Thankfully, after the program that taught me everything I knew was shut down, the government released some partial information about it. Thankfully, they only released names to organizations that would benefit the girl involved. Overwatch was one of those organizations. They read over my so called "resumé" and offered me a job as a high ranking officer on the team. I accepted with gusto, taking my few belongings from my little apartment in Berlin, and to an island in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. An airship flew me there, nearly half a day's flight, just for me to arrive at a small island I was supposed to call home. It had a watch tower, an air bay, along with a large, bustling HQ. There were living units, where the members slept. Of course, the higher ranking the officer, the better the room. I was started on the lowest tier of Rank 1 officers, and would move up through the ranks until I hit Commander status. I doubted I would be old enough to make it there though.

Overwatch was still a new concept, a single team of highly capable gunslingers and mercenaries. Criminals, and army men alike, they were all in this group of organized peacekeepers. They were only called upon for large issues, terrorism, or even the brink of war. It was intimidating, since I just helped Germany in order, which was a job within itself, and now, I was helping a group of about twenty, keep the world in it's place. They almost always found a way to get through their missions without any casualties, for them and their enemies. It was an admirable group of pure heroism, something that didn't really seem like it was for me the more I sat on the airship and thought about it.

I stepped off the airship, it was mid winter, and snow covered the island. Metal containers, which were supposedly buildings, had large symbols, the Overwatch symbol, which vaguely resembled a peace sign, was on the side of each one, along with the intended use of the building. I was to report to HQ, the largest and tallest building next to the watch tower. I walked in the sliding front door, seeing dozens of mechs delivering papers to people and offices. I was quickly greeted by one of said mechs, who led me to the office of Strike Commander Jack Morrison.

I opened the door after the mech let the Commander know I had arrived. A tall, muscular, man looked at me, with glowing blue eyes. He looked stern, like a smile had never graced his lips. I could easily see him in a leadership position, coincidentally, that's where he was. The Strike Commander of Overwatch, he was maybe thirty at the oldest, but younger than I had assumed he would be. I presumed that whoever assigned the roles, did so by rank by military most likely. He stood with a certain composure that told me he had a military background, the way he was organized confirmed that. With his name, I could also assume he was American, maybe British, but definitely a language that spoke English.

I had learned English in my years with Mother's organization, the tongue of Overwatch. It felt like so soon to be jumping back into the fray. The life of going on missions and filling out paperwork. I had to interact with people who were almost undoubtedly friendly, and I since this was my new job, and home, I had to make peace with everyone. Jack Morrison, was probably not the kind of man who wanted to make nice at work though. So, I ultimately came to the decision that I would analyze him further in his leisure hours.

"I'll skip introductions since we're already aware of each other. I've been debriefed on your background with your government's organization, and it's quite impressive, you've been on capture and retrieve missions since you were sixteen, undercover operations to dig up information." Commander Morrison picked up a file with my name on it. "There's no files here on your childhood strangely enough though. Care to explain?"

I had repeated this story to the political figureheads many times. It was completely made up, but it was much easier than explaining my complicated younger years over and over again. "My records were burned in a fire at the orphanage. I was brought there as a baby."

"I understand. Now, I've been assigned to assess your skills. Shall we?"

I nodded, Commander Morrison led me into a training room, with the same, but more advanced, shooting range that Mother had. Jack set the training simulator on the lowest setting at first, giving me a wide variety of weapons to choose from. I took a few daggers and strapped them to my belt, along with a pair of pistols. One attached to my thigh, the other in my hand. I took my place in the center of the field, letting the holograms start up. A trio of men with guns showed up around me, surrounding me. I roundhouse kicked one in the face, shooting another and tossing a blade with my other hand.

The settings must've gone from easy to hard in a matter of seconds, because nearly ten men came at me simultaneously. I picked up my second gun, shooting two in the face, leaving me with eight more enemies. One got close enough for me to slam my foot into his chest, giving me an escape point and managing to shoot another holograph on my way out. I felt a holographic bullet graze my arm, ignoring the sting, I pulled the triggers on both guns and watched as I shot the rest of the holograms dead.

I looked to my Commander, seeing him nod. "You can handle yourself, are you used to working in teams?"

"Pairs, one partner." I got a small shiver as I remembered my duo days.

"Well, you need to get used to keeping your eyes on multiple people. Got it?" I gave a nod, and was escorted out of the training center. "We'll have to put in a custom order for your weapons-"

"I can make my own." I interrupted. Morrison eyed me carefully.

"You're experienced with gunsmithing?"

"My organization had me make my own weapons and learn how to repair them, I can repair any gun you hand me." I lied to him. My father was the real reason why I knew how to work a gun. Before he passed away, he was a gunsmith. I worked in his shop sometimes, but I had never been interested in weapons before that.

The Strike Commander nodded. "We'll be sure to put you to work then. You can handle a few repairs, I assume?" Once again, I nodded. We walked for a while, before Morrison finally stopped at a room. My room I assumed. It was large enough, with a nice queen sized bed and a closet full of clothing, strangely, all my size and my taste. "Dinner is at eighteen hundred every evening, otherwise, you can get food at the vending machines scattered around here."

I nodded. "Thank you, Sir."

He returned the gesture, and left me to my bearings. I gently set my folded piece of fabric on my dresser, laying in my bed for a few moments. I stared up at my bland, white, ceiling. But I could see the ocean from my window, where I could watch the sea roll its waves over the shore for hours. As I watched the sea, I remembered I had responsibilities, I had to go find an office and set up my mailbox, tedious things that I could do at anytime. But first, I decided to explore, getting up, and sliding my hand across my dresser to pick up my scrap.

I walked the grounds a bit, finding a workout loft, with benches and treadmills, pull up bars, then all the fancy stuff that looked far to mechanical for me to use. The next building, the watch tower, it was tall and cylindrical, mechs swarmed the place, keeping an eye on everything in Gibraltar. It was a freezing cold room, but I quickly realized that omnimechs really didn't need warmth, kinda like how they needed maintenance once a month, and humans don't. The omnimech crisis really wasn't my problem, I was fine with mechs whether we were helping them or they were helping the human race.

After leaving the watchtower, I came across another set of living quarters, a medical center, and the cafeteria, which was full of pretty much every single member of Overwatch. This naturally, was quite overwhelming for me, so I decided to opt out for the time being, and kept on going on my own little tour. I hit the elevator button down the bottom floor, below ground and almost completely soundproof. When the door opened, I was surprised to find a workshop, with metal cutting machines, along with a shooting range, and even a station to make your own bullets. I was almost shocked to see it completely empty, no one working to repair their guns? Even when tragedy could strike at any time? I picked up a book, a set of instructions for making different kinds of guns. I almost laughed at some of the designs, typical American rifles, pistols, even machine guns. I tossed it aside, and almost immediately got to work.

With my long, curly, gingerbread colored hair tied back into a high ponytail, I put on a pair of goggles and went to work cutting metal. Sparks flew as I focused in on the crafting of my new gun, I finally got all my different plates and shells of my gun put together, and I began to cut screw holes into them, making sure they would all fit perfectly. I took my iron pieces, some metal, going to the machine that gave them a glossy coat of new paint, a matte black, something discreet, something you couldn't see in the dark. I hadn't even noticed that someone had come down into the workshop, a woman with long black hair, and a tattoo of what I assumed to be the Eye of Horus, around her own dark brown eye. She seemed to be approximately twenty six. The woman held herself up with a sense of confidence, but seemed warm and welcoming as well.

I looked at her, and she looked at me. "You must be our new sharpshooter." She smiled, walking towards me with a sniper rifle. The older woman offered her hand, and I took it, shaking it and remembering that I had to work with these people now. They weren't just some people on posters anymore. "Clara Weber." I greeted, my thick German accent sounding almost harsh against her beautiful and silky Egyptian one.

"Captain Ana Amari, it's wonderful to finally meet you." The timer on my now dried metal plates beeped, catching my attention. "You're making a gun?" She looked at me like she'd never seen such a thing.

"I knew I was going to have to do it eventually. My old ones were taken by the German government." I replied, explaining my predicament. The Captain of Overwatch went flipping through the book of gun designs, trying to determine which one I was using.

"You've come up with your own design too." The woman continued to state the obvious.

"I did," I nodded. "I didn't like the American weaponry designs I had to choose from. I'd rather make my own."

"You're a gunsmith?" Captain Amari asked hopefully.

I took a brief pause, thinking on my answer as I began to piece my masterpiece together. "...I suppose so."

The Captain continued to nod. "So, I suppose you could take a look at my rifle? The damn thing is so old, it barely fires without something falling off."

"If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to finish my own first, afterwards though, I'd be happy to assist you." I looked at the woman, giving a slight smile.

"That'd be very kind of you, I appreciate it."

Captain Amari headed back up the elevator, leaving her precious gun with me. I paused while my machine was cranking out custom piercing bullets for my gun to grab a few snacks out of one of the vending machines, shoving an Overwatch credit card into it, and having a few bags of chips and a large water pop out. I took it back to my spot, and began to work and eat. As I finished my gun, two pistols, one with an elongated tip for firing further, and one with a silencer, I took them both to the shooting range. Both worked effortlessly, which made me smile, knowing my father would be quite proud.

I found a pair of identical holsters, both of which easily attached to my belt and were snug enough to hold my guns. They were black leather, with Overwatch symbols printed on the flap. A few seconds later, staring down at my guns, I remembered what my Father had said to Albin, about him joining the German military, how proud he'd be. My mother strongly disapproved of it, saying it was far too dangerous and that my brother would hate it. But after our father died, Albin ran away, to a woman he had met through the internet, Samaira, saying he was in love and having a baby with her. That was when I was twelve, a year before the attack on Eichenwald. I hadn't seen him since then, I doubt he knew anything about my disappearance, or my mother's for that matter.

Mother…. I sighed at the thought of her. I knew she was dead. She had to be. My mother was a loving one, who always put her children first and was selfless. The thought of her intentionally leaving me, it wasn't even a thought, or an idea of a thought. It was impossible. My mother was dead, or she would have found me. I shook off the feeling of my family, knowing I was my own person now, and my only family left was off living his own life, with a happy family somewhere far away from me.

I picked up Captain Amari's once custom made gun. I could tell it was made in Egypt, the style and materials. Golden accents, black metal. It was very well made, but definitely not reliable enough for combat. So, I scrapped the whole thing, and decided to just remake the damn thing. It was simple enough, the body was almost one piece, sure, custom made, but not exactly difficult to replicate. I went back into the same process, cutting out hunks of metal, welding them together with a metal melting, concentrated, heat, making a long, slim, piece that connected all the smaller ones. My father always told me gunsmithing was like making your own puzzle, and then putting the pieces you made together.

It must have gotten late, because the next thing I knew, I heard the elevator open and I saw my Commander pop out of it, seeing me in nothing but my tanktop and jeans, a welding mask on, holding a blowtorch. I most likely wouldn't have struck anyone as too approachable at that moment in time, but according to my Commander, I was.

"I see you've already gotten acquainted with the workshop." Morrison was wearing more casual clothing now, not his long blue cape with the Overwatch symbol. He was holding what I assumed to be his gun, a rifle, a pulse gun with piercing bullets, using light energy instead of other sources to shoot. It was fitting for him.

I looked at his gun. "Did you come down here to ask me to fix your gun?" I flipped off my mask, my hair coming out of the ponytail in strands.

The Commander smirked. "What gave it away?"

Crossing my arms, I gave a small smile. "Well, unless you just walk around the grounds with your gun…"

"What if I were guarding?"

"From what? We're on an island in the middle of the Atlantic." I shook my head and smiled. Jack slid his gun to me, I picked it up, staring down the sights and aimed it, that's when I saw it, the place that held the clip of bullets, it was too worn, you couldn't hold a clip in there without it falling out. I looked at Commander Morrison. "I can fix it if you'd like."

"Actually, I'd like you to show me how to fix it. If I'm ever in a situation where my gun breaks down, and if you're not around, I need to know how to fix it myself."

I tilted my head to the side, smiling. "Well, I'm sure I can show you a thing or two."
I was surprised at the willingness to trust others so quickly in this group, men and women from all over the world, giving each other their complete and utter respect and trust. It was… impressive to say in the least. Now my Commander, the man I was supposed to be asking for help, was coming to me and asking for me to assist him. It was a great indicator that he wasn't stubborn about the little things. So, I took a break from Captain Amari's rifle, slipping out of my helmet and into a whole new ball game. The rifle was custom built almost undoubtedly, which means I had to figure out how another man worked.

The gun was American, I could tell from the inner workings of the thing. Simple, but packs a punch screams American gunsmithing. So, I began to take the rifle apart piece by piece, explaining each one's purpose and then setting it off to the side of the workbench. As soon as I finished, I looked at my Commander and gave a simple order. "Now put it back together."

Morrison gave a laugh, then looked at my expression. "What good will that do?"

"It'll make you remember everything's function, and rationalize where and what would be the source of the problem." I explained, a hand on my hip.

"Alright, shouldn't be too difficult…" I could tell as soon as the words left his lips, Morrison regretted his statement. I watched the clock as I worked on Ana's gun, not very surprisingly, I finished before Morrison did.

Watching him work, I got an odd sense of deja vu. I stared intensely at my Commander, examining him from head to toe. There was something so strikingly familiar, it almost hurt that I couldn't figure it out. But, Commander Morrison looked up from his work.

"May I offer my assistance?" I stood from my own welding station, and approached the workbench. Morrison seemed a touch uncomfortable as I leaned over into his workspace, making him get up and take a step back. I thought nothing of it, and scooted over into his seat. Commander Morrison just watched over my shoulder, beginning to pace as I began to find matching grooves and screw holes.

"Weber," he began. "You explained to me that you were brought to an orphanage as a baby."

"I was." I agreed, not really listening too much as I worked on repairing the gun.

"What town was that in? If you wouldn't mind sharing." Morrison was just making light conversation, making an effort to get to know me. And truthfully, if I had been paying closer attention, I would have lied and pushed him away. But, I wasn't.

"Neuses." I kept on working, not even realizing my truthfulness.

"Neuses…?" He asked, the city's name seemed to strike a chord with him. Commander Morrison paused and remained quiet for a few moments. Meanwhile, I was busy trying to find a very small piece of the rifle either I or Morrison had misplaced. I looked up at him, brushing hair from my face.

"You seem to be…" I paused, the English word slipping my head. I snapped my fingers until it finally came to me. "Missing," I spoke again before I forgot it. "You're missing a piece of your rifle."

Morrison looked at me suddenly, he was holding a piece in his hand without even thinking of it. He handed it to me, looking at me intensely and in awe. "Is Neuses anywhere near Eichenwald…?" Morrison asked me, catching my attention.

I paused, my words getting caught in my throat. I had no idea what he was getting at. "I-I believe so." I replied truthfully.

I turned and went back to my work of finishing my Commander's gun, having no clue if I had said something wrong or incorrect. Morrison looked like he was having an epiphany, like everything in his life was coming together and making sense. Morrison finally took a deep breath, and regained himself. I snapped the final piece in place, and handed him his rifle. "Thank you," Commander Morrison replied, keeping a stern look. "I expect to see you at breakfast tomorrow morning."

I looked at him, and nodded. "Yes sir…" I spoke meekly as he went up the elevator to God only knows where, and left me alone in the silent workshop once again.