THE SOLDIER

Darkness surrounded him as he tried to clear his mind. He had slowed his respiration so that it would be more sustained. He was out of breath when he shouldn't have been. He had been assured that he would be a different man, a man with more stamina, faster, more fearless, stronger. Yet his lungs seemed to be searching for oxygen that wasn't there. He took a long breath, cutting himself off from the world again, while he kept his eyes closed. It was a lesson he had learned from his platoon leader. If we want to avoid going nuts, we have to create a refuge, a place where nothing can reach us. Whether it's for a minute, an hour, a day, you have to go to the shelter. That was what he recommended to young soldiers going to the front for the first time. He said that it wasn't a foolproof method, but that it could save them from long-term psychological trauma. At the time, Jack thought it was complete bullshit. However, over the years and operations, he had integrated this ritual and followed it as religiously as possible. In any case, he was trying to find his shelter as best he could.

The roar of the transport shuttle was agitating him. A constant noise that grew louder and slower at regular intervals, with each increase in speed. The jolts and turbulence the aircraft was experiencing did not help the situation. Jack's hideaway was crumbling in his mind. He was still sitting, leaning against the aircraft's fuselage, feeling every jolt and acceleration of the machine. His fists on his knees clenched in irritation and he opened his eyes.

The gloom gave way to the aircraft's belly. It could hold about thirty soldiers in the rows of seats on either side, while the space between them could hold military equipment or vehicles, ready to be deployed on operations. All Jack could see in the dimly lit hold was his squad. Stretchers were strewn across the floor of the aircraft separating Jack from the other row of seats, where his comrades-in-arms were lying.

Closest to him, there were 36. They called him Tony, short for Anthony. He was a helpful and funny guy, always looking for the best joke. The squad leader thought he was way too chatty, especially since he knew he was often the favourite target of Tony's pranks. Jack remembered his way of making fun of everything, as if nothing was serious. He liked to say that he was downplaying the situation. Jack could need him at that moment.

Farther along were 54 and 88, Deidre and Benjamin. They were inseparable, he was the quiet, silent but good-natured guy, and she was the kind of girl you shouldn't mess with. She was a restless soldier who didn't hesitate to get into trouble whenever the situation demanded it, whether it was for the success of the mission or the survival of the squad. As for Ben, he was the squad's sniper, two precise and fearsome eyes that had proven themselves during the shooting sessions. But he was shy. He was two heads taller than everyone else, yet he didn't want anyone to notice him, just the opposite of Deidre, who was always playing with a strong head. That's why they got along so well. Yet Deidre's fearlessness hadn't saved her, and Jack wouldn't hear her raspy, familiar laugh anymore. Ben was luckier if you can call it luck. A rocket had exploded next to him and taken his right forearm with it. From then on, the doctors had done everything they could to keep him alive. Jack remembered his burned and mutilated body around which they had been busy inserting tubes, injecting him with all kinds of substances, and plugging in machines and things. Benjamin was still alive, but lying among the dead, Jack couldn't tell the difference.

Jack tried as hard as he could not dwell on today's battle, but the images and sounds inevitably came back to him: the smell of hot metal, the screaming and whistling bullets and the various sounds they made as they hit stone, wood, armor and flesh. In his head resounded the groans of rockets, the rattling of automatons and the sizzling of destroyed machines. The memory of the shrill cry of the blades of these metal weapons, splitting the air, squeezed his intestines. At this thought he remembered Nicholas, 91, he had been given a raw deal by the Omnics. All the machines had left behind was a dripping pile of meat.

Their squad leader, 32, had fought with honor until his last breath. Overwhelmed by a unit of E54 bastions, he had managed to put most of the cans out of action, until one of them was switched to tank configuration. The only way he had found to defeat it was to drive his impulse grenade belt into the omnic's gun. The blast of the explosion had swept away the E54 bastion unit but 32 had been blown away with it.

Jack realized with some astonishment that he did not know the name of 32. Their squad leader had never told them. It had been three weeks since their squad had formed and they had already exchanged their real names with each other, the ones they would keep even after the program. Only their leader had abstained. What's the point? thought Jack. He had died as a hero, and Jack wouldn't remember his name. He would still be 32.

In fact, the bodies lying on the stretchers in the hold, whether modestly concealed under a white shroud or plugged in and connected to treatment and care machines, all bore a number. Beyond the dim lighting, Jack could see numbers next to the stretchers, markers that were used to identify the bodies, but no names. 71 was between 42 and 39; 65 was breathing through a tube, while 12 and 50 were not breathing at all; 87 looked familiar, and on the next stretcher 98 had his face covered with bandages. They were just numbers.

Was this really the purpose of the program? Jack had never felt so powerless and yet they had been told they were the best, that they would be strong, that they would defeat the Omnics, that they would be the heroes of the nation. But Jack was alone, and his comrades-in-arms were gone. He thought of them. If he had died today and his squad had lived, who would they be crying for? Jack? Or 76?

The door to the cockpit of the aircraft opened and took him out of his mind. Jack heard heavy footsteps coming through the gate, which closed without delay. The faintly lit figure walked steadily across the hold and into the row of seats in front of him, from where he could not discern his traits. A few seconds passed before he noticed Jack's presence.

"I thought I was the only survivor, I was wrong..."

Jack stayed put and pretended he didn't hear.

"Have the Omnics taken your tongue or are you not very talkative by nature?" said the man with his deep voice.

"Not very talkative." Jack replied dryly.

Other seconds passed, when Jack reached out his ear and observed his new traveling companion. He could hear his silhouette wiggling in his seat.

"Hey, do you have a light, by any chance?" he asked.

"No, I don't smoke."

"Shit..."

The man seemed to be looking for something on him, then after a hesitation, he stood up and crossed the space between him and Jack. He approached a body covered with a white cloth and reached into his pockets to pull out a zippo lighter. With a quick gesture, he opened it and the flame lit up his face for a few moments. He had a goatee beard and dark eyes that never left Jack's side. He took a long breath of air from the cigarette in his mouth and closed the zippo, before settling down beside him.

"It's unfortunate, don't you think?"

Jack doesn't react immediately. The whirring of the device had resumed with greater intensity. He wasn't sure he heard it properly.

"Unfortunate?" he said halfway through his voice.

His companion's pupils seemed to awaken with a glow through the darkness. The cigarette he kept in his mouth released a volute of dark smoke.

"What you have before you are the best soldiers in the United States Army." the man said, pointing to his comrades at their feet. "The elite, the top, the best of the best of the best. You can call them what you like. Super-soldiers..."

Jack remembered well what they were promised when they agreed to enter the program. The cream of the U.S. Army we called them. The elite that would lead the United States to victory over the omnics. At the time, it had enhanced the pride of all the recruits. Jack's father, if he was still alive, would have been proud of his son. He was going to be one of a bunch of heroes like the holovids of his childhood.

"A terrible statement." the man continued, taking another breath. "From super-soldiers, they've turned into super corpses."

"Does it make you feel better to spew your cynicism about fallen comrades? Whistled Jack who had lost his patience."

"They're dead, and the only respect they'll have from now on is the respect we reserve for all the dead." the man replied. "Super-soldier or not."

"In my house, we treat the dead with respect, especially those who fought for their country."

"The flag that will be placed on their coffins will be especially useful to dry the tears of their families and loved ones when we put them in the ground."

"Shut your mouth."

Jack's anger only grew as he gradually drifted away from his refuge. He'd known some ready-tongued shits. Most of them shit their pants when it came to use their fists, but Jack suspected that this guy was more like him. In fact, he didn't have the courage to fight anymore and the other one had clearly noticed that.

"What's your number?" Ask the man.

Jack remains silent.

"Your squad mates, they're all here, right?"

Jack just nodded and added nothing more.

"They'll never see a battlefield again in their lives." replied the other. "In itself it's a relief to them, but you're going to keep fighting, what you saw today you're going to relive it until one day you're the one lying in the back of an aircraft."

The man smashed his cigarette against the hull and Jack saw him throw the remains away. He bent down, his elbows resting on his thighs, and looked pensively across the hold.

"You too are the only survivor of your group." Jack assumed.

"That's right." replied the other. "And I don't have any bodies to take back with me. What a bad squad leader I am. Omnics didn't give us a chance. Vaporizers fell on us, and in a few firefights, it was over. I shot those garbage cans down, but it didn't do me any good..."

A silence fell between the two men. Jack noticed that the man shared his bitterness. They were survivors. They had seen their brothers in arms fall, and this would follow them until they themselves fell in the field of honor.

"The members of your squad, did you know their names?" Jack asked.

"Of course." replied the other, sullenly.

"My squad leader didn't bother with that."

"If we're reduced to mere numbers, then we're no better than those tin cans."

Maybe it's the best endgame for their world? A world of omnics, without human beings. We had created them and they had reached the point where their existence threatened ours. Omnics fought in a united front, they knew no fear, and were driven by a cold and ruthless indifference. As our forces diminished, their ranks multiplied. Perhaps that was humanity's fate: to be wiped off the face of the Earth by the hands of their own creatures.

"Do you think Omnics mourn their dead?" Jack asked his comrade-in-arms.

"Those machines have no conscience, and that's what makes them such a fearsome opponent. Until the big shots understand that, they can inject us with all the crap they want, but we won't win this war."

"And what are you proposing?"

"Omnics are everywhere. The Russians are fighting them in Siberia. Chinese and Japanese ships are scrambling to stop the omnics from attacking their ships in the China Sea. Half of Europe is under attack from these scrap heaps. And governments are turning a deaf ear to each other. The problem is global, but no one has the guts to ask the right question. We need to pool our resources, our data, our knowledge, our discoveries and our best people. If we lose to them, it's game over for everyone, we must oppose the omnics with a united front."

"I'd like to see that happen." Jack said with a slight smile. "I don't see our people working with the Russians."

"The Germans have developed technologically advanced armors that allows them to face the Omnics. They fight in melee with weapons of war like the ancient knights and I have heard that thanks to them, German forces have regained hope in the struggle."

"There are still men in those armors." replied Jack pessimistically. "Armor or omnic when it's damaged, it repairs itself. A man or a woman is not a machine, you can't fix them that easily. Some wounds shatter soldiers to the point where they can no longer stand up to fight."

Jack's eyes turned to Ben's mutilated body. After that, what would his life be like? Would he return to civilian life, or could he fight again? The army needed able-bodied men, and a whole man was better than half a super-soldier.

"In my home, they say that one should be wary of a broken soldier." replied the other, "there is nothing more dangerous."

"Why is that?"

"Because he has nothing left to lose."

Jack asked himself the question. What could he endure? How far could he take the blows before he reached the point of no return? He had always wanted to be a soldier, even from the days in Indiana when he played war with his buddies on the big acres of the family farm.

"How about you? Asked the man. What kind of soldier are you? Are you going to let this war break you down or are you going to struggle and survive to see humanity win over these machines?"

During his training, he had always said that he would rather die on the battlefield like a real soldier than die in civilian clothes in a war he would not fight. He wouldn't give up even on the brink of death. Perhaps he had been broken for a long time.

"I haven't given up the fight." Jack confessed in a resolute voice, "I intend to avenge our dead and make the damn machines pay for all the horrors they committed."

Jack saw a grin on the man's face.

"It's good to know that I'm not the only one who still wants to keep fighting." he said.

The man offered Jack his hand.

"I'm number 24, my name is Reyes. Gabriel Reyes."

It didn't take Jack long to respond. His mother had taught him that you can't deny someone a handshake, even if you're ready to give them a good fuckin' punch in the face just a couple of minutes earlier.

"Jack Morrison and I'm number 76."

"Nice to meet you, Jack." Reyes said. "I wish it was under better circumstances."

"It's our burden as soldiers." Jack replied simply, "until the war is over."

"Hopefully, one day, it will end..."

"When all the heroes of the planet stand together...

Jack's tone was meant to be ironic, but the man known as Reyes didn't seem in the mood to laugh about it.

"I was serious when I brought it up." Reyes argued sternly. "Now more than ever, the world needs heroes, Jack."

"I have no doubt." laughed Jack in disbelief. But to me, it would still be fucking dumb."


OVERWATCH

-CROSSROADS-

Many years later

He slammed the door shut of the cottage and walked quickly across the room, cracking the wooden floor. He dropped what he was carrying heavily on a nearby table and could hear a stream of metallic noises crashing to the ground. He flipped a switch and a pale light illuminated the small living room which he used as a hideout. With an abrupt gesture, he opened the old cupboard in a corner of the room. Dark raincoats were fighting for the little storage space. He looked down at the travel bag crushed between the two walls of the closet and pulled it out. He put the bag on a chair and opened it, before turning his attention to what was on the cottage table. Dozens of chargers and pulse rockets, grenades of various kinds covered the dining table, and biotic emitters threatened to fall to the ground. He had no time to lose. He hurriedly placed all this arsenal in the bag.

He gathered up the grenades and ammunition that had fallen to the ground, and they suffered the same fate as the others: scattered at the bottom of the bag. He put his two hands around his head, more precisely around the mask that covered the lower part of his face. The mask covering his mouth, nose and eyes fell off and he quickly removed it and threw it on the table. Slowly he recovered his breath as drops of sweat dripped from his forehead and felt his diaphragm rise and fall heavily into his abdomen. The shelter was no longer safe, and his time was running out.

He opened a cupboard and took a can of canned red beans on the fly. With the help of a knife from a drawer, he pierced the can to create an opening and enlarged it so he could put it to his mouth. He swallowed the cold and tasteless beans from the can and passed their bland taste through a trickle of tap water from the kitchen sink. He had to resume breathing. His arms and legs felt so heavy and he was exhausted. He hadn't slept for two days, and tiredness was finally overtaking him. At the worst possible moment.

A few hours earlier, he had infiltrated a secure Helix Security International complex, located some ten miles from the cottage where he had taken shelter. He knew the place like the back of his hand, a former base that he had walked from one end of the compound to the other. It was years ago now, but he had an excellent memory: the logos and signs on the doors of the hangars, buildings and signs had changed, but for the rest, everything had remained as it was. He had had no problem getting back into the base and had tried to avoid any contact with Helix security guards. Some of them had gotten in his way, but they didn't last long. Although Helix's security officers had above-average equipment and arsenal, they could not do anything against his delicate hands. He was not supposed to kill. Discretion remained his best asset, and some of the agents would regain consciousness in odd locations and positions throughout the complex. It had taken him some time, but he had been resourceful with the equipment he had on hand: locker, dumpster, empty crate, third basement toilets. He had become a silent, ruthless shadow. A ghost.

He pulled out a vintage-looking white thermos and didn't even bother to take out a cup or a glass. He unscrewed the lid and sipped the cold, caffeinated liquid dripping from the corners of his mouth. The thermos flew to the kitchen sink, where he poured out the remaining black fluid as he passed into the small bathroom. He pulled a string activating a weak bulb and turned the tap wide open to spray his face. He thought this would keep him awake, perhaps, for another ten hours or so.

He looked at himself in the cracked mirror above the sink.

He would have liked to think that it was the little light bulb in the bathroom that didn't give him his best reflection, but that would have been deluding himself. His hair, once blonde, had turned white, and many of it had fallen out, revealing an imposing, wrinkled forehead. His features were still chiselled and his cheeks hollowed out, but two scars adorned his face: a deep one from his forehead to his right cheek and a thinner one from his mouth to his chin. From a simple wince with his mouth, he saw the two scars move. The pain was long gone, but the stigmata were not gone. The soldier crossed the blue eyes of his reflection in the mirror. It was the only thing that hadn't changed. But the pale of his face and the marks of tiredness under his eyes reminded him that he would not last long at this rate. It was already well into the night and there was a bed in the next room. All he had to do was close his eyes for a few seconds to recover. But that was no longer an option. That was what he was missing. Time.

"Idiot." he moaned, shaking his wet hair.

He turned off the light and went back to the main room of the cottage where his catch was waiting for him. What for, he found himself in a lost cabin in the Colorado mountains: the pulse rifle. A state-of-the-art automatic weapon that can fire bullets and rockets at a very high rate, yet not very heavy and handy, which he had stolen from Helix Security International's Grand Mesa security complex. It was a prototype that had been developed by the former owner of that complex and the soldier knew that this weapon would be useful in his job.

So he managed to get past all the security of the complex and infiltrate deep into the base levels to reach the vaults where the prototypes and schematics of weapons, vehicles, and all kinds of devices that would have irreparably brought the end of the world as we knew it. But the soldier had come for a single weapon. And everything seemed to be in his favor, but he had overestimated his hacking abilities. He'd misadjusted the device that would allow him to bypass security barriers and prevent alarms from going off. He was a man in the field. For him, hacking and everything to do with electronics was a different world, and in the past, there was always a guy who did that aspect of the job for him.

The moment he grabbed the pulse rifle, the roaring sirens of Grand Mesa went off and the complex was on the alert. Fortunately for the soldier, where he was a sucker for everything computer-related, he was an expert in close combat. Although discretion had fallen by the wayside, he hadn't denied his second objective: no fatalities. The soldier had broken or fractured arms, legs, elbows, kneecaps, some cervical vertebrae and a couple of phalanges, but nothing that would threaten the lives of Helix's security guards. He had managed to get off the base with the pulse rifle, but he also knew that Helix's agents would come after him. They were going to track him down and find him and he hoped that by the time they got here he would be already gone.

The rain had soaked his clothes and he wished he had taken one of the windbreakers from the cabin with him. The soldier retrieved the white and blue jacket that was curled up in a ball on a chair and put it on. He zipped it up and massaged his numb shoulders. On the back of his jacket was a red and yellow number: 76.

A white light blazed inside the cabin and the soldier, caught unawares, had the reflex to fall to the ground, fearing a burst of bullets. A halo of bright light shone through the windows of the cottage. Among the raindrops that continued to fall heavily on the wooden roof, he thought he could discern quick footsteps outside. They had found him.

"No ... No ... No ... No ..."

Denial would not save him. He dragged himself to the table and dropped the duffel bag to the ground and put the shoulder strap around his neck. When a metallic voice thundered outside:

"There's no use running away, you're surrounded! We have locked all the exits to the house! Surrender! We know you have the prototype!"

He slipped on the old parquet floor and went to the living room switch while avoiding the rays of light that pierced the windows of the cottage. As he turned off the small light bulb in the living room, he walked along the wall to the nearest window to take a look outside.

Between the trees, two jeeps, stuck together, lit up his hideout with their headlights. The soldier could make out silhouettes and shadows that moved around the vehicles. Helix had played his cards right with more than fifteen armed men deployed for the occasion. Through a loudspeaker, the voice continued:

"Give us the weapon and surrender! No harm will come to you! It is useless to have recourse to violence!"

"Count on it." he groaned.

The soldier turned his attention to the pulse rifle. Still avoiding the light, he drew the weapon towards him, clutching the rifle butt. He took the opportunity to retrieve the missing part of his mask as he returned to his position near the window. He knew that Helix's forces had already taken place at the chalet's entrances. He could no longer hope to escape without a fight. Luckily, it wasn't the first time he'd had to improvise.

"Last warning before we use force! Come out with your hands up! Give us back the prototype!"

"Come and get it." said the soldier as he reloaded the weapon.

Few seconds passed and the rain continued to fall, pouring a shower of drops between the needles of the fir trees. Helix's agents were on the alert, silent, waiting for the signal to attack. Two blasts disturbed the calm and a window in the cottage shattered. Rockets roared outwards and hit the jeeps, which jolted on impact. The explosions of the engines surprised the attackers. The strength of the blasts sent agents to the ground as the most reactive of them moved away. The well-placed rockets had served their purpose. The headlights of the vehicles had been destroyed. The cabin was once again in darkness. He had just started the hostilities.

"Intervention!" toned his voice over the loudspeaker.

The front door slammed open and Helix's agents entered the cabin, weapon in hand. Caution was not a concern for them. They were tracking a fugitive, an individual who had stolen a prototype weapon from a secret base. Their objective was to bring the weapon back to the site and kill whoever decided to take it. Two men entered, then a third, a fourth and finally a fifth. It was at this precise moment, as the squad was searching for their target in the main room, that the soldier closed the door of the chalet behind them, locking them in with him.

The soldier charged the nearest agent and with a vigorous blow of his elbow put him on the table. Another officer wanted to open fire, but he screamed in pain as he felt the bones in his arm break, dropping his weapon in the process. After disarming his opponent, the soldier tossed him against another member of his squad. Before the latter could even stand up and pull the trigger of his weapon, his jaw met the stock of the famous prototype they had come to retrieve. Bullets fired through the wooden walls of the cabin. The soldier did not worry about hearing the roar of this deadly music. He knew all those songs and he led the dance.

Two well-placed punches knocked out the fourth member of the squad, and Helix's fifth agent was soon gone too. The soldier managed to knock him down with a powerful knee blow to the chest. He fell on his kneecaps, but the soldier did not leave him any time out. He grabbed his wrist and grabbed him to make him drop his weapon. Then, leaning on his legs, he lifted him on his shoulders and threw him through the window. The soldier had a moment's respite as he watched the bruised body of his opponent gesticulating in pain outside the cottage. These guys had had enough, and he had no interest in killing them. Unlike others.

A storm of fire pounded the soldier and he threw himself to the ground. The agents outside were strafing the cabin, ignoring the presence of their own men in the shelter. The soldier crawled to the travel bag he had stashed in a corner. He was long overdue here. He had to leave the cabin and lose his pursuers. He heard a window break at the other end of the cottage and knew that a new team was coming to get him. And this one wouldn't make the same mistakes as the first one.

In the hallway leading to the bathroom, he saw silhouettes standing in the cabled doorways and heard the rattling of the triggers, followed by the screeching sound of bullets. He rushed to the old armchair in the living room and took cover behind it. The shots sifted and pierced the chair from all sides and the soldier curled up in the hope that this would protect him from the salvoes. The gunfire fell silent and the soldier considered firing back.

With a slight glance, he examined the corridor where the attackers came from. A spherical object rolled not far from him. It emitted a slight buzzing sound. As the humming accelerated, the soldier listened only to his intuition. He came out of his hideout, grabbed the travel bag and jumped out of the nearest window.

The soldier felt the blast of the grenade in his back before hitting the wet ground and the soaked grass. However, his fall did not stop there; he rolled down the slope, hitting the roots and branches of trees. After a few rolls, he tried to come to his senses. He had escaped the grenade in-extremis, he had to leave as soon as possible before the Helix's agents noticed that he had survived the explosion.

Above his head, he could see the flames licking the walls of the cottage that had been his hideout for a few days. The soldier felt terribly exhausted, his fall had affected him more than he thought. Quickly, he searched for the bag and pulse rifle he had dropped when he slipped. He found the travel bag lodged at the foot of a pine trunk, between two large roots, and began to search for the precious rifle.

"Don't move!"

The soldier felt the muscles in his neck contract. Over his shoulder he saw a Helix's agent pointing a gun at him. In his other hand, he was holding the pulse rifle.

"I said freeze!" the officer said, as the soldier turned to confront his enemy.

Helix's man was overwhelmed. The gun in his hand was shaking. Despite the darkness of the night and the faint glow of the cottage fire, he could see that Helix's man was frightened. Even his voice betrayed him. The soldier tried for it all. Raising his hands, he walked slowly towards Helix's agent, who was still holding him at gunpoint.

"Don't move!" he cried.

His order disappeared down his throat. The soldier kept up the pace and did not speed up his run. The officer's gun kept waving until the soldier reached his level. He could not take his eyes off the soldier's scarlet visor, which seemed to reflect the flames that were sweeping across the cabin. The soldier lowered the rookie's weapon, tetanized, and simply offered him his knuckles as a reward for his composure.

Helix's officer fell backwards into a dull rumble and the soldier retrieved the pulse rifle among the grass.

"Amateur."

He took one last peek at the cabin he'd taken refuge in. In the distance, he could see the agitation of Helix's agents who were coming after him. The soldier took a deep breath and ran through the forest, dashing between the pine trunks. He had to outrun them, or he couldn't get back on the road.


A few hours later, he was on the edge of a conifer forest, along an asphalt road that ran between the high mountains of Colorado. The soldier had managed to outrun his pursuers. Now that they had found his hideout, he was certain that Helix's agents would comb the entire area around the cabin. The logical next step would be for them to expand their search to the surrounding miles until they found their fugitive. However, the soldier was certain that there was a place where they would not go looking for him. So, he had taken the gamble of returning to the Grand Mesa complex in Helix to better cover his tracks. Under the cover of darkness at night and a steady stream of rain, he had moved closer to the military compound to get around it, avoiding the patrols and guards who had been on the alert since his incursion, and had headed south.

His gamble paid off. And after a long race through the conifers, where he had not met any of Helix's agents, he had stumbled on a winding road that divided the forest in two. The soldier felt it was time to slow down his wild ride. His intuition told him that he had put enough distance between himself and Helix's men. He was exhausted, and he wondered how he could still stand. He took some time to take a windbreaker out of his travel bag and stowed the pulse rifle and the part of his mask that served as a visor.

The soldier put on the dark raincoat, adjusted the hood and went on his way. He had retrieved his weapon and now he was able to act. For starters, he needed information and he had an opportunity, at least if what he had heard was true.

An hour passed before the soldier arrived at a road sign that indicated the next destinations beyond: more than two hundred miles separated him from Santa Fe, Albuquerque would not be far behind and he would still have to cross half of New Mexico to reach El Paso. Then he would have to pass the border. A simple, basic plan, hoping he wouldn't get caught. He needed a rest, but the Helix folks wouldn't give him any respite. At the very least, he had to get out of Colorado and hope for a break.

The soldier saw a car drive by on the road next to him and thought of asking for a driver. It was risky, a little crazy even. A fugitive hitchhiking is the kind of bullshit he heard as a kid and sent a lot of fools to jail. However, although his reason intimidated him not to, as he heard a vehicle coming in his back, he turned around and raised his thumb in the direction of Santa-Fe. The car's side thrusters hummed and it sped south. The soldier ignored this fiasco and proceeded on his way in pouring rain.

Several minutes later, when no other vehicle had been on the road, the soldier perceived the snoring of a heavy truck. Over his shoulder, he saw only the shards of headlights blocking his view. What if Helix had found him? The thought crossed his mind for a second, and he prepared to hurtle off into the forest. Finally, he could see that it was a normal road truck with a row of propellers that lifted the vehicle and its cargo. He waved to him as the truck drove past while honking its horn. The soldier believed it would fail again until the vehicle stopped further down the lane. The soldier ran towards it. He approached the vehicle's driver's cab and climbed to the height of the passenger window.

"Hi there!"

The driver was, maybe, what, twenty years old at the most: almost a kid for the soldier. Dressed in wide blue pants and an old vintage T-shirt, the truck driver gauged the soldier with small eyes, a green and blue Nano Cola cap on his glabrous face.

"Hi." the soldier simply replied. "Can you give me a lift?"

"Where're you going?"

"El Paso."

"Sorry, but I don't go there. I'm going to Albuquerque. I can give you a ride there if that's okay."

"I'll fit right in."

"Well, get in."

The soldier took the passenger's seat and laid his bag at his feet where it wouldn't be out of his sight. He quickly took off his raincoat, rolled it into a ball and put it on the bag. The truck soon resumed its way and the driver took a short sip of the Nano Cola that was on his glass holder.

"My name's Neil." the driver said without taking his eyes off the road.

"Pleased to meet you Neil, I'm Jack."

His tone was meant to be a little cheerful to convey a certain illusion, but he was really happy about this accidental hitch-hiking.

"It's not usual to find people like that in the middle of nature." Neil said. "I take this road every week and it's the first time I've ever met a hitchhiker. And in the middle of the night on top of that."

Now he had to find a story that would stick, otherwise his new friend Neil might get suspicious and turn him in to the cops at the first gas station.

"Believe me, it's a pretty good story, lied the soldier. I took a carpool to Salt Lake City but the guy who picked me up, he was pretty damn weird. His car was a wreck, and at first sight, it didn't make me feel any better. Then, as we were driving around and I didn't want to chitchat, I was trying to sleep and I heard him babbling incomprehensible things. I don't know if it was German or Polish but it scared the shit out of me and I couldn't get a wink of sleep all night. He stops at a gas station near Cedaredge and advises me to go pee while he fills up. I take my bag with me just in case because I didn't trust him and by the time I get out of the shitter the dude and his crate were gone."

Neil breathed a sigh of disdain.

"You got lucky. The roads are getting more and more dangerous and you come across some wacky guys, especially at night."

The soldier didn't prove him wrong about that.

"I was very happy to meet you on my way." the soldier said, repeating his charm act. "Thanks again."

"You're welcome." Neil replied. "You can be at peace with me. I'm not a weirdo."

He looks like a Mr. Everyman, thought the soldier. A simple little guy, nice and easy, who did his job without making any waves, and when he got home, he ate a frugal meal, surfed the web, watched the news on his holovideo and went to bed at a decent hour. This life seemed far off for the soldier. It's inaccessible now.

"And just to be curious." Neil asked, "what're you going to do in El Paso, Jack?"

"I'm visiting an old aunt." once again lied the soldier. "She's sick and I'm going to give her some company."

Neil nodded without saying another word, and the soldier crossed his arms to get into the passenger seat, where he gradually felt himself falling into a deep sleep. Nevertheless, a rumble brought him out of his torpor. An aircraft flew overhead, headlights on, and the soldier kept his eyes open, ready to get out of the vehicle if a threat arose.

"Calm down." laughed the driver. "There's a military base nearby, so it's normal to see some movement."

"I've had enough excitement for one day." joked the soldier.

He caught a few indiscreet glances from the driver and dodged his gaze by focusing his attention on the rows of pines that followed one another outside.

"That's quite a scar you've got there, Jack." Neil remarked sympathetically. "I may be nosy, but how did you get it?"

The soldier couldn't hide the marks on his face, and given the extent of the damage, he couldn't make up anything about their origins. If he could make it look right, he could tell him about a singular fight with a grizzly bear or a puma. The card of the car accident crossed his mind and suddenly Vincent's face appeared to him. He repressed this image deep inside himself and came up with a half-truth:

"This?" he said, pointing to the scars on his face. "An old war injury. I fought the Omnics years ago. And one of them gave me these small souvenirs."

"I hope you made him repay." Neil answered.

"Course I did."

No, the debt had not yet been settled. The soldier hadn't forgotten how he got those scars. He was now living for this: to make those who had wronged him, and his kind pay.

"My grandfather died when the Omnics attacked Minneapolis." Neil confessed. "My aunt enlisted soon afterwards to repel the enemy striking at the border. She was killed in action when Winnipeg was retaken from the machines. Where did you serve?"

"All around." Jack replied. I recall Vancouver and Seattle. "I was deployed to Vermont near the end of the war. The Omnics had ravaged the state back and forth."

"My father told me that the north of the country was like no-man's-land. I've seen the holovideos of that time, and I still can't really imagine what it looked like in reality."

"That was a long time ago. The world has changed a lot since then."

"Yeah, but the country's never really gotten over it. Off the main roads, there are groups of bandits who attack imprudent travellers, and I'm not talking about the old omnic units who wake up in the wilderness and decide to make a slaughter as soon as they come across a person. States let private groups take care of security and order, but they don't give a shit about our safety, as long as they get back the large money from the contracts with the State."

The soldier saw Neil drinking another shot of Nano Cola.

"How about you, Neil? How are you holding up?"

"I got this."

He pulled a Peacekeeper six-shot revolver out of the door and put it on the steering wheel.

"I've never got a chance to use it before and I hope it stays like that." Neil said as he put it back in the door.

The soldier hadn't even flinched when his driver took the Peacekeeper out. He hadn't felt any hostility from Neil, but it alerted him to the existence of such a weapon in his possession. If things got out of hand, Neil could be an obstacle. Not an insurmountable one though, he pondered.

"Weren't you afraid of running into someone with bad intentions when you gave me a ride?" the soldier wondered in a relaxed tone.

The trucker slowly moved his head from left to right.

"No. Soaked, with your bag, on this road usually deserted. I thought mostly that you were a poor fella who needed help."

The soldier, amused by the answer, pouffed and a moment of silence settled in the cabin. The raindrops fell in heavy jerks on the front of the truck under a constant buzzing of the engine and humming of the thrusters. The soldier gradually lowered his guard, overtaken by exhaustion. The passenger seat in Neil's truck was not the most comfortable place to sleep, but for the soldier, after weeks on the road or on a hideout, it would be more than enough. He was trying hard to resist the sleep. He had to be ready for all eventualities.

"By the way, Jack..."

He was slightly startled and turned to Neil who hadn't taken his eyes off the road.

"I've been thinking about it... I may have an idea of how to get you to El Paso." Neil continued. "In Albuquerque, I've some trucker buddies who make the regular trip to El Paso. I could get in touch with them and one of them could pick you up."

"That... that'd be really great."

"I mean, don't think about it." he said, taking another sip of cola. "You must be tired. Get some rest. No stopover till Albuquerque, we should be able to make it quickly."

"Thanks again, Neil. You're a lifesaver."

It was the only truth Neil was ever going to get, the soldier reasoned.

Little by little, he fell asleep. The pulse rifle was in his hands, and he had been able to get hold of other pieces of experimental equipment. His first objective was accomplished and despite some inconvenience, he had made it out alive. No one had been killed in this case and he considered it a miracle, given the turn of events. He was now on his way to Mexico, safe from Helix and the American authorities. What he didn't know was that, thanks to this misadventure, his profile would soon be known by all the American police forces as well as by all the federal and national agencies. He would be portrayed as a criminal, an outlaw, a terrorist.

He decided not to think about it and succumbed entirely to slumber. For the time being, it didn't matter. Helix, Overwatch, Gabriel, Ana, Vincent, it didn't matter anymore. He had to sleep. He had to get his strength back. Old grudges were hard to bear, and although his wars were all over, he had other battles to fight. Old soldiers never die... And they don't fade away...


Hello everyone,

What you have read is a translation of my fanfiction "Overwatch - Crossroads" originally written in French. The French Overwatch fandom is not the most active one and following a tip from my author friend Etsukazu, I decided to translate this fanfiction hoping that it could please another audience. It's a first for me and I tried to be conscientious in the exercise and I really hope it shows through the text and that your reading was pleasant.

It's a project that has been in my head for a long time: an Overwatch fanfiction. I'm a huge fan of the game and the universe that Blizzard has developed and is still developing. All of the characters, their backgrounds, their environments, their relationships, it's all quick to imagine, and I was just gnawing at the urge to write this fanfiction.

I finally got into this project because I saw my friend Etsukazu, him again, leaving on another fandom (A Song of Ice and Fire - go read "The Prince of Dragonstone" it's very promising and well-written). Moreover, I thank him for his follow up of this first chapter and his careful revision.

Now it's time for me to explain to you how I intend to approach this fanfiction and possibly answer any questions you may have:

-First, I intend to remain true to the canon as much as possible. I don't intend to contradict what has appeared in cinematics, comics and the Overwatch's novels. Rather, I want to use in my story what they've asked for as information for the characters or for the universe. These different media are available online for free on Blizzard's website and allow you to discover new information about the universe and characters (both comics and novels are part of the game's canon).

Nevertheless, the game is constantly evolving with new cinematics, new heroes, and the many news items that may come along in the coming weeks, months, and years. I trust you to be tolerant and not to hold me in contempt if any new information contradicts what I have established in this story. The story I have imagined is likely to change slightly according to these new information/characters. As I write this, the new Sigma character will soon join the game's hero rooster and his place in Talon is full of promise for the universe. (As I'm translating this chapter, the last hero who join the roster is Echo). I'll try my best to stick to the canon and be a part of its continuity and I hope you'll forgive me for any deviations that may happen in the future.

In this regard, I also wanted to point out that information about the universe and characters in Overwatch is not always clear due to many vague points in the background. For my research, I had to browse many English and French wiki sites to find a consensus according to certain information about this or that character or the universe. Once again, I rely on your tolerance.

-Next, I want each chapter of this story to be about a single character, a point-of-view per chapter. I really like this way of telling, I have read a lot of the A Song of Ice and Fire saga that uses this approach and I want to use it for this story. Overwatch, like ASOIAF, has a wide range of characters with complex relationships and I think it's really well suited to the story. I would perhaps break that rule, but for now, I'll stick to it.

Thank you for reading this first chapter, I hope you enjoyed it and that my English is readable. Do not hesitate to tell me if you find any errors or misunderstandings in the chapter. English is not my native language and as a French speaker it is very difficult to have a perspective on the whole text. I preferred to take the plunge without a lifeline. ^^

I will try to post translations of the chapters shortly after the French versions.

Feel free to comment, it would be a pleasure for me to hear your feedback.

Thanks again!

Lexias