Widowmaker slammed into the stairwell of her apartment complex. Rings of stairs spiraled above her up and up for a hundred feet. She turned back and fired blind at the door as she shot her zip line up. When her clip emptied she was carried smooth up into the air, the pleasant hiss of the wire retracting guiding her.

At the top she reloaded and aimed down the scope, looking over the rail. The dog rushed in and she pulled the trigger. A miss broke carpet and sprayed concrete into the air. She let the gun charge waiting for the boy as the dog sprinted up the stairs after her. But he took too long and the dog was gaining fast, so she turned to the neared apartment door, lifted her heel and kicked it through the lock. The door opened into a plain room with stained carpet and cheap drapes that were pulled back to let in the dull light. A couple sat on the couch, halfway through a pizza and some television show. Widowmaker sprayed into them.

The dog slid into the room and leapt at Widowmaker. She tucked and rolled into the kitchen, which had a half-wall separating it from the living room. Across the dead couple on the couch, there was an open door to a bedroom. Dead-simple house for simple, dead people.

She whipped up her rifle and fired from the hip over into the living room. A bullet scraped the leg of Red and in a whimper he dashed back out of the room. Blue, just reaching the top of the stairs, fired his Uzi into the apartment, forcing Widowmaker back into cover. She slinked quiet along the half-wall, crossing into the living room behind the couch.

Blue stepped into the room, Red at his side. The gun was nearing empty but he didn't pay it any attention. He knew how to stay quiet walking through the dead woods, so he kept low and made sure his boots stayed muffled on the carpet. Red kept his breath under a low pant, and his paws padded soft on the floor. After a few steps into the room Blue crouched and tapped Red's nose. The dog sniffed the air and caught Widowmaker's scent with ease. A strong cocktail of black-licorice and fresh blood. With the scent, Blue aimed the gun and sprayed into the couch, emptying the clip through the cushions.

Widowmaker took several bullets, recoiling back onto the floor, returning fire through the couch and the bodies of the dead couple. She crawled back kicking out with her legs and dragging with one arm. She heard Blue call out, "sick em'," and watched as Red leapt the couch and landed on top of her. She sacrificed her arm to his bite and felt the sweet pressure of the pain. He yanked and tore at it, dragging her across the ground as Blue stood up on the couch and aimed down at her.

"Stop," he said, and Red stopped. "Heel." Red let go and sat growling by Blue's side. Widowmaker sat up, holding her arms up, letting the pale blood run slow, smiling at the young boy who bested her. She arched her back and looked up at him with a cunning glare.

"Why does someone so cute have to be so stupid?" she said.

"Kick your rifle over."

"You can't be any older than twenty-one," she said, eyes going down his chest to his waist, where she held for a moment, then down his legs and back up to meet his gaze, which she watched melt into a blushing mess.

"I said, kick your rifle."

"Come grab it yourself, cowboy," she said, pushing her chest out. "I wouldn't want you thinking I was reaching for my pistol." Blue stared at her chest for a beat before stepping forward. He kept the Uzi trained on her head. Red stayed sitting by the couch, teeth bared, saliva falling from his jowls. "Make sure to squeeze it," she said, locking eyes. "Nice and tight." As she said it she licked her lips and in that moment she found her chance. A slight trepidation in his step. She slid forward, hands wrapping her rifle and lifting it up in sniper-mode, barrel pressing under Blue's chin.

"It's too bad, really," she said. Blue's face locked with terror, death pulsing in his head. She smiled her black-widow smile. "I wasn't lying when I said you were cute."

"Red!" The dog leapt forward. Widowmaker tossed Blue back towards the window. He smashed through. She turned and high-heeled the dog away from her. Red whimpered and, seeing Blue out of the room, ran for the stairs. Blue plummeted a story, then another, and another, picked up speed, feeling the air leave his lungs in a long scream. But zipping from above him came a carbon-fiber cable, which dug into his chest and slowed his descent, stopping him three stories above ground. Looking up he saw Widowmaker climb from the window and head to the roof, giving him one last glance before disappearing. Down below, Red came out onto the street and barked up at Blue.

Angela told herself she was only doing it as a favor for Winston. The last favor, he said and no matter how many times he said it, she'd always come running. You'll be saving a life, he'd say, and Angela wouldn't be able to turn away, regardless of how upset his subtle manipulations made her. Dragging her from base camp to base camp, assisting in his suicide missions, healing children who shouldn't have been involved in war to begin with, fixing people with science that had yet to be proven, creating people so mixed with bio-engineering it was hard to classify them as a human. All these things he had her do and she never could refuse. It's the last time, he'd say. I promise.

So it was then that Angela found herself in the woods outside of Eichenwalde. The heat from the German sun smacked her pale skin with burns and left a v-shaped swathe of sweat down the chest of her tank top. Her uniform, old and beaten, hung from her waist by the pant legs that were rolled up to her knees. She wished she had cut her hair, maybe even gone bald, just to feel the breeze on bare scalp. The sunglasses she wore, the pair Winston gave her a long time ago, with all the gadgets, slid on down the bridge of her nose, and her blaster was tucked in the back waistband.

Her boots sunk into mud as she climbed fallen trees. Dirt piled onto her with each tumble she took, or each slide down a slope she had to make. There was no easy way to do what she had been asked to do, and Winston hadn't given her much in the way of direction. You'll know it when you see it, he said. And she hadn't seen "it" yet. Maybe she passed "it", or maybe "it" didn't exist. A sentient soldier unit didn't sound likely in the least.

The further she got into the harsh wilderness, the less motivation she had. Everything became sparse, both in her mind and in the trees. Fewer birds, no deer, less thoughts, and nothing floating up in her memory. Nothing she wanted to focus on. They were all blurry remnants of old missions, of a time when things didn't seem like they'd change, but now, looking back on them, they seemed so far away.

A flash of Gibraltar in winter, with the snow and her co-workers all scattered about the base working quietly, keeping to themselves with cold demeanors and nothing in the air but a harsh taste of bitter defeat. A dark figure in a doorway with bad news. Bright lights at the end of a tunnel. The comfortable feeling of Valkyrie on her skin.

None of it stuck like the humid air. It pushed everything in and out and around, like a dull headache of noise. Angela popped her canteen and drank until it was dry. She was nearing the return point. Any further and she'd let Winston down and she'd owe him yet another favor for him to call on whenever he saw fit. She checked her watch, looked up into the trees at the bright light that slipped between the leaves, and sighed.

Sorry, Winston, she thought. Maybe next time.

As she turned to make the hike back, the tweet of a bird bounced from the trees. She caught the direction in the maze of bark and branch. The only bird for miles. Up high, a yellow blotch in a mix of greens and browns, twittering and tweeting. Its head cocked to the side as it took Angela in and sang its sweet little song before dashing down, close to her face, and off into the woods.

After a beat the bird came back and landed on a low branch, looking at her, it's tweet saying "follow me". Then it took off again, making happy circles in the air like a yellow streak of sunshine. Angela didn't know what to do, but she followed after it, c limbing logs and slipping through the mud. Coming through a twist of tangle-root, she found herself in a small clearing, permeated by sunlight and centered with a large stump, overgrown with moss and roots. On top of the stump, built from twigs and grass, was a nest. The little yellow bird landed in it.

Again, it let out a tweet, like a whistle on a Sunday morning in the form of a song.

And something replied with a song of its own. An electronic buzz and hum that surprised Angela so much she fell back, sprawled on the forest floor. She grabbed her blaster and drew it, aiming into the trees around her. First in Swedish then in English she said, "Angela Ziegler, Overwatch. Come out and stand down."

The stump shifted, moss tearing, dirt crumbling down its side, revealing that it wasn't a stump at all, but an overgrown Omnic. It's metal casing was rusted through in patches. A root twisted up and into the wiring in an arm, and tufts of turf were lodged in various gears. Its head spun to look at the bird on its shoulder, the dull blue light of its eye pulsing as it mimicked the bird's song. The bird hoped and turned towards Angela, guiding the machine's head. When it landed on Angela, is beeped and booped at her, cocking its head to analyzed her, seeing her eyes, blood pressure, heart rate, and her blaster.

Angela looked around her and saw that, despite her perceptive nature, the heat of the forest or the duration of her journey had made her miss a very important clue. In the clearing were the remnants of brush and trees, all destroyed in a viscous manner, torn apart into tiny chunks and sawdust. Scattered about the wreckage were shell casings, numerous like fallen gold leaves.

It didn't take but a moment to understand. She took that time to look at her blaster.

The Omnic's blue glow shifted to a crimson so deep with anger that its casing heated. The bird nest shattered and the bird took to flight as the robot shifted and twisted its configuration, head going down, legs going flat, arms tucking in, and its back flipping forward, revealing its crust-ridden Gatling gun. It gave a low whir and unleashed a torrent of bullets.

Thanks to the rust, the gun fired off to the right and had trouble turning, giving Angela enough time to jump to her feet and dash towards the trees. A mechanic arm raised up and buzzed electricity at the rust, breaking it off, repairing the machine as best as it could. The gun whipped towards the trees as Angel dropped to her knees and put her face down in the mud. A thousand bullets tore through the tree she was behind, shredding it and the trees around and behind it. Bits and wood fell on her and splintered against her skin and into her hair. She clinched her eyes tight and kept her hands over her head. The sound was deafening and when the gun stopped firing, the sounds echoed through the trees. The machine clicked and clanked as it reloaded.

Angela peeked over the remnants of the stump. The Omnic soldier spun around, surveying its surroundings. Once it figured it was safe it transformed back into its regular state. It was then, as it stood there, looking at the destruction it had caused, that Angela recognized it. She had healed many wounds from Omnics of the same design. A Bastion unit, created as a frontline soldier. Their guns had torn through normal soldiers during the war. If it weren't for Reinhardt…

The Bastion unit twisted its body to match its legs and rushed off into the trees. Angela stood and watched it disappear. The tweet of the bird came from above as it dipped down from a branch and landed on her shoulder, a twig sitting in its mouth. Placing the blaster back in her waistband she stared at the bird as it placed the twig on her shoulder and took off up into the trees. She removed it and slipped it into her pocket.

That primate is going to owe me one after this, she thought. Then she followed after the Bastion unit.

It wasn't hard. Its heavy steps left large robotic prints in the mud, and the sound of it clunking along led her on. The heavy damage it had accrued, either from battle or from wasting away in the woods for decades, slowed it down as well. After ten minutes of light jogging, Angela was close enough to see it and it was slowing down.

From behind it, Angela watched the unit. Winston had said he detected an active Omnic presence in the woods, but that it avoided Eichenwalde and human contact in general, which led him to believe that it had overcome its programming, or, that his programming had become corrupted. After its first impression, Angela wasn't eager to approach. It could have easily turned her into paste. But she had been holding a blaster. She understood that. She'd have reacted the same way if someone came upon her with a weapon drawn.

The Bastion came to a stop, scanning the trees and the sky before plopping down onto its ass, like a child. It looked at its hands, turning them over in full rotations, as it not understanding itself or its actions. It wooed a low sound, like a whine, that dragged on until the pitch tapered down to a rumble. The red light of its eye shifted back to a pale blue and it continued to whir.

Angela's heart sank deep into her. It was crying. Its head bobbed a little with its mechanical sobs, the body shook in tiny vibrations that rattled its various parts. It hunched over, putting its face into its hands. It was a sight that Angela had never believed she would see. Something that she didn't even think possible. Sympathy. She felt sympathy for something that she used to help defeat. Not just sympathy either, but a compassion that she only felt for wounded people, people she could fix and save. It wasn't scientific, she couldn't prove it in such a time, but the feeling inside her told her that Winston was right.

Stepping out from her nook by a tree, she raised her hands high. The Bastion turned towards her, its right arm, its gun arm, pointing towards her. She stopped and the unit looked down at its arm, whimpered, and turned away.

"It's okay," she said. "It's alright."

The unit turned its head around to face her, keeping its gun and body turned away. "Oh kay?" it buzzed. Angela cocked her head and a smile played across her face. She laughed a little to herself.

"Yes, yes," she said. "It's okay. It's okay."

The Bastion looked down at its bare shoulder and whined. Angela stepped forward again, removing the twig from her pocket and holding it out. "Look," she said. "He'll come back." As she got closer the Bastion unit turned towards her, body and all. "He'll come back." She was close enough that even an accidental burst from the unit's standard gun would tear her in half. Her body was trembling with anxiety, but she didn't feel fear. She only felt that compassion.

"Here," she said. She placed the twig on the unit's shoulder. "See?" She smiled at the unit and it looked at the twig on its shoulder, whirring and tweeting like the bird. Its voice went out into the trees and up into the sky. It's calling for him, she thought. She reached her hand out and placed it on his casing, feeling the heat of the machinery inside, and softness of the moss, and the roughness of the rust.

"Do you have a name?" The unit looked at her, twisted its legs and stood up, standing several feet taller than Angela. She swallowed, looking up at him. With a whiz it turns sideways and used its gun-arm to point at a patch on its side. There was an engraving, etched in as it was made in one of the many Omnic factories. Blood and rust was crusted in the name and number it was given. "Bastion-ES4".

"Bastion," she said. It beeped. "ES4?" It whirred. "I think Bastion'll do. Don't you think?" With a mouth, Angela heard it smile.

Just then, from the trees, the little yellow bird flew down, another twig in its mouth. It landed on Angela, looked at her, then at Bastion. The unit lifted its arm and the bird leapt onto a finger, walking quick up the arm and onto the shoulder with Angela's twig. Carefully, it placed the twig alongside Angela's and flew off into the trees to collect another.