GUIDELINES]

Mission Reports

Kill Count: ████

Footnote:

[1] The operative requested a transfer away from aerial combat due to complications during a mission. Transfer request was personally approved by the Director.

[2] Preference has since changed to the [REDACTED].

[3] Starts at the C1 vertebrae and ends at the coccygeal. The augmentation has been shown to exponentially increase the operative's reflexes and cognitive capabilities, likely due to [DATA REDACTED] [CLEARANCE LEVEL 9 REQUIRED].

[4] Similar design to the augmentation installed on Captain Ana Amari of Overwatch.


Winston's Laboratory, Hangar 03, Watchpoint Gibraltar

November 19th, 2076

It felt like the whole room had frozen. A kill count going into the thousands was something most of them had never even thought about, at least not individually. Even counting the omnics they killed during the Crisis, most of them probably killed a few hundred at most during their long and ardulous careers. Vivian winced as she noticed this. The kid killed a lot of people, that much was true, but she'd hoped that they wouldn't judge him solely on that. If nothing else, she hoped that they would see his usefulness, if not for field work then for bankrolling this operation, because she was quite sure that Winston had been running on fumes for a while now.

"Athena, is this database active or archived?" Winston finally spoke up, clearly still shaken by that information and trying hard to not get sick.

"The database is still active, Winston. What would you like me to do?"

Winston took a moment to think and calm himself before answering. "We need to know more. Can you get us a higher clearance level?"

"This database is on an internalized server, and only has restricted connections to secure terminals around the world. I have difficulty just maintaining connection to the database. Increasing this terminal's clearance level would require extensive hacking and would risk exposing our own data"

Winston sighed, so did everyone else. He'd figured as much. Vivian took the time to state outright that her credentials were invalidated by the system following her resignation and would only serve to shut down access immediately.

"Then it's a good thing you won't have to resort to that, huh?"

Everyone sans Vivian jumped as Jason revealed himself, leaning against the doorframe with just the tiniest hint of a smug smile on his face, the cell door control pad shattered in one hand, which he tossed to the ground. "I'll replace it later", he said as the team parted to make way for him, subconsciously recognizing the brunette as an unbeatable threat as his entire demeanor shifted during the two steps it took him to get from the door to the crowd. His… aura, for lack of a better word, was exuding danger, and everyone's survival instincts were telling them to stay out of his way.

Vivian has seen him do this so many times at this point that she knew exactly what the reactions were going to be. Mei, Angela, Winston, and Lena were terrified but trying to hide it. Genji had a hand on his hip, thumbing the hilt of a blade. Reinhardt, having left his hammer outside, was balling his giant hands into fists. So was Brigitte, surprisingly. Torbjorn, who flew in by private jet after he heard his daughter was in Paris, was gripping a wrench. Vivian felt her legs hummed with power as she stood vigilantly by the wall, ready to intervene should a fight break out. Jason was boxed into a small room with nine other people excluding her, eight of whom were official Overwatch agents at one point or another.

They wouldn't stand a chance. Not in a room this small. And she has no desire to see him put them down.

"Athena, right?" Jason asked as he reached the keyboard, reverting back to the smug, sly, cheeky little bastard she knew and loved, and she felt the whole room decompress at the shift.

"Good thing about being Strike Commander is that your clearance gets maintained after resignation for administrative purposes", he explained away the question left unsaid on surrounding faces.

"Mr. Garrett, I should inform you that none of your instructions or commands will be considered valid by my systems until Winston or someone else with adequate security clearance grants you access", Athena's smooth digital voice said.

Jason glanced around the room. He could tell that not a single one of them trusts him, especially not with a powerful AI like Athena. At least, that's what he thought until Winston spoke up. "Grant him temporary Level 2 access, Athena. Verification code: Peanut butter". Eyebrows were raised across the room. "We can hold a meeting later on more long-term plans, but for now we need intel. And if he's volunteering, I'm willing to try. Besides, Vivian trusts him, and I trusts her", Winston explained himself as Jason got to work.

"Athena, take me to the main dashboard and maintain a stable connection. I'll do the rest", he said, hesitating for a second before his hands started gliding over the keyboard, ready to type in the necessary commands.


ATHENA:~$ logout

You are now logged out.

sudo_user:~$ auth

Sending request to database…

[AUTHENTICATION PROTOCOL INITIATED]

Authentication request accepted at 19/11/2076, 15:41:38 GMT+2. Please enter your registered personnel identification for identity matching.

sudo_user:~$ SS-18

The personnel identification you have entered is: SS-18

Enter "Y" to continue or "N" to re-enter your identification. You can exit the authentication process at any time by entering "Quit".

sudo_user:~$ Y

Please enter your password

sudo_user:~$ **-[SENSITIVE INFO - AUTO MASKED]-**

Authenticating user...

WARNING: You are attempting to access an account with Level 10 Security Clearance. To safeguard Phoenix's internal confidential documents, the system has blocked your request. Please enter the corresponding personal authorization keyphrase to unlock and access your account.

sudo_user:~$ **-[SENSITIVE INFO - AUTO MASKED]-**

Authentication accepted. Welcome back, Ghost

Ghost:~$ access personnel-dossier/operative/ghost/noredirect/true

Decrypting document…

USERNAME: Ghost

TITLE: Field Grade Officer, Senior Combat Operative

DISPLAYING Personnel Dossier: Ghost , CLEARANCE LEVEL 10

[By order of the Director, all editorial functions pertaining to this file have been permanently removed]

The operative(s) in this dossier will be referred to strictly by callsign, as 'the operative', or by gender-neutral pronouns beyond this point

[RETIRED]

Callsign: Ghost

Real Name: [DATA EXPUNGED]

DOB: 15/05/2050

Personnel Designation: SS-18

Status: Inactive

Rank: SCDR

Commanding Officer: Director [DATA EXPUNGED]

Operation Site: Site-07 (35.502510, -116.922300)

Alias(es):

- Operative: Jason Grace (USSS), Jonathan Wayland (CIA), Dmitri Strelnikov (KGB) [COMPROMISED], Harry Hart (MI6), Miguel Arellano (CNI), Conrad Schmid (SRS), Raphaël Delano (DGSE)

- Civilian: Hans Meyer (DEU), Antoine Dubois (FRA), Michael Specter (USA), Rodrigo Guevara (MEX) [TERMINATED], Gary Unwin (GBR), Nikolai Petrov (RUS), Domenico D'Angelo (ITA), Elias Müller (CHE)

Description: Caucasian male, European and North American origin. Approx. 102kg, 188cm. Light brown hair, light tan, green natural right eye and cybernetic left eye with togglable colorization. Horizontal scar behind right earlobe, approx. 7cm length, approx. 0.5mm width. Tattoo of vertical Arabic scripts on left side of abdominal region.

The operative known as Ghost was inducted into the organization on 13/06/2069 by the Director, who offered a deal which traded service to the organization in exchange for immunity following the events of [DATA EXPUNGED]. The operative was personally trained and presumably cared for by LCDR. Vivian Chase, callsign Sojourn, following a mandatory training period of nine (9) months at the organization's specialized training facility, also known as 'The Factory'. The operative was initially given the callsign 'Jaguar' before making the change to 'Ghost' following the success of Operation Umbra.

"…so quick and silent, we didn't know the job was done until [Ghost] smeared the target's blood onto the window as a signal. Hell we didn't even see how [Ghost] got into the compound in the first place. Security definitely didn't know about it until after we'd gotten to exfil. That's how [Ghost] earned that callsign, 'cause no one ever saw [Ghost] coming after that" – LCDR. Grant Hansen during an interview with the International Justice Commission (IJC), 3 months after Operation Umbra.

It should also be noted that the operative was given the rank of Lieutenant Commander (LCDR) by the Director and received a Legion of Merit from POTUS immediately after this operation.

Ghost also served as a combat pilot from 28/03/2072 to 07/08/2073 [1], recording six (6) confirmed kills of enemy aircrafts and combat drones over eleven (11) aerial missions.

Ghost has a healthy preference for alcoholic beverages, especially Macallan-Glenlivet 1936, and has a history of street racing, which translates to a natural talent for evasive vehicular maneuvers in the field. The operative has also shown an affinity for chess and can often be seen playing against the Director during periods of free time between missions.

Ghost is also known to manipulate those around them to suit their own needs and prone to accumulating favors from other members of staff, regardless of position, while also being seemingly quite charismatic and the object of infatuation for several other operatives and general staff members. It is unknown whether the operative has responded to, or is even aware of, these infatuations.

The operative displays an almost inhuman level of proficiency for multiple types of weaponry. Prominent weaponry choices include:

- Sniper rifles

- Automatic pulse rifles (prefers the Ares M253 [2] rifle)

- Plasma-edged katanas

- Throwing knives

The operative has also mastered espionage, multiple styles of martial arts, combat tactic, and various forms of manipulation, along with a fluency in multiple languages.

Ghost was selected for Project Superman on 14/01/2072 and was given [DATA EXPUNGED] over the course of 3 days, resulting in significant enhancement of all physical and mental capacities along with rapid cellular regeneration at 54% above maximum recorded rate at the time. The operative also had their spine replaced with a titanium augmentation [3] along with a cybernetic installment in their left eye [4] on 28/09/2073 by Dr. Sofia Light during an emergency surgery following the aftermath of Operation Red Son, which was deemed a successful mission despite significant casualties. Ghost was given the rank of Strike Commander (SCDR) by the Director after this operation.

The operative was suspended from combat operations following the aftermath of Operation Shining Knight and retired three months afterwards.

Psychological Evaluation: [PERSONAL KEYCODE REQUIRED IN ACCORDANCE WITH ETHICS COMMITTEE GUIDELINES]

Mission Reports

Kill Count: 2908

Footnote:

[1] The operative requested a transfer away from aerial combat due to complications during a mission. Transfer request was personally approved by the Director.

[2] Preference has since changed to the Ares M254 Prototype assault rifle.

[3] Starts at the C1 vertebrae and ends at the coccygeal. The augmentation has been shown to exponentially increase the operative's reflexes and cognitive capabilities, likely due to the reinforced bionic quantum processor integrated with the C3 nerve required to control the operative's cybernetic eye.

[4] Similar design to the augmentation installed on Captain Ana Amari of Overwatch.


Jason took a step back as everyone else crowded in front of him, trying to get a good view of the screen. Meanwhile, Athena utilized his security clearance to access every link in his file, then every link from those files, so long and so forth, until she had comprised a coherent database of her own, pulling everything she could from Phoenix servers. Considering the only other person with Level 10 clearance was the Director and Jason was his right hand, there were very few files she couldn't access fully with his credentials.

"Winston, I have transcribed all available files to the local server and assigned security clearances to the contents accordingly. Everyone in this facility has been granted Level 10 clearance by default", Athena said.

Jason winced. His clearance gave him full view of virtually any file in the server unless Victor Morrison himself restricted his access. There was some truly twisted shit he did recorded in that database, like what the Delta One team did to that faction of rogue operatives in Hanoi, and he wasn't looking forward to anyone reading those files. It wouldn't do to get new teammates only to have himself ostracized by the folders Athena had pulled. But there was nothing he could do, short of destroying the server itself. And something, mainly the sheer amount and variety of passive security measures he'd noticed on his way here, told him that particular task would be much harder than it seems. For the first time in a long time, Jason didn't plan, didn't prepare countermeasures, and simply hoped for the best.

"All right everyone, let's break it up for now. You can read it in your own time", Vivian spoke up, the old Overwatch Captaincy slipping into her tone. "As a matter of fact, you can read it from the private terminal in your own quarters before we regroup for a meeting in Conference Room A later tonight, where the official members of Overwatch will have a vote on whether our newest recruits, Jason and Brigitte, should be inducted into our ranks"

At the confused looks sent her way, she explained.

"Overwatch collapsed because of failed bureaucracy, because the two Commanders were unrestrained and operated with impunity. I think the new Overwatch, if we're to avoid repeating past mistakes, should have a democratic leadership. All field agents should be given a vote in operational matters. That way, we'll be able to keep each other accountable for our actions. Any objections?"

No one spoke up, mostly due to shock and surprise. It was such a simple solution to an obvious problem, and yet, coming down from the high of being back in action, they had all missed it.

"Well then, in that case, why don't you show everybody to their quarters, Winston? Jason and I need to talk", Vivian said with a smile. Winston, possibly out of respect for his friend and former Captain, simply nodded wordlessly and started ushering everyone out of the room, glancing back at Jason once before conducting an impromptu tour of the base. The two people remaining waited until the last set of footsteps were out of earshot, then Jason spoke up before Vivian could.

"If this is about funding the new Overwatch, the answer is yes. I have too much cash anyway", he said, raising a finger to stop the Canadian before she could interrupt. "But if this is about leading the team, then it's a hard no"

Vivian raised an eyebrow but let the matter slide. He'll come to her when he's ready, he always does. "Actually, I was wondering if you can train Brigitte. She's got basic skills, working under Reinhardt, but she's not field ready"

A pause and a small sigh.

"She's not you, no one'll ever come close to what you can do, but she can still learn how to survive and deal with the really fucked up shit you and I see, not the idealized world Reinhardt lives in. I'm pretty sure voting her in is just a formality at this point, so I need you to make sure she knows enough to stay alive, ok? Can you do that for me?" Vivian pleaded to Jason with a desperate look. Her first memory of the Swede had been of a wide-eyed child, in awe and curious of everything around her the first time Torbjorn had taken his daughter to work. She didn't want her last memory of the girl to be a bloody and broken corpse.

Jason sighed, flinching away from her stare, even though there was no malice in it. Even after The Factory, he was never able to keep himself comfortable under her gaze. The more he mulled the request over, the more it made sense. While he was the least experienced person in this facility chronologically speaking, Mei and Brigitte notwithstanding, he was the only one present with proper black ops experience, as Vivian had been more handler and tech support than field agent at Phoenix. He had no reservations on the job, have a range of skills, along with tried-and-true experience that has kept him alive thus far. If Brigitte could be taught those things, her chance of survival would increase exponentially. He'd never taught anyone before, at least not solo, but now would be as good a time as any to start.

"You make sure I get the votes and I'll think about it. Deal?"

Vivian nodded her head and clasped his forearm before leading him across the hangar, up two flights of stairs, turned right down a corridor, pass the armory, another right, this time down a much more spacious hallway with a rec center, medical ward, gym, and mess hall, up another flight of stairs, and heading straight towards an intersection with a long hallway that housed twenty individual doors, a security panel next to each. Holographic tags on the doors displayed the occupiers' names, and Jason saw that eight of those rooms were already claimed, Winston's name absent from the lineup.

Vivian led him to the first door on the right and pushed it open, revealing a surprisingly spacious and well-furnished room. Plain white walls and polished concrete flooring was the order of the day. A queen-sized bed with white bedding and blue sheets was in the corner, facing a large window overlooking the eastern bay. A wooden wardrobe was next to the bedside table, which had an alarm clock that doubled as an internal announcement system. The other side featured a long steel desk underneath an empty set of shelves, a terminal with the Overwatch symbol rotating slowly on the screen built into the metal, a small window asking for an ID and passcode. A nearby door led into the bathroom, fitted with a simple sink and toilet, separated from the showerhead by glass walls.

All in all, it was… a hotel room. A four-star hotel room. There was no better way for Jason to describe it. It was about a fifth of his old bedroom in terms of size, but that room was the size of an average apartment, so the space was decent to say the least. Besides, he'd slept in worse places.

Jason sat down on the bed and sighed as the reality of his situation settled in. Oh, he knew exactly what he'd agreed to the moment it happened, but his emotions haven't had time to catch up until now. Vivian gave him a knowing look and left, shooting one last thing behind her back.

"Clean yourself up, get some rest if you can. We vote at 1900 hours"

With that last bit of instruction, she left Jason to his own devices. On the door, the digital tag beeped once, now displaying a name: Jason Garrett.


Personal Quarters, Third Floor, Watchpoint Gibraltar

Thirty Minutes Later

A quick trip back to the Orca and a little work later and Jason was set. Not that there was much for him to unpack, at least in terms of personal effects. A few sets of clothes, a good suit with a pair of oxfords, toiletries bag, two extra pairs of shoes and five pistols, only one of them licensed. The duffels filled with weapons have been deposited at the armory on his way back, and he had a go bag filled with foreign currency and three different passports under the bed, along with one of his guns. Another went into the drawer behind the mirror above the sink, one's under the pillow, and he'd taped a holster under the desk. The last pistol, the licensed one, was loaded and in its holster on the bed, ready to be clipped onto his belt or strapped to his leg at any moment.

Most would say he was paranoid, and there was some truth in that, but after almost getting shot in his sleep he didn't trust easily.

Making another sweep of the room with his eyes, Jason decided to hit the gym. If he was going back into combat ops, he needed to kick himself back into the insane physique he used to have. Switching to a pair of gym shorts and tight nylon shirt, he grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom and strolled into the hallway. It was surprisingly empty.

The first thing he noticed when he stepped into the gym was that it was in pretty decent condition, all things considered. It seems Overwatch intended for their equipment to last decades. With that analysis out of the way, Jason started his workout. He took thirty minutes on the treadmill to get his heart rate up and warm up his muscles properly, then loaded the heaviest plates he could find, which were 25kg apiece, onto the barbell and proceeded to bench 300kg for five sets of twenty. His physicality, permanently altered by the serum that once ran through his veins, ensured that his muscles can handle the load.

He found an old weight belt in the back room after completing the exercise and strapped fifty kilos to his hips before doing a hundred clapping pullups, triceps burning slightly after a year of being underutilized. Finishing that, he switched the weight from his hips to his back and dropped to the floor, starting five hundred pushups with one hand on top of the other, keeping a fast enough pace to put Olympic athletes to shame. Sweat started to drip down his torso, soaking the shirt through and leaving droplets on the floor.

The door opening made him look up just as he was about to finish, watching Brigitte step into the room wearing black midcalf tights and a bright orange sports bra, unintentionally drawing attention to her generous chest and ass while also putting her six-pack on display. Jason grunted as he looked back down and finished the last four reps he had left before pushing up to his feet, dropping the weight behind him. He wiped sweat off his face as she went to the bench press, stared at the weights in confusion, then glanced at him with the same look and did a double take to stare at his body, to which he merely responded with a raised eyebrow. She shook her head once and removed the plates to meet her level, which he found was somewhere around ninety, at least for a warmup.

He walked away without a word. He had two hours to prepare for rejection, then a meeting to attend.


Gym, Second Floor, Watchpoint Gibraltar

When Brigitte first met Jason Garrett, she saw him as a potential threat to her and Reinhardt. The man was her height, muscular, and had an assault rifle on his back. You don't carry a weapon like that to an abandoned town. Heck, the people who took the time to go out of their way to Eichenwalde all had a reason to be there. Brigitte thought he was an assassin.

When he demonstrated that he meant them no harm, she was skeptical. She also couldn't shake the feeling that she'd heard that name before but chalked it up to him just having a generic name. But when she saw his car, which made her very jealous, and realized that he was wealthy, she finally connected the dots.

Jason Garrett, reformed playboy billionaire, enlisted after his father's death. Papa had worked for Mr. Garrett before, Martin Garrett that was, when he was hired to help design weapons that can maximize damage of the American man's energy-based ammunition, a mere two years before the Omnic Crisis broke out. Martin Garrett was already a billionaire at that point thanks to his vehicular hover tech, but the war and subsequent demand for more effective weaponry, paired with his exclusive patent on both the ammo and weapon designs, shot him to the top of Forbes Top 100, along with being one of the most powerful and influential individuals in the world until his untimely death.

Her two elder sisters couldn't stop gushing about Jason every time he appeared on the tabloids, and Brigitte could grudgingly understand, especially after meeting him in person. He was handsome, no matter how you look at him, and based on a candid shot of him near Ha Long bay he was jacked in all the right places. And that one time when he'd bought out a club in Gothenburg for his summer break party? Her sisters had been insufferable, spending every minute of their free time constantly hanging outside the club, trying to get in.

It took four whole days before he flew off somewhere else and they came home defeated. Astrid was frustrated that she didn't get to test his rumored sexual prowess for herself and ranted at length about what she would've done if she'd gotten her hands on him, a conversation that left Brigitte's ears burning, while Iris, younger and much more innocent than their eldest, simply had a crush on the American due to his good looks and was more disappointed than frustrated or sad.

It was at that point that Brigitte realized she was climbing into a car with the wealthiest and arguably one of the most powerful people on the planet.

And apparently he drove like the devil. She gripped her flail so hard the wrappings nearly got ripped off, she felt like her breakfast was trying to escape her stomach, and all the while he was laughing at her expense. It was an asshole thing to do, but she'd figure he was just the kind of guy who would do that to someone for his own entertainment.

But then she read his file, and some of the operations linked to it, and it just didn't make sense. Anyone who went through the things he did shouldn't be that carefree. Scratch that, anyone who went through the things he did shouldn't even be alive, if what she read about Operation Shining Knight was true. He was a living contradiction of a human being and that frustrated her. Contrary to popular belief, she was actually quite good at understanding human thoughts and emotions, but she wasn't a psychiatrist by any means. And something told her that they would need one to understand him. Maybe something to bring up with Angela once she gets voted in.

After Winston finished the tour and they all had a room of their own, Brigitte went to the gym to get her daily workout in, glad to finally have access to decent equipment again, and the first thing she saw was the 300kg loaded onto the bar. It had confused her for a second as she stared at Jason, looking for hints of that much strength anywhere on him. She'd been surprised at the amount of hard, compact muscle curling under the tight shirt, previously hidden by his jacket. He looked even better than the shirtless Instagram photos Astrid had shown her, from a purely professional point of view, of course. Game recognizing game and all that.

Realizing that she had been staring only after he raised an eyebrow, Brigitte shook her head lightly and got to work, unloading the plates to match her warmup level with a small blush on her face. She saw him leave in her peripheral and started lifting, all the while hoping that he wouldn't bring up anything that happened in here to anyone. She was awkward enough on her own.

She didn't know that she'd be seeing more of him than anyone else pretty soon.


Conference Room A, Second Floor, Watchpoint Gibraltar

The nine official members of Overwatch present were seated at the long glass table. Mercy, Reinhardt, Tracer, Torbjorn, Sojourn, Echo, Genji, and Mei were seated on either side of the table while Winston resided at the head, an old tire occupying where a normal seat would've been. Mei got a seat by default, as she was already part of Overwatch, and was considered a transfer rather than a recruit.

Brigitte stood facing them, fidgeting nervously. She knew most of them, but it didn't make it any easier knowing her dream of joining Overwatch, her chance of staying by Reinhardt's side in battle, all depended on their vote right here, right now. Jason was next to her, back straight, head held high, arms clasped behind his back. A soldier all too familiar with showing respect to his superior officers through his stance. She stood a little straighter at the thought.

"All right, without further ado, lets get on to the first order of business", Vivian said, glancing around the room. "Jason Garrett and Brigitte Lindholm are the two potential additions to our roster of operatives in consideration today. There are currently nine Overwatch agents present, and therefore nine votes. I propose a vote of no confidence, meaning no anonymity, and a majority of over half, in this case five votes, to carry any motion going forward. None shall abstain. Are there any objections or counterproposals?"

"I believe this proposed structure to be fair and have no objections", Genji spoke up, receiving nods and sounds of agreement around the table. Vivian nodded and looked at Winston, letting him take the lead. The gorilla with the genius-level IQ was startled when she deferred back to him. Clearly, he'd thought that she would reassume her rank as Captain and Acting Commander of Overwatch. But when she talked about democratic decision-making she meant for leadership too, which would probably be the next thing to bring up.

Fortunately, Winston only needed a moment to compose himself before picking up where his teammate left off. "Right, now that we've agreed on a voting structure, let's get to the candidates themselves. Before we vote, I think it's only fair to allow some time for any arguments for or against either candidate to be heard. Let's go alphabetically. Any arguments for or against Brigitte?"

Unsurprisingly, it was Torbjorn who spoke up. "Not exactly against it, but I have reservations, mainly her inexperience. She'd been going with Reinhardt, sparring with him, fighting by his side, but in the grand scheme of things she's only got minimal training and even less combat experience. Personally, I don't think she's ready for the field just yet"

Brigitte looked a little hurt at her father's statement but had to admit that he made some good points. Other members started to look apprehensive as well, especially Winston and Angela, who had known the young Swede her entire childhood and was having trouble separating the girl from the woman. Luckily for her, Vivian came to her defense with solutions at the ready.

"You have a point, Torbjorn. However, I think we can all agree that all of our recruits will be on standby until they pass standardized tests before we approve them for field missions. As for her lackluster combat training, I've already talked to Jason about training her further. He said he would consider it"

The elder Lindholm eyed Jason appraisingly for a moment, receiving no reaction from the ex-Phoenix operative. "How good is he?"

"As far as combat prowess goes? Enough to easily slaughter this entire room unarmed"

The whole table stared at her in stunned silence, even more so because Vivian looked and sounded like she had seen him do it before, but she didn't elaborate. Jason knew what she was talking about, even as he fought to hold back a grimace at the memory. 'Operation 7734' was erased from history, all digital trails completely expunged from the database and its physical file reduced to ashes, a testament to how fucked up that whole mission was. But he remembered. Everyone who was involved remembered. That was the day Ghost solidified itself as the boogeyman of the underworld. The day his callsign became taboo.

The day he sold his soul to wipe twenty years off his sentence.

"Keeping all this in mind, shall we vote?" Winston asked, steering the conversation back on track. "All in favor of inducting Brigitte Lindholm?"

Seven hands raised. Seven votes out of nine. Torbjorn stayed his hand, as did Mercy. Brigitte sighed at her father but took a seat next to Reinhardt, now an official member of Overwatch.

"Now, for our other candidate: Jason Garrett, a former operative and Strike Commander of an organization called Phoenix. I trust that you've all read his file and have your own opinions on him. Now, are there any arguments about his induction?" Winston moved on. Vivian spoke up first, getting her side of the argument in before anyone else.

"As his mentor of four years, I can testify to his ability. Like I said, he could easily take all of us down right now and walk out of this room relatively unscathed, and he isn't even armed", she said, and with the shock already out of the way some agents started to look at Jason in a new light, evaluating him the best they could based solely on what they could see. Out of every person there, he kept an eye on Genji Shimada, a warrior of the highest caliber and someone whose cybernetic body was appropriated for his suit design. He had the utmost respect for the late Yakuza boss's disgraced son, and a healthy dose of apprehension to go along with it.

Vivian overestimated him. He could kill most of the occupants in this room, but Genji, according to what he knew, was a completely different beast from the others. Jason was looking forward to sparring with the cyborg. It's been way too long since he fought someone capable of putting him on his ass.

"All right, thank you Vivian. Any arguments against him?" Winston moved on, and Jason saw it. In his eyes, in his voice, in his body language. Inexperience. The gorilla was civil, fair, logical, and trying his best to be a leader, but he didn't have the practical experience or even the foundation necessary to be one. That would have to change. Overwatch can't afford a leader who had to figure things out as they go.

Surprisingly, no one spoke up. He expected someone to ask about trust and loyalty or even about his cousin. But no one did. As it turns out, back in the old Overwatch, if Vivian Chase or Jack Morrison personally vouched for you, then your recruitment interview was pretty much a formality unless you profoundly fuck up somehow. As always, having the right friends in the right places benefited him once again. Winston called for a vote, and it was surprisingly close. Five out of nine. Sojourn, Torbjorn, Genji, Reinhardt, and Mercy voting in his favor meant that he only just made it. But it didn't really matter. Like Dom Toretto once said: 'It doesn't matter if you win by an inch or a mile, winning's winning'

"Before we leave for dinner I'd like to bring up a different subject, one I believe needs to be addressed sooner rather than later", Jason said as he took his seat next to Vivian, across from Brigitte. "Funding"

He received a mixed bag of reactions. Some were confused at what he meant; others had realization slowly dawning on their faces. "As you all know, an organization like Overwatch, even after this drastic downscale from the old days, would require a significant amount of money to sustain. I've talked to Vivian, and we've agreed that, unless there are any objections, I would be privately funding Overwatch for the foreseeable future"

Everyone sans Vivian stared at him in various degrees of shock. Lena was the first to find her voice. "You do realize that this would costs you hundreds of millions every year?"

Jason only looked at her, a small smirk gracing his lips. "And?" he countered, letting some of the old playboy arrogance slip in. Telling his new teammates, most of whom were doing fine for themselves but couldn't really be considered wealthy, that he wouldn't even blink while paying hundreds of millions annually would almost certainly get a reaction. Everyone looked at him, desperately searching for any signs of deceit or exaggeration because they couldn't comprehend someone spending that much money out of hand. Which was fair. There was the wealth gap between the one percent and the rest of the world, and then there was the gap between him and the one percent.

Martin Garrett was many things, chief among them an opportunist and conqueror. He had the tech, the funding, and the strategic mind to capitalize on the aftermath of Crisis and used his control over armaments supply on world governments to seize control of the global economy completely unopposed, viciously eliminating anyone who stood in his way before the public even knew about it.

He was a great businessman, and a good father, but no one, not even Jason, had ever said he was a good man. A great man, but not a good one.

"Well, that's very generous of you, Jason. But I would like to inquire more about the extent of your funding", Angela probed, and he could guess what she really wanted to ask.

"Yes, it would include revamping the medical facilities with state-of-the-art equipment, along with funding for R&D, medical or otherwise", he said, Torbjorn and Brigitte perking up at the mention of R&D. "In fact, if you can all make a list of everything, and I do mean everything, you need and send it my way, that'll be extremely convenient", he addressed the table, and already Angela was furiously scribbling on a notebook as Genji and Lena watched her, clearly amused.

Winston managed to shake off any lingering doubt about Jason's intentions, for the time being at least, and dismissed the group, who all went their separate ways. Torbjorn had volunteered to cook but told everyone that it'd be at least thirty minutes before anything's ready, mostly because he was limited on ingredients. Which made Jason remind himself that he'd need to stock up the pantry tomorrow. Along with fixing up the buildings, upgrade defensive hardware, stock up on weaponry, upgrade the medical wing, and figuring out a way to not leave a paper trail on what he estimated to be three billion dollars' worth of hardware initially, just to get this facility back into adequate condition. He would be swamped in logistics and paperwork for a while.

There was also the matter of eventually regaining Overwatch's UN charter through the IJC, but that was a long-term goal. The US presidential election just ended, and as of twelve days ago, Jason got himself a very powerful friend in the form of 57th US president-elect Victor Morrison, holding a permanent seat on both the IJC and the UNSC. The man won by a landslide, winning 407 electoral votes within three days. G&G International had been the campaign's primary corporate supporter and largest donor from the start, and Jason had also been very vocal about his personal support. Victor, for all his faults, was never one to forget something like that, and could probably be convinced to lobby for nullifying the PETRAS act.

But first and foremost, dinner.


He tracked down Torbjorn near the kitchen and waved him over. "Hey, about the pantry situation, would you mind helping me stock up? It's just… I don't know anyone's preference, and you're the cook, so you'll know what to buy better than I do"

The Swedish mechanic simply nodded with a grunt and Jason led him to the Aston, now parked neatly by the wall of the hangar. They were both silent as he drove them out through the western entrance, cutting through traffic for ten minutes to get to a Morrisons supermarket on the northwest corner of the city. He dug an Amex Black Card out of his wallet and handed it over. "Here, buy whatever you need for the next three months or so". Torbjorn's eyebrows rose as he looked at the rectangular piece of anodized titanium between Jason's fingers but decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth. He was offering to pay, and the Swede planned to take full advantage of the nigh-unlimited balance that card offered.

Jason waited in the car as Torbjorn shopped around, scrolling through emails on his phone. Two from his interim CEO, one updating him on the progress of their hostile takeover attempt on Vishkar Corporation, which wasn't going very well, and the other asking for permission to raise their tender offer to $74.20 per share, which was a stupid amount overall, but he agreed anyway. Vishkar was an industrial titan that basically printed its own money at this point, only beaten out by his own company due to his father digging hooks into every industry in the world early on, ensuring that he was too big to fail before anyone could react. Looking at what Overwatch needed to get back on its feet, Jason would really like that extra bit of income soon, if only as an insurance policy. There was another email that caught his attention, personal this time, confirming that his monthly paycheck had gone through and giving him an update on living conditions. He was glad to hear that they were doing well.

There was also an invite to a high-stakes poker game at the Casino de Monte-Carlo in three months from Maximilien, a known figure of the gambling world and the Talon financier that Phoenix had set their sights on before disbandment. A hundred million buy-in, fifty mil rebuy. Could be an opening to gain access to Talon's financial records, and he always love a chance to relieve the rich of their money.

Jason looked up at the sound of footsteps approaching, seeing Torbjorn pushing a trolley overflowing with paper bags. He wasn't sure how they would fit all of that into the car.

Reminder to self: Relieve the Ares Industries fleet of a few military street vehicles, then let Torbjorn go batshit with them.

With that memo now permanently in his head, Jason stepped out of the car to help organize the bags into neat rows in the frunk, while the rest lined the tiny bit of space behind the seats. Luckily, Torbjorn didn't need much legroom, so there was some extra space behind him and some more under his feet. Still, it was uncomfortably full by the time they empty that trolley, and Torbjorn ended up having to hold two bags in his lap.

Jason saw the notification for $4,702 in expenses and blinked. That was… cheaper than he'd expected it to be, if still a little steep. Oh well, he wasn't complaining.

They got back within thirty minutes of departure and Jason did most of the heavy lifting as they carried everything to the kitchen in one trip. He unpacked and sorted through all the bags as Torbjorn grabbed the two bags that apparently contained their dinner and got to work.

He sorted out the cookware first, then the utensils and various containers, then moved on to the food. There was enough protein and carbs to feed an army, which, between him and Reinhardt, might not be enough, and the ingredients were varied enough to accommodate for any conceivable dietary requirement. Which led Jason on a train of thought that eventually ended with the need for staff.

Agents like the ones they currently have were all well and good for the primary purpose of Overwatch, which was eliminating any and all threats to the world at large, and there were two brilliant engineers for all their repairing needs, but they would eventually need additional staff to maintain the various day-to-day requirements of this facility, along with any other bases they may reactivate in the future. He thought back to the list of Phoenix staff at Site-07, sorting out the ones that owed him favors, the ones that were likely to sign up if he asked regardless, and the trustworthy ones. He had hundreds of favors in the bank, but trust was a precious commodity, and in that sense he was barely staying above the poverty line.

Another thing to think about, another problem to solve.