Revised on the 16th of September 2017
Watchpoint: Gibraltar, Mediterranean, Europe
2076
A brunette woman in a white tank top and red work pants was walking down a rarely used hallway of the Watchpoint, one she did not really want to be in, considering who else was occupying the block. Someone had to be tasked with bringing the prisoner a tray of food, and of course, it had to be her to carry it out. She was one of the few non-agents to answer the call to Overwatch. Well, she "answered" at the behest of her traveling friend, Reinhardt; Mainly doing menial tasks and ensuring the base was in tiptop condition with her mechanic skills. It wasn't an easy job by any measure, but she signed up to serve a purpose and contribute something to the world. She didn't always enjoy taking risks, however, such as delivering food to the man who appeared out of nowhere and attacked her colleagues/friends.
Unfortunately, Reinhardt couldn't accompany her and escort her to the cell, as he was called in for a meeting with Winston and Angela for some reason. She did have Lena with her, taking the lead and guiding the mechanic through the hallway. Even though the chances of the man getting out of the cell and causing trouble were slim, she was at least comforted by the thought of an agent with her, in case the need arose.
"Nothing to worry about, Brigitte," the bubbly woman said to subside her worries. "Everything should be peachy as long as I'm here."
"Thanks for coming along, Lena," Brigitte gratefully replied. "Are you okay doing this, though? It hasn't been long since you've... Well... Fought him and got hurt. And I doubt he would forget so soon."
Lena merely glanced over her shoulder at Brigitte, before directing her gaze onwards. She wasn't scared of him, but damn well knew that he was capable of inflicting pain. The bruising and numbing pain on her chest was proof of that. So, it was best to be wary.
After a short amount of time, they reached the outside of the man's cell, and Lena decided to hang back and stay out of sight of his view but still be close by in case things went awry. Giving a courteous nod to her, Brigitte takes in a deep breath. Readying herself, she stepped forward and faced the inside of the cell, and flinched in surprise.
The man was in his cell but was leaning upright against the wall adjacent to the door with his arms crossed over his chest. He was a foot or two away from where the door was and was looking directly at the woman in the tank top. Brigitte stood there, not expecting him to be standing up against the glass, before collecting herself and clearing her throat.
"Uh, food's here," she stated as she looked over the man's form.
'Wow, he's tall!' she thought to herself, noticing how the man probably had half-a-foot over her. 'And what's up with those scars?'
She bent down, still eyeing the man who also kept his eyes on her. Grabbing a knob located at the base of the door, she flipped it up and slowly slid the tray of food under and towards the man in the cell. When the tray finally became clear of the door, she swiftly retracted her arm and stood back up. The man only continued staring at her with a slight frown, glanced down at the food, and went back to staring at her with an eyebrow propped. After a few moments of silence, the mechanic decides it was the time to leave.
"Well, uh, bye!" she says as she turns back to the door.
"What's your name?" she hears the man ask, in a gruff and low voice.
Brigitte stepped back to the cell and still saw the man leaning onto the wall with that neutral stare.
"Uh, excuse me?" she asks, acting coy.
"Your name," he repeats, his tone ripe with growing frustration. "What is it?"
Brigitte's eyes swiveled to her left to Lena, who was intently listening to their conversation with her brow furrowed, most likely directed at the cell's occupant. Lena looked back at Brigitte and shrugged as she was unsure of what direction take. The taller woman decided to go along, for now.
"Uh, I'm Brigitte," she reluctantly answers. "I'm the mechanic here…"
"Hmm," the man let out. "Would that mean you would be able to talk to whoever's running this show?"
The mechanic wasn't sure what to make of that question, but she answered nonetheless. "Yeah, I guess… Why?"
The man's brows furrowed before he pushed himself off the wall and faced the woman in front of the glass. He began to explain, his voice lightly laden with aggression, "The reason 'why' is because I want you to tell them that if they decide to keep me locked in here like a rat, they should at least tell me why and who the hell they are. And no 'messenger-in-between bullshit' either. Face-to-face. Can I count on you to put in that request?"
'Great! I'm an errand boy for the prisoner now!' she wanted to yell but didn't due to present company. Still, her face scrunched up at the thought of letting him get closer to her friends and colleagues.
"I can try... but no promises," she muttered.
The man's harsh gaze softened a little as he bent down and picked up the tray, before turning his back to her and walking to the bed. "Thanks for the food."
A bit dumbstruck and standing there awkwardly for a couple of seconds, Brigitte swiftly left his cell and made her way back to the door. Lena soon joined her and it wasn't long when they finally exited out of the door from the cell block.
"So, Brig..." Lena began, giving the other woman an inquisitive look. "You going to do as he says? I'm not exactly eager to fill out his request."
Brigitte's face contorted, weighing the options in her head. Sure, this guy was scary and dangerous, but they dealt with him once, before. She was also sure they had their own questions to ask if that impromptu meeting Reinhardt and the others had was any indication.
"Might as well tell them," she said, shaking her head.
Angela Ziegler was walking through the halls as she made her way through the doors of the cell-block, a holopad in hand. Due to the nature of Watchpoint: Gibraltar, the cellblock was small in comparison to its counterparts and was only meant to be something of periodic use. So, she had no trouble finding and going through another set of doors that led to the interrogation rooms. Making her way to them, she sees McCree standing guard in front of one of the doors. He looked at her and greeted her with a tip of his hat.
"He's in there like you wanted," the man with the big revolver on his hip said, pointing his metal thumb back at the door. "Chained up and going nowhere. Holler if you need help, y'hear?"
McCree steps out of the way for Dr. Ziegler to go through. Before she does, she adjusts a holster situated onto her backside, making sure that it is at least covered by the piece of hanging cloth. She was wearing her Valkyrie suit minus the wings, halo, and sleeves. She hoped things would stay relatively peaceful, and originally objected to bringing her blaster and suit with her, thinking it could potentially sour trying to form some non-hostile relations with the man. She relented, however, due to her friends' concerns. At least McCree would be right outside the door if there was trouble.
Pressing a button on the panel, the door slides open and the room is revealed to her as she walks in. It is compact, with four white walls forming a square illuminated by a hanging lightbar. On one of the walls was a mirrored window, and she was certain Winston was on the other side. In the middle of the room was a metal table and two metal chairs, one of them already occupied. The stranger sat in the chair, his hands handcuffed to the table. He was leaning over the table, staring blankly at his hands, apparently unaware of the blonde in the room.
"Ahem," the doctor clears her throat, catching his attention, and causing him to sit upright in his chair and address her with a neutral look. The door closes behind the doctor as she sits down onto the opposing chair and sets her pad onto the table. She crosses her hands onto the table and addresses the man with a slight smile. "Good day. You requested to see me?"
The man's eyes look over the woman, before saying, "I wanted to see someone… So, yeah."
"Good," the blonde stated. "Because I wish to use this opportunity to discuss some things with you. To ask you questions me and my colleagues. I'm also aware you also have questions of your own, yes? That you wish to be answered?"
"Why else would I agree to be shackled here?" he said, holding up his hands for emphasis as his face curled into a slight frown.
"Well, I apologize for the 'precautionary measures' as my friends put it, but I'll be sure to be fair and equitable to you if you decide to answer any questions I have; and please, call me Dr. Ziegler."
"Zie-gler?" he muttered under his breath, mouthing the motion of uttering that name, seeing how it rolled off his tongue. "That's a… German name, is it?"
"Ja," Ziegler confirmed in German, a bit puzzled why he would ask such a question now. "Have you ever been to Germany?"
The Waster looks up and regards her with a tilt of confusion as he shakes his head.
"No, I haven't…" he says, Ziegler noting the odd behavior but decides to not speak up about it. There were more pressing matters to delve into anyway.
Adjusting her holopad so it could stand and taking out a stylus, she began writing onto it until she stopped and addressed the man once again.
"First things first," she said. "Who are you? What is your name?"
He opened his mouth to respond but choked up a bit. He was hesitant to say anything. Saying the wrong thing or revealing the wrong information could lead to consequences down the line. It taught him to not be careless when he ran his mouth off. However, his name wasn't exactly a secret. Sure, he was more associated with his calling than what was given to him at birth, but plenty of people knew his actual name. And revealing his identity probably would help him find his way back home easier. Probably.
"Nathan Brin," he answered, hoping revealing his name won't bite him in the ass later. "My name is Nathan Brin."
"Well Nathan, if I can call you that?"
He shrugged in indifference.
"Where are you from?"
"California."
"So, you're American?"
Nathan's head snapped to hearing that word. Why would she say that? America and basically all the Old World has been dead for 200 years. Something was off. From the colorful cast of characters he fought, the Pip-Boy telling him he was in Gibraltar, the strange technology, and architecture, unlike anything he's seen, to the "German" in front of him. Some ideas started to form in his head: Answers to where - and when - he was teleported to. He wanted to wait first, before coming to a conclusion. Especially one as improbable as that.
"Yeah… I guess," the Californian answered.
"How old are you?" the Doctor asked, Nathan still unsure if she genuinely cared about what he said or was just going through a list.
"40," he responded as he watched the blonde write more onto that "computer" of hers. Finishing, she looks up from her pad and exhales, as if readying herself for something.
"Now for the more important questions," she said, her tone becoming more serious. "Questions that we really must need an answer for if we are to… Decide what to do with you?"
"You're just going to shoot me in the head and bury me in a ditch somewhere, are ya'?"
That question visibly took Angela by surprise. Her eyes becoming wide as disks with how unexpected that question was.
"What?!" Dr. Ziegler exclaimed, shocked. "No! No! We would never do such a thing!"
Nathan just stared at her, with a stone expression.
"No, it's just… With how you 'appeared' in this base and how aggressive you acted, we had to take certain precautions."
"If I was such a huge pain to all of you, why am I still here? Why not drop me off somewhere and be done with me or finish me off in the beginning?"
"Well, with how you acted and fought, as well as the 'items' you had on you; some interest has sparked among me and my colleagues. We just wish to have a full picture before concluding. Make sense?" she puts on a feigned smile.
"The use of the words 'items' and 'interest' make this sound like some sort of exchange, am I wrong?"
Ziegler hesitated before answering that question. In a way, he wasn't wrong. Winston and even herself had developed a certain amount of interest in the technology he brought with him, thinking it could be of some benefit to newly reformed Overwatch. They just needed someone who was familiar with the tech and willing to cooperate. Maybe then, they could figure out what to do with him. Help him, if necessary. That could be their end of the bargain for him if the others agreed. In all honesty, she didn't like holding him prisoner and forcing him to bargain. It was... Too reminiscent of a by-gone era. One she wished to avoid in this "new Overwatch" if it had a chance at all.
"No," Dr. Ziegler stated. "You are not wrong. I promise, though, this exchange can be beneficial for both parties. We would acquire promising technology while you…"
"Get back home," Brin finished for her. "Back in one piece, I hope."
"Of course!" she agreed, more jovial than she was moments ago, though it seemed rather ill-fated. "Now, onto the decisive questions."
Angela brought up a page onto her pad, on it was a series of questions that she would no doubt be going over with Nathan. The more Nathan saw the doctor use that device the more he got intrigued. Another piece of strange tech he's never seen before, and something he wouldn't mind using for himself. Kind of reminded him of the older model Pip-Boys, but more translucent and colorful.
"First, where did you get all those weapons?" the blonde interrogator asked, waiting to jot down notes. "You have quite the arsenal for just one man."
"Found them," the rugged man simply answered.
"Seriously?" she asked, her brows furrowing.
"I didn't buy them or steal them... Mostly. I found them. You can find a lot of stuff when you wander or drift long enough. Same can be said for all the other things I had with me."
"I see… Next Question: Where did you learn how to fight? You were able to hold your own, surprisingly well."
"You pick up on it where I live. You learn to fight, growing up and wandering. Either through teachers or just trial and error. It just comes with experience."
"Where do you live in California that such a thing would be necessary?" a growing hint of concern being evident.
"The Mojave Wasteland."
"Do you mean 'desert'?"
"Maybe, if it wasn't nuked in the first place," Nathan making sure to emphasize that word, see if it could spark a reaction in the blonde. Judging from how her eyebrows rose and eyes widened, it did.
"Excuse me?" she questioned, confused by what he meant.
"Y'know… Nuked. With nuclear weaponry. 'Mutually Assured Destruction' and all that?"
"I'm sorry, but what nuclear war are you talking about? Do you mean the incident in Australia? I thought you were from California?"
"I am. From New California."
The woman only stared at him in bewilderment. What was he talking about? A nuclear war? A "New California"? Last time she checked, America was still in one piece and it was only the Australian Outback that ever became an irradiated wasteland, but through an Omnium blowing up not nuclear war. Just where did Nathan think he lived? Was he delusional? Insane? This certainly didn't make it easier to learn more about the man who appeared out of-
That's when a bizarre thought hit her.
"When you ended up here," the Doctor began trying to piece together an odd, and downright asinine conclusion. "My friends told me you appeared in a bright blue flash, am I correct?"
"Yeah," the Californian nonchalantly answered. "Got teleported here."
"How do you know you were teleported?" she kept asking, with skepticism ever present on her face.
"I was using a device that could do such a thing. I've used it before, but it happened to malfunction when I..." Nathan's face had a realization appear on it, as he recalled the moments leading up to that eventful teleport. "Was near a damaged satellite."
"And where did you think it sent you?" asked the doctor, bringing him back into the conversation.
"At first, I thought a different continent since I ended up in Gibraltar, somehow. Now? With all this strange technology and how you seem clueless about the 'Great War'... I think I'm on a different Earth."
There was nothing but silence between the two within the interrogation room. Angela thought she could even hear someone murmuring within the viewing room, behind the glass. The man opposite of her still sat there, a neutral gaze fixed on her and waiting for her response. After several awkward moments, Dr. Ziegler shifted in her seat as she recomposed herself.
Clearing her throat, the woman in white then says, "Let's assume that this is really what happened, as unfortunate and bizarre of a situation it is."
He stayed silent, gaze still fixated on her.
"What can you tell me about your home?" she began, unable to believe she was asking this question. "This 'other Earth' you are from?"
That neutral look now hardened slightly, shifting his gaze for a split-second before he let out an exasperated sigh and addressed the blonde Doctor, again.
"October 23, 2077," he stated getting ready to tell another long and bloody chapter in human history. "The day the world shot itself in the foot."
