Overwatch: Rise of the Successor

by SteelyThePally

Jackson, an uninspired boy from Baltimore, has a new light shone onto his uneventful life after being involved and playing a major role in a battle between heroes and villains for Doomfist's legendary Gauntlet in a Museum. Inspired by Tracer's words, he sets out on an ambitious journey to become a hero himself, and face all the challenges that come with it.

2. A Hero is Born

Hello everyone! I welcome you all to the new chapter of Overwatch: Rise of the Successor.

I first want to thank all who favorited, followed and reviewed the story. It's great for my esteem, and only gives me fuel to go on. Secondly, I'd like to apologize for the wait; I had tests, and the writing of the first chapter resulted in me failing two subjects.

Regardless, hope you all enjoy it!

...

Jackson's pen tapped impatiently against his notebook consistently, eyes glued to the piece of paper in front of him, brain working fervently on the task at hand. For a moment, it seemed that all sound around him had vanished, his concentration putting him under a trance of incessant ponderation.

How come that devising a decent name for him to use was this hard?

Not even a day as a self-proclaimed hero, and Jackson had gone through more stress than when he was faced with tests. He gritted his teeth, casting a dark look over the list of monikers he had come up with over the last half hour, eyebrows furrowing with the apparent lack of progress. He had thought of everything possible that didn't involve only Doomfist, as he wasn't exactly a candidate to inherit the legendary title, and he could classify the results as ranging from terrible to apocalyptic: Power Punch, Doomfist Jr. (Which was probably the silliest, and had multiple angry lines stricken over it.), Doomfist Boy, Gauntlet of Steel… None of them sounded good, or rather, fitting. He was not one to brag, so naming himself something overly pretentious or flashy was out of question, further reinforced by how any examples of that were scribbled over and already forgotten. Met with another dead end, he dropped the pen on the desk and exhaled, resting his cheek against his hand.

'Hmm… maybe Power Strike? Power Gauntlet…' He started to tap his pen again as new ideas came, writing down the most relevant ones. A part of him wanted to question the importance of creating a moniker, since his pursuit of a hero life could easily take a turn for the worst or never take off, yet said part was too insignificant to even have some weight in his decisions. Shrugging it off, his brainstorm resumed, 'Shock Fist? Shockwave sounds pretty cool, but I don't create any schoc-'

"Jackson, would you mind answering question number two for us?" A calm yet stern voice came, and suddenly Jackson was yanked off of his little world, and thrown back into school, inside the classroom he was currently in. Just the feeling of a couple of other people boring holes into his skull as they waited for his response was enough for him to quickly flip the pages on his notebook back to the where he had taken notes from his History classes, hiding the name list, and giving the question written on the board a good, examining look; "Explain the grinding halt of Napoleon's European conquest in 1812."

His stomach froze as nearly every student in the classroom turned to face him, his face becoming slightly red with the sudden attention. Thankfully, he had remember this part of History well, and the answer seemed to be on the tip of his tongue already. "W-well…" He started, clearing his throat to disguise his stutter. "He was invading Russia, but the weather conditions, more importantly the harsh winter, and the Russian's scorched earth strategies made Napoleon retreat…?"

An approving hum came from the teacher, - a middle aged man with greying hairs and a supposedly perpetual frown - he quickly wrote a more detailed version of his answer. Jackson sighed in relief. He wouldn't become laughing stock any time soon… or well, he already was. He winced grimly yet subtly at the memory of the upperclassmen that loved to mess with him whenever possible, and an ache came to his heart when he realized that they'd have more fuel to talk trash about him after what happened in the museum. He pushed his worries to the back of his head, and decided to focus on his teacher, who was still droning on about the questions regarding 19th century Europe.

Just as he was getting involved in the subject, however, the bell rang, signaling that break had started. The students sprung up from their desks with sudden enthusiasm, chatter filling the air in a matter of seconds. They all made a beeline towards the door and flooded the corridors, yet Jackson was considerably slower, collecting his lunch money as another student approached him, stopping and rocking back and forth on their feet. Jackson hurried up and put the money in his hoodie's pockets, turning around to face his friend, who gave him an ear to ear grin.

"You know…" He started, adjusting his big glasses as they walked out of the classroom, his dark, tidy brown hair giving him an aura of innocence. "It's quite… uh, what's that word?" A few snaps of his fingers, and he seemed to remember it, his features brightening, aided by his vibrant green eyes and freckles covering his cheeks and nose. "Refreshing! Yeah, well, it's pretty refreshing to see you with another expression other than your usual gloomy and bored face, Jack."

Jackson raised an eyebrow, yet he couldn't help but smile at the other boy, chuckling and sticking his hands in his pockets as he always did. "Really, Brian?" He protested, failing miserably at his attempt to sound bothered by the question. It was as if his old, rather grumpy self had been reduced to almost nothing at this point. "I mean, everyone I know at school has been telling me this. It's no big deal, you know."

"Of course it is a big deal, man!" Brian exclaimed, once again keeping his glasses from sliding down the bridge of his nose as he paced rather excitedly down the crowded hallway. "I'm not meaning to be rude or mean, but you were always down or uninspired since I've met you. But since that thing on the Museum happened, well, or at least since you've come to school today, you've been a lot happier and healthier looking."

Jackson chuckled again, this time making his lips curl in a small yet gentle smile that refused to go away. He had to admit, it was quite the radical change, yet it was ultimately fantastic for his mood; or in general, for himself as a whole. The utter boredom and lack of inspiration where long gone, replaced with the fresh sensation of a broad and active mind, coupled with newfound ambitions and goals. He suddenly smiled again, blue eyes staring out at the the school's cafeteria with no particular focus; This was surely the beginning of a new 'era' for him.

However, as he had predicted, his doings in the Museum didn't get that much recognition, at least not from anyone aged 15 and older. Some younger students from Middle School did come and congratulate him for his heroism, naming him a new 'hero' and possible new 'Overwatch' agent, yet only a handful from the freshmen and upperclassmen seemed to have even watched the news or cared about the events that occurred yesterday. Some thought he was bound to become arrogant and egotistical with all the attention, others probably catered to envy or plain ignorance and mocked him from afar. Now, Tracer's words surely made more sense. The world was sure in need of heroes. Or at least, it needed to have its sense of heroism repaired.

In all honesty, though, Jackson couldn't care much. He had been sterilized to mockery since 6th grade for being friends with the nerdy and supposedly awkward loner Brian Aston, and learned to cope with it rather than to fuel their fires by fighting back. Even with his accustomation, there was a certain quartet that he was always weary of. He scanned the cafeteria for the troublemakers, upperclassmen from rich families who were the walking definition of spoiled rotten and rebellious immaturity. Luckily, they were nowhere in sight, so Jackson and Brian had a safe trip to the line to get their lunch. No harassment for today, it seemed.

"So…" Brian started to rock on the balls of his feet again, waiting for the line to move already while Jackson simply stood by calmly. "Did anything else happen, after the museum? Like, did anyone call you?"

Jackson's eyebrow shot up instinctively, as if suspecting an imminent 'Did Overwatch contact you?' type of question. However, Brian wasn't his Overwatch-obsessed brother Albert, so he was probably just trying to make some small talk to keep the awkward silence away. "Uh, only some news stations, later at night, and the police wasn't so picky, I suppose. Mom and Dad kinda dealt with the whole thing, so nothing biggie." He shrugged, coughing on his hand as in an attempt to dodge the impending topic. "So yeah, just that."

"No, man, I meant, did like…" He stepped closer, cupping his hands and leaning in to whisper in his friend's ear. "Did the Overwatch contact you?"

Not a second went by and Jackson jumped back, eyes wide and staring at the other boy with sudden paranoia as if he had discovered some century-old secret that he intended to remain concealed. Brian threw his hands in the air as if someone had a gun pointed at his forehead, face quickly contorting with utter surprise and even a hint of fear, caused by his friend's rather insane look. A few more moments went by and they dropped their acts poses, noticing a couple of eyes on them. Jackson simply tucked his hands back into his pockets while Brian awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

"Sorry…" Jackson started, turning around to check how long the line was. Well, still pretty long. A sigh, and he turned back to Brian, an apologetic glint in his blue eyes. "My brother asked me that a thousand times, and, well, some of the freshmen did as well, when I arrived at school. It's just… getting a bit repetitive, you know." He made sure to word his reasons carefully,

Brian nodded, albeit a tad shaky and rosy on the cheeks as he noticed that his small exaggeration had earned him the attention of a few students. "It's okay, I understand. It must get a bit annoying." A pause, and he leaned in again. "But did they contact you or something?"

"No, they didn't. Well, one of them talked to me…" Jackson looked up towards the ceiling, an attempt to help his brain fabricate a few swerves away from the original story. "But it was just 'get to cover and be safe' stuff. I mean, why would they contact me anyway? They're disbanded, and they couldn't risk calling some random Baltimore kid, even more when the UN is on them for illegally acting against that one Act thing…"

"Yeah, the Petras Act…" Brain nodded, shrugging. "Still, it sounds like a possibility. Like, really, I'd die of envy if you ever got contacted by them. Who knows? They might be low on numbers or something, and…" The shorter boy trailed off, his attention diverting to something in the distance. Jackson raised a suspicious eyebrow, eyes trying to follow Brian's gaze… until he caught sight of a trio, the intensity of their malicious gazes seemingly boring holes on him. They laughed loudly, fingers pointing at them, and went on to do a few mocking gestures, yet Jackson was quick and turned Brian around before they could see anything.

"Idiots…" He muttered, voice quivering as he couldn't control the sheer feeling of intimidation brewing in his chest. Brian looked even more affected by their distant mockery, face frozen in an expression of worry, hands fiddling nervously. That alone was enough to send Jackson in a brief spurt of protectiveness, placing an arm around his friend's shoulder and blocking him from seeing the upperclassmen. A moment of uncertainty was spent, his brain racing to find the right words. "It's alright. They're just a bunch of losers. If anything, they'll come for me."

As the line moved and they went to grab their lunch, Jackson threw a look back, the bullies' eyes still set on him. Brandon, Paul and Ian. All upperclassmen coming from considerably rich families, the walking definition of what jocks are. He turned back around, earning another fit of exaggerated laughter to come from them. As far as he was concerned, they were all unloved morons preying on those they deemed to be 'weird' or anything remotely close to the concept of a 'social outcast' that didn't have a single popular acquaintance. While Jackson didn't quite fit in any of those, as far as he was concerned, his friendships with Brian and other less popular people branded him as a main target to them, considering many of his failed attempts to get them off Brian's back in the past.

While both Paul and Brandon kept snickering, Ian gave him an 'got my eyes on you' gesture, his face growing serious for a moment… and then he was back to laughing with his peers. Suddenly, anger boiled inside of Jack despite feeling rather frightened of what they had planned for later, and he clenched his fists, only stopping once he had to grab his lunch. He sighed, and his rage was rapidly replaced with frustration; If only I could ever get back at them… Jackson mused, his head dropping some as he stared at his hands… and an idea came to mind. His gauntlet! As delusional and impossible as it may have been, since Jackson wasn't the type to solve his problems with his knuckles… yet it seemed greatly convenient to get revenge after months of mockery.

A small smile appeared on his lips as his mind worked fervently with the fires of imagination.

…

Jackson sighed tiredly as he put on his extra shirt, taking a moment to wipe off some of the water that had stayed on his neck. His mood had improved greatly since lunch, given that the jocks didn't show up to torment him during the remainder of their break, and gym class had been rather satisfying. He folded his other t-shirt, slightly damp from the match of basketball they played earlier, and placed it together with his sports clothes in his bag, noticing that the last few students were already leaving the showers. He stretched his legs, despite their burning protests, and relaxed; Nothing like some peace and quiet after a long day at school. Brian had already left, as his house was on the opposite direction of Jackson's, leaving the latter the only student still in the showers.

Finally storing everything in his backpack, Jackson stood up and slung it over his shoulder, breathing deeply as a feeling of anticipation took over him. Not for the 'beat the jocks up' idea, no. He had discarded it somewhere along his Chemistry class, knowing that it'd probably get him arrested, or even worse: Terribly beaten up. His nemesis were, after all, much taller than him and probably much stronger, due to their prominent positions in the school's Neo-Football team. However, a new inspiration seeped in: His gauntlet. Ideas sprung up like daisies during Spring in his mind during English class, with so many designs (Be them logical or utterly impractical.) having been thought over. In the end, he still had to fix the rough edges problem, and design a practical outfit for him to use and hide his identity…

Jackson was suddenly yanked off of his train of thought as he left the shower room, a hand being harshly slammed against the wall, just barely missing his face. He closed his eyes out of instinct, body contorting as if expecting an impact… but there was only laughter. Mocking, deprecating laughter. He opened one eye, still cowering some, to be met with Ian's intense brown orbs, a mad smile playing on his lips, aided by his rather unkempt black hair. Brandon and Paul were snickering, hands closed into tight fists as if ready to strike. "Hey there, weak ass bitch! Had fun fisting yourself in front of your little bro, eh?"

They guffawed, effectively making Jackson curl on himself as much as he could. He had his arms held close to his stomach, guarding it against any possible hits. And a punch came, hitting him straight in the sides, awarding the aggressor with a low groan of pain. "You got the cameras blind, Paul?" Asked Ian, still keeping his victim in place with his hand. Paul nodded, holding his phone up, a hacking program of sorts playing on the screen. Jackson's eyes went wide, glancing desperately at the cameras perched on each side of the room; All deactivated, from what he could see. "Good. Little fuck boy here needs a quick PSA…"

Jackson would've tried to hide his fear by countering Ian's rather stupid use of the acronym 'PSA', yet his weak chuckle became a pained whine as Ian's knee connected with his stomach, somehow bypassing his precarious arm block. Jackson felt tears surfacing, but he somehow remained defiant, closing his eyes and swallowing the lump in his throat. Ian roughly pressed the smaller boy's shoulder against the wall, applying unnecessary force to keep him from running away. "Heard you've been trying to hit on Elena, haven't you?!" Another strike with his knee, this time hitting him under the ribs. "She's my girl, understand?"

"W-what?" Jackson replied desperately, his voice failing him, eyes glistening with fear and confusion. Elena was one of his friends, a good supporter of his, if anything. Due to his actions yesterday at the incident, she had been extra happier today, and due to her talkative nature, probably talked about Jackson a lot to… Ian? But they were never together... "I-I didn't hit on her! You know that!"

"Oh, you did, you dipshit!" Ian barked, pointing an accusing finger at Jackson. Brandon looked around, Ian's voice echoing in the hallway, and held his finger next to his mouth, as to tell his partner to be more silent regarding the whole situation. "She couldn't shut up about you today! About how you were 'amazing and brave'." He forced a feminine voice, eyes rolling for a moment before he paused. "You did, it didn't you? Oh boy, I'm going to fucking bash your head in…"

Ian raised his fist up, ready to strike Jackson dead on the head, but Paul cleared his throat, having finally stopped his fit of chuckles. "As much as I'd like to see Mr. 'I love fisting' get absolutely wrecked…" A pause, and he shot a rather smug look at Jackson. "He didn't hit on her. He doesn't have the balls to do it, and then again, who would even consider to take him seriously? Just look at him!"

Once again, the erupted in laughter, shaking Jackson's esteem severely. However, he summoned all the strength he had left in him, clenching his teeth and refusing to look at the jocks. Ian was the first to recover from their laughing fit, taking time to process the information given to him by Paul. "Yeah, I suppose you're right, dude." Ian removed his hand from the wall, prompting Jackson to leave an opening, only to clench it into a fist and strike straight at the boy's stomach. His peers feigned pained sounds, and Ian simply smiled at his handiwork, forcing Jackson to look up at him. "Mess with Elena again, and I'll make sure you and your little boyfriend's reputations are so shit that you both won't be able to leave your own houses. Understood?"

Even with all the fright, pain and humiliation that he was experiencing, he couldn't help but to doubt Ian's statement. He wasn't the brightest of the bunch, that was obvious (As far as he knew, Ian and his partners in crime had only reached senior year via their parents' money.), so such a thing would either flop or have little effect. Regardless, Brian's confidence was still at play, so he nodded, making his assailant finally release him. The younger boy pressed himself against the wall, breathing tiredly as he watched the trio walk off. They simply stared back, smiling once again, and giving him a mock salute while saying, "See you around, buck teeth!"

The painful reminder made him bring his hand to his mouth, gently touching his buck front teeth, a single tear sliding its way down his face. His arms hung loosely at his sides, his shoulders slumped forward, and his head was held low, more tears already welling at the corner of his eyes. Even if he wanted to drop to his knee and sob miserably, something inside told him that he wouldn't. Some sort of resistance. As the jocks left the hallway, he inhaled shakily yet sharply, wiping the tears off of his eyes and raising his head. He sniffled, fighting the feelings of fear and humiliation, giving more and more space to a newfound feeling of determination. It didn't feel instantaneously effective, he had to admit, but he surely felt so much stronger. Revitalized, even.

Forcing a stiff upper lip, Jackson pushed himself off of the wall, arms and legs trembling some from the combination of pain and emotional effort he pulled to remain motivated in the face of adversity. As much as it had hurt him, he felt… refreshed. Almost on par as to when he decided to work on his gauntlet. Certainly, he hadn't fully recovered from the experience, yet he found within himself something to withstand the jock's torment. And despite all the suffering, it felt amazing in the end.

Jackson walked down the corridor slowly, checking around him for any witnesses: Surprisingly, there were none. Granted, this part of the school was rather secluded, specially after school was over, but he still feared that someone from the staff would have seen the mess. Something inside him poked at his conscience, yearning him to go and report their abuse to the principal or some of the teachers. Jackson sighed, shrugging; It would do nothing. It was almost common knowledge that anyone with enough money and influence could dodge their way out of law's grip.

He was about to turn around the corner of the hallway, when he caught sight of the trio still hanging around in the other hall, chatting among themselves. While he would be more than glad to just take another route to the school's entrance and just avoid them altogether, his spirit of revenge flared for a moment, forcing him to stop dead on his tracks and press himself against the wall. Jackson then sidestepped till he was at the very edge of the wall, his ear just barely sticking out of the corner so he could hear whatever they were talking about.

"...So, now that we're done with that punk, can we kick that one thing we had planned off?" Paul inquired, once again using his phone's device to disable the cameras in the hallways. He brushed a hand through his undercut blonde hair, arrogantly staring at himself on his phone's camera once the hack had been done.

"Oh yeah, dude, I've been itching to get it going!" Brandon said, excitedly, jumping in place. While he wasn't particularly chubby, he was easily the stockiest of the trio, his brown hair styled after the military cuts of the modern days. "That pile of metal sure deserves what's coming to him for setting shop in our territory without siding with us…"

Jackson's eyes widened. Territory? What were they talking about? This new discovery made him move a little bit more, enough for him to see them in the corner of his eye. Ian reached for something inside his bag, pulling out what looked like three red colored bandanas, distributing them to the other two. "It sure does, guys… so, we're still crashing his - I mean, its place, right? Still the same time?"

"Yep. 11:30PM, Reverdy Road, '24/7 Convenience Shop', owned by that Omnic bastard. Not that hard to miss. It's not exactly Downtown, so it'll be easy to spot." Paul concluded, handing them small pieces of paper with, from what Jackson could assume, the information they needed. "We should get going now. School staff will suspect anything if we stick around any longer."

Ian and Brandon nodded, sharing a brief, rather specific fist bump with Paul before they walked down the hallway together, albeit more silently than before. Jackson released his breath once they were out of reach, quickly making his way over to the other halls as to avoid them. What on Earth was that?! They were planning to vandalize an Omnic's shop? They were supposedly very organized, as it seemed, and the colors on the bandanas… it may be a coincidence, but it sounded very gang-like. Despite all the implications, including the dangers of being overpowered by them or possibly arrested, Jackson had one certainty deep inside of him:

This was his chance to teach them a lesson, once and for all.

…

While his lying skills weren't the best, they could work fine with Albert. Jackson absolutely hated to lie to his brother, but it was necessary to keep his gauntlet and his projects in safety: His mother would be absolutely enraged to hear that her son was seeking to become a hero, or at least a vigilante. His father… well, being adventurous as he was, he wouldn't think much of it, but the risks that came with this new 'hobby' would surely worry him to no end. So, to work in peace in the basement, he decided to tell Albert that he'd be at Brian's; Only to sneak back in through the door leading to the house's backyard, then locking himself in his father's workshop.

Jackson worked fervently on his gauntlet, fueled both by his inspiration to become a lesser version of the legendary Doomfist, and now, with a new goal: To bring a stop to the trio's plan, and on the long run, make sure that they never bother anyone at school again. He had been working since he had arrived from school, having corrected most of the rough edges inside the hollowed Omnic's arm, and managing to stuff the innards of the weapon with softer materials plus his mother's old mittens, intended to lessen the pain of any punches he threw. While his welding was still far from good, he added extra plating to the knuckles with the help of duct tape once again, making the strikes hit a bit harder than before.

Or at least he assumed so.

Regardless, he had covered most of his improvements and perfections by the time his mother arrived, prompting him to rush his projects upstairs as quickly as he could. Nighttime with his family went smoothly, with no one suspecting of his plans and he himself having not been too affected by his encounter with the trio earlier that day. After all, he couldn't afford to feel even slightly bothered by it, not when he had a task at hand. Once everyone had gone to bed already, at roughly 10:30PM, Jackson sprung into action.

First, he needed something to wear. His gauntlet was pretty much ready, given extra plating on the forearms to act as protection against any sort of attacks in close quarters. But it wasn't wise to go out on the streets with his face exposed for all to see. After all, he'd be in big trouble if the trio knew it was him, as he didn't intend to kill them, but rather instill a lesson in their heads that they'd never forget. So, when everyone in the house was asleep, he jumped out of bed, going straight for his wardrobe.

As he browsed, he was relieved to notice that he had quite the extensive selection of clothes that could easily hide his true frame: His small period of enthusiasm for snowboarding when he was 13 left him with some equipment for the sport, including loose pants that barely fit him back then, goggles, gloves… well, he wouldn't use the jacket, for it wasn't that cold outside, and it would only lead him to suffer from overheating the second he left the house. Humming, he reached for the largest pair of snowboarding pants he owned, then his gloves, and his snowboarding goggles, which had blue reflecting lens, effectively hiding his eyes. Another hum, this one more satisfied, and his hands went instinctively for his blue hoodie, the one he had used on the day at the Museum.

He stared at it fondly, a small smile creeping on his lips. Even during his times as an uninspired teenager, Jackson couldn't help but to feel a level of pride for the he used to play StarCraft almost religiously, having bought the hoodie bearing the Raynor's Raiders' insignia out of love for the franchise. Though he may stopped playing it as frequently, the hoodie remained as one of his favorite clothes, and even if it could be used to link his hero/vigilante persona to the boy at the Museum, how many people must own a Raynor's Raiders hoodie these days?

Shrugging his shoulders, he was quick to remove his pajamas and dress up as his supposed outfit, noticing that his baggy pants weren't as baggy as they were two years ago, and the gloves hugged his hands much more than they used to do back then. Thankfully, his goggles still fit perfectly on his head, completely hiding his eyes, and his hoodie provided a great cover for his hair, as he had pulled the hood over his head. Once he was all dressed, he strapped his gauntlet on, which was lying on his bed, and stared at himself on the mirror:

Well, that was… somewhat strange.

He could easily get the 'Trashiest Hero of the Century' award dressed like this, if such an award even existed.

Despite his rather silly appearance, Jackson judged it as acceptable; After all, he was only a rookie, and rookie heroes usually didn't have flashy or amazing outfits, as far as he was concerned. Even if he was pretty much ready to go, he felt like something was missing. Something to hide his face… His eyes searched around his room, and he immediately went for his wardrobe again, opening it and looking at his 'oddities' cabinet, consisting of old wallets he had as a child, belts he never used, scarves that he also never touched and…

Oh God, no…

It couldn't be. His mother couldn't have kept it around.

His Old West black and white bandana, used back when he played a cowboy in a school play at the age of 6. Memories flashed in his mind, and only the mere act of touching it made him cringe. Dark times they were, indeed. Sadly for him, this was his only choice. He wouldn't use any shirt of his, as the wrinkles would alert his mother, and tablecloths were out of question. They were far too big for him, unless he was going for a poncho of sorts… Yeah, he'd stick with the bandana, as ridiculous as it was.

A look back at his mirror, and he immediately glanced away. He looked even sillier now. His black snowboarding pants went well with his hoodie, yet his gloves were white, and the colored visor of his goggles clashed tremendously with his hoodie and the old bandana. On top of that, his gauntlet looked completely out of place, the metallic covering shining under the faint moonlight that creeped in his room through the window. Jackson shrugged at his looks, however. As a final verdict, he could say that, at the very worse, he looked like a tryhard thug; And at the very best, he looked like something straight out of a post-apocalyptic world.

Needless to say, he went with the former.

Now that he had geared up, he looked at his gauntlet, opening and closing his hands. It certainly had a better appearance than yesterday, and his arm was much safer from the rough edges, and the insides were much less painful to have his hand in. Satisfied with the results, he picked his phone with his free hand, checking the time: 11:00PM. His eyes widened, and a sense of urgency rose in his stomach, being suddenly reminded of the raid the trio had planned. He rushed over to his desk, grabbing a small piece of paper containing the information about when they'd strike: 11:30PM, Reverdy Road, at a convenience shop owned by an Omnic. The location wasn't that far away from where he lived, though it would be a fifteen minute walk, no doubt.

He then grabbed his house keys, holding them tightly to keep them from making too much noise. While it didn't seem to be the brightest idea to leave his house through the front door to try and stop an act of vandalism and even robbery, his only other option would be jumping out of his window or using the door to the backyard; The former would certainly break his legs, and the latter was loud and creaky, so they were out of question. Jackson typed in the address on his phone's GPS, and sneaked downstairs, hesitating for a moment before unlocking the front door. A deep breath, and he opened it slowly, the hinges only protesting once. Here I go, I guess…

His stomach froze with both anticipation and worry, his legs carrying him unusually fast through the empty streets of his neighborhood, not a soul in sight due to how late in the night it already was. The walk to the street where the store was didn't turn out to be troublesome: He took multiple alleys as shortcuts, mostly to avoid any odd citizen wandering around from noticing the even odder teenager walking around all masked and with a makeshift gauntlet. After a couple more minutes of walking, he arrived at Reverdy Road via alleyway, sticking his head out of the dimly lit path to peek at the street.

Despite the emptiness found on the neighborhood, Reverdy Rd. seemed eerily empty for a street this wide. The light-posts provided precarious lighting, and the convenience shop stood out greatly in the darkness, only a couple of feet away from where he stood; It wasn't anything special, looking like your everyday shop, only driving home further the utter triviality displayed by the trio and all that committed crimes against the peaceful Omnics. Silence reigned supreme, save for the eventual howl of the wind, being so intense that Jackson felt like he was going deaf.

All the peace and quiet were torn apart, however, as a hover-car took appeared suddenly, taking a dangerous curve from the adjacent street and entering Reverdy Rd. at speeds way past the allowed limit. Jackson ducked as the headlights illuminated the streets, standing back up once it had passed. The vehicle stopped directly in front of the shop, three shady figures stepping out of it, sporting metallic baseball bats and walking menacingly towards the shop. One of them held a phone, and it was obvious already: They had arrived.

Jackson gulped, trying to swallow the lump of nervousness in his throat, and walked out of the alley, his gauntlet arm held at an attack angle. Once again, his stomach froze with anticipation, and he took advantage of their supposed tunnel-vision, breaking into a sudden sprint once one of the criminals smashed through the shop's window with their bat. That finally caught the attention of the delinquents, the one closer to him turning around and jumping back in surprise at the new arrival. "Hey, what are you doi-"

Before he could even complete the warning, Jackson threw himself in the air with a leap. For a split second, even with the bandana, he could see the face of Paul, contorted in a mixture of fright and surprise, before his gauntlet connected with the teenager's left cheek, the hard impact emitting a mixed sound of metal against flesh. Jackson then lost his momentum, landing safely on the sidewalk, while his opponent was knocked out cold, falling limply to the ground with a dull 'thud'.

His eyes went wide with the results, the adrenaline from his daring attack dulling the pain coming from his knuckles. The other two whipped their heads in his direction, holding their baseball bats shakily due to the unexpected arrival and assault by the mysterious newcomer. "W-what the hell?!" Asked one of them, presumably Ian, as the voice sounded way too far pitched to be Brandon. "D-did he just…"

"You asshole! You can't stop the Kings!" Ian barked suddenly, bat held in a menacing angle. Brandon tried to join in, yet he was pushed aside by his partner, deciding to hang back, confident that his friend would defeat their new opponent without breaking a sweat. Jackson froze in place as Ian approached him, holding his arms in front of his face in a precarious block against the incoming strike. The second he saw the bat being swung, however, he leaped backwards out of instinct, the tip of the weapon barely missing his face.

Ian didn't seem to be able to withstand the force of his own swing, leaving himself open for a moment. Jackson didn't hesitate: His gauntlet arm swung back, and while it was badly aimed, it landed straight on the older boy's arm, earning him a loud scream of pain as Ian stumbled back. He dropped his weapon and clutched the affected spot, whining as he retreated. "Aw, my arm! What the fuck, dude?! He broke my arm!"

Brandon shook his head in disappointment, pushing Ian back with his shoulder before advancing much more intimidatingly at Jackson. The smaller teenager gulped, once again blocking with his arms, expecting another overhead strike… one that never came. He peeked out of his block for a moment, only to see Brandon swinging his weapon sideways. Jack had little time to react as the bat struck against his gauntlet, the force of the impact somehow bypassing the plating and leaving a terrible pain on the spot it hit. The boy clenched his teeth, stumbling back as he struggled to contain a yelp of hurt.

The stocky delinquent didn't stop, however, not halting his advance as he prepared for another swing. Jackson groaned, the adrenaline finally managing to dull his discomfort some as he continued to retreat. Brandon swung again, yet this time Jackson was once again guided by his instincts: He ducked as low as he could, nearly losing his balance, but effectively dodging the attack. Brandon's eyebrows shot up in surprise, only to furrow immediately after, as Jackson threw a desperate punch against his knee. He recoiled, seething angrily through his teeth. Jack then stood up shakily, launching another punch towards Brandon, this one hitting him dead in the stomach. A groan escaped his throat, and the giant started to retreat, struggling to fight back.

Fueled by his adrenaline, Jackson became bold, walking with confidence towards his opponent. In a desperate effort to save himself, Brandon swung horizontally again, at the same time as Jack threw a punch directed to his face: They both exchanged blows, with Brandon's bat delivering a stinging pain to Jack's upper arm, while the inexperienced jab from the younger teenager hit him under the chin. They both recoiled, yet the smaller boy remained on his feet, albeit in pain, while the taller one fell like a ragdoll on his back, joining Paul in his unconscious state.

Clutching his arm with his gauntlet, Jackson groaned again, the pain managing to end his adrenaline rush for good. He was left panting, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, shoulders slumped forward as he rested his hands on his knees. A few whines came, and he looked back up, noticing that Ian still stood, yet was having trouble recovering from the punch he took to the arm. "G-guys?" Ian asked, shakily, eyes glancing with desperation at his knocked out comrades. "C-C'mon, it's a 3 vs 1… the Baltimore Kings never lose, right?"

Jackson froze. The Baltimore Kings?! They were the biggest gang - hell, they were the equivalent of a mafia at this point - in the city, powerful enough to stand up to the police. This was more than enough for Ian to regain part of his courage, standing back up and shakily raising his bat over his head once again. His attack was weak, however, and came slow enough for Jackson to strike against the weapon, the gauntlet's strength throwing it several feet into the air. Ian stared hopelessly as he was disarmed, an unmanly yelp coming from his throat. "Y-you little fu-"

He was stopped mid-sentence as Jackson unloaded all of his anger in one powerful punch to the face, miraculously throwing Ian away from him. The blow was strong enough to send the now barely conscious criminal sliding against the sidewalk before coming to a halt, moaning and speaking gibberish.

Silence fell like a hammer, and Jackson stared wide eyed at the verdict of the battle, wincing as both his arms and his knuckles stung with sharp, persistent pain. Even if he had been hurt, he couldn't help but to feel absurdly lucky. He somehow managed to defeat three teenagers older and taller than him, with just a makeshift weapon and little knowledge on how to punch properly. Granted, his opponents weren't professional fighters, but it was still an accomplishment.

"Oh, sir…" Came a robotic voice, prompting Jason to whip his head to the right. He caught sight of the shop's owner, an Omnic dressed in a cashier apron, who held their hands together in a gesture of utter gratitude. They briefly glanced at the damaged window, but their focus was directed towards the masked figure that saved his shop. "I… thank you. I cannot find a way to express my appreciation for what you did."

Jackson couldn't help but to feel his face heat up, awkwardly placing his hands behind his back as he tried to find something to say, and a way to conceal his actual voice. "Uh, no problem, friend." He said, forcing a deeper tone. "Call the police and… stay safe." An awkward salute, and he walked off, eventually breaking into a sprint, all while huffing and groaning in pain. While he was fearful for his life - or at least, the safety of his persona - for messing with the Kings, there was a different feeling in his chest. One of accomplishment, of sympathy, of inspiration.

Finally, he felt like a true hero.

…

Unbeknownst to Jackson, a lone figure had watched the scene from atop the rooftop of a small building across the street, silent and utterly concealed. It seemed impatient, or at least displeased, as it was beaten to the chase for the crime scene. As the situation had been solved, by that odd kid with the gauntlet, it simply stood up, its glaring red visor following the young savior until he turned into an alleyway, disappearing from view just as the police hover-cars closed in the location, arresting the barely conscious delinquents and questioning the owner of the shop for the victor of the small battle.

It grunted, the glare of its visor intensifying for a brief moment before it too disappeared, jumping down from the rooftop and landing somewhere down the nearby alleyways.

Despite its disappointment and frustration, it was sure of one thing: There was fresh blood in the scene…

…

Well, that's a wrap. Just to clarify, 'neo-football' and 'hover-cars' are just terms used to help characterize the futuristic universe of Overwatch. After all, I'm sure it's set a couple of decades in the future.

Regardless, please, do leave a review. It helps me pinpoint what I need to maintain or improve to provide you guys with quality content. In the end, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

-SteelyThePally