Revised on the 4th of October 2017


AN: Hey guys, PoeticPillock here. Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out, but I had plenty of trouble trying to get through writing this. Mainly, they were many times I had to revise entire sections and I felt I had written myself into a hole in some parts before I was finally able to progress. Also, I felt like it had dragged on for a bit (this is the largest chapter I have written and the most difficult one to write ;) ), so I'm going to split it into two sections so it isn't just a big wall of text. Anyways, thanks for reading!


King's Row, England, Great Britain

2076

A blonde woman in a beanie, a green vest over a yellow, and a black t-shirt that had a graphic of a robot with a heart-shape on its chest, crouched next to the damaged form of a metallic humanoid with a black flat cap atop his metal head, wearing a white tank top and beige shorts. They were in a dark corner of a cobblestone street, sounds of anarchy not too far from where they were. The woman tried what she could for the machine that currently had one of his arms severed and lying on the ground. Sparks flying from the severed socket. Nonetheless, she tried to console the severely-damaged machine best she could. At least being one source of human kindness for it.

"P-please go," the machine let out, an electronic voice weakly speaking even without the presence of a mouth. "It's not safe here anymore. You'll get hurt, or worse..."

"I'm not going to leave you here!" the good samaritan exclaimed as she placed a hand covered in knitted gloves over his shoulder. "I'll get you to safety. I promise!"

As she tried to help him, the sound of approaching footsteps caused her to spin around and see a group of five to seven men, all dressed in dark apparel and wielding makeshift weapons. They did not look like good samaritans.

"Oi!" yelled one of them, dressed in a dark hoodie and holding a crowbar. "The bloody fuck are you doing with that tin can!"

"Don't call him that!" she defended, despite feeling her blood run cold.

"Please go..." the machine urged once again, not wanting to have her harmed for merely being associated with him.

The group of men just laughed at her, getting closer to them. The woman backed up against the brick wall, but absolutely refused to leave the bot. Though her heart was pounding and she would be lying if she didn't say she was scared. She was terrified.

"Back off!" she threatened as menacingly as she could. "Or else-!"

"Or else what?" the one in the hoodie asked, getting even closer despite her and to the point where she could feel his breath on her.

Then, without warning, a hand smacked the man across his face and an audible slapping noise echoed across the brick walls. The hoodie recoiled and brought a hand up to his face before he looked at the woman snarling and his hand curled up into a fist. He backhands the blonde, hard, knocking her beanie off and sending her to the ground. The man lets his crowbar clatter to the ground as he gets on top and pins her to the ground, one hand at her throat. The robot tries to intervene but is knocked away by one of the thugs with a steel pipe to his dome, sparks flying as a dent formed across his head. Followed by more beatings and attacks from the other men for a good minute.

"Y'know what?" the hoodie asked, still pinning her to the ground as his eyes hovered over her. "You're actually kind of cute. What do you lads think?"

"She probably shags bots," one of them derisively comments. "Wouldn't fuck her cunt, either way."

"Eh, suit yourself, mate. Anyone else wanna 'ave some fun?"

Her eyes widened in horror as she begins to flail and tries to wrestle herself from his grip, screaming as she feels hands go to her lower body and work at the button of her pants and trying to peel it off.

"No, please!" she pleads desperately, her eyes beginning to water. "Please! Stop! HELP!"

"Shut your gob," the hoodie says, tightening his grip on her throat even more. "Besides, this'll be better than any robot cock."

The blonde whimpers as she feels someone take her shoes off and begin to slide her trousers off, leaving her too exposed already. She looks down and already sees the man working at his own pants and getting ready to strip himself. The woman shuts her eyes and tears begin to stream down her cheeks as she tries to keep wrestling from their grip but still bracing herself. Thoughts of home and her boyfriend come to mind, wishing to be anywhere else in the world but here.

The heavy thumping of boots and the sudden feeling of weight being lifted off her makes her open her eyes and sit up and see what was unfolding before her. A figure in a brown duster was repeatedly driving the blade of a knife into the hooded man's groin area and bloodying his undergarments. The man screaming and crying as he thrashed and tried to get him off but couldn't as one hand wrapped around his throat in a vise. The man in the duster then drove the blade into his stomach and began to twist the blade, uttering even more pained rattles. The blonde and the group of rioters were shocked by the scene as his cries echoed throughout the dark alleyway, the former backing up to the wall and holding her legs to her chest.

One of the thugs found their courage and tried to swing his bat at the duster, who swiftly ducked and delivered an uppercut to his jaw, knocking him back to the cobblestone. The man got off and stood up to his full height, easily towering everyone, but they had the number advantage and were already starting to hold up their weapons. The woman could see the brown coat stand between her and the thugs, watching as his hands ball into fists and visibly shake. The group yelled and charged at him, the woman burying her eyes into her shoulder but forced to listen to the entire fight.

There was screaming and pained grunts, the sound of bone being snapped, joints being torn, skulls being slammed into the brick walls, and the sound of a fist repeatedly hitting flesh. She hugged her legs closer and tighter to her chest, waiting for it to be done with. The violence, the fighting, all of it. After a few moments of an eternity, there was no sound of fighting, but of pained moans. She reluctantly opens her eyes, and sees the hooligans on the ground or struggling to get up. The man in the duster was still standing, his back still to her. He turns around slightly, revealing his helmeted mask to the woman as he looks back at her. She tenses up as soon as she sees the glowing red eyes of his, more than unnerved by her savior's appearance.

"Sod this..."

She hears one of the men utter that and looks ahead to see one of them bring up his bat to smash it against her savior's head. She was about to call it out and warn her, but he beat him to the punch and swiftly brought up a silver handgun up to the bat wielder's face, and a bright flash appeared alongside the loud register of the gun. She froze and watched as the body of the man collapsed to the ground, blood slowly pooling around his head. The others take this as a cue to finally run and stumble away but are rapidly gunned down by more rapid fire from the pistol. The shots expertly landing hits on his targets. Their bodies pathetically flopping to the old street.

The Briton worriedly look at the man, still in the fetal position, eyeing him and his silver pistol. A pained groan makes the man turn to his side and cast his eyes down to the ground, where the attempted-rapist was desperately trying to crawl away with a knife still in his gut. The red eyes walk over to him, prompting the man to scramble and crawl more quickly. The tall man crouches down and grabs the knife handle, painfully manipulating it to get the hoodie onto his back and screaming as he complied. He holds one bloodied hand up and begins to plead with blood pouring from his mouth.

"P-pleas-"

Two shots form two new holes on his head, causing him to go limp on the cobblestone. The man ungracefully retrieves his knife from the new corpse, the sound of flesh slicing and crunching as he did so. He stands up and flicks the excess blood from the blade before wiping the metal against his sleeve. He looks back down at the woman, cowering more behind her legs as she stares back at his mask, now splattered with blood over it. A blue flash diverts her attention, however, and she sees the worried face of a spiky-haired woman with orange-tinted goggles at her side.

"Don't worry, love," she says in a familiar voice, trying to comfort the blonde. "The calvary's here!"

The blonde couldn't but instantly gawk at the brunette in front of her, a woman known for being Britain's Overwatch poster-child: Tracer. The booming of metal thumps made her cast her eyes to a huge, approaching figure in enclosed in metal and resembling the knights of yore. It was another Overwatch poster-child, yet a much older one: Reinhardt. Never would she have thought she would see these long heroes come to save the day. Long-proclaimed heroes of the world that have come to Britain for what wasn't the first time. Yet, that only raised further questions about the man in the duster, a complete unknown to her.

"Are you all right?" the voice of Reinhardt asks from beneath that helmet.

"Y-yes," she stammers. "Thank you... Thank you so much!"

"Molotov!"

She hears the coated figure speak for the first time, and speedily draws his sidearm and shoots at the bottle with a lit rag in it, hurling at them. Miraculously, the bottle shatters but its contents are still lit aflame. Reinhardt brings up his barrier, the blue shield protecting those behind him from the fire.


Days Earlier...

A black London taxi glides over the cobbled streets of King's Row and pulls up to a hotel, the words "Alderworth Hotel" prominently displayed on signs over its doorways and on a holo-sign attached to the building's side. A door opens from the taxi, and its two occupants climb out onto the sidewalk. The first is a bun-haired brunette with thick-rimmed glass, wearing a brown leather jacket over a t-shirt displaying a red dot surrounded by a blue ring with some white in-between, and a pair of slim jeans with black and white skate shoes. The second passenger, this time a bearded man with aviators, climbs out and is just in a plain white t-shirt and worn jeans, and an interesting contraption on his left forearm. He was holding onto a luggage bag with his left arm and a duffle bag slung over his right shoulder. He closes the car door behind them and the cab drives off, leaving them at their destination.

The two walk into the hotel and are immediately greeted by the receptionist, also a brunette but with long straightened hair.

"Hello! Welcome to Alderworth Hotel. How may I help you?"

The glass-wearing woman walked up to reception desk, putting on a smile.

"Hiya," she greeted in an East-end accent. "I'm here to check into a room I booked."

"Name?" the receptionist asks, going on to her computer.

"Amelia Johnson."

The receptionist's eyes scan over the holo-screen before finally catching the name.

"Alright, Missus Johnson," she says as she produces two plastic keycards. "I have you and your husband in room 3-0-5."

"Er, husband?" the brunette stammered, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I assumed..."

Just then, the man behind him scoffed and started chuckling at their exchange, shaking his head. The brunette scowled at him before turning back and taking the cards from the receptionists' hand.

"Don't worry about it," she says, reassuring. "Thank you."

Calling the elevator, they both walk into the lift as the doors open with a ding. They wait for the doors to shut close before the woman punches the man in the shoulder, resulting in a pained grunt.

"It's not my fault you almost blew our cover... 'Amelia'," he says, uttering that last word with scorn.

"Oh, put a sock in it, Brin," she said, rolling her eyes.

No more words were exchanged as the elevator continued rising until a bell and an automated voice notified them they were now on the 3rd floor. They stepped out and walked to their room, Lena taking the lead as Nathan followed, hauling their "luggage" with them. They soon found a door with the numbers "3-0-5" on it, Lena takes out one of the keycards and slides it into the electronic lock and making the light blink green. Twisting the handle, she opens it inward and switches on a light to reveal a compact, cozy space with a bed, a desk, a chair, and a television set. They both file in and Nathan sets the luggage down onto the bed before he looks around and examines the hotel room.

"Hmmm," he lets out in thought as he examines the room, somewhat impressed by the room. "Not bad. Shame there's only one bed, though."

"And we're sure as hell not sharing," she says, smarmily. "That's for sure."

Nathan regards her with an annoyed expression before he sets the luggage and duffle bags onto the Queen-sized bed. He manipulates the zipper and flips it open to reveal their outfits: his duster, helmet, and armor along with her bomber jacket, goggles, jumpsuit, and "Chronal Accelerator" he recalled. He then went over to the duffle and unzipped it to reveal their gear, mainly their weapons. Then grabbing his M1911 and couple magazines before stuffing the handgun into his waist and the mags in his back pockets. Nathan looks up to see Lena already strapping her chest piece to herself before she pulls out a holopad and starts manipulating the images on the screen. A holovid displaying the face of Winston then appeared.

"Alright, Winston," Lena said to the screen. "We're here."

"Good to hear," the gorilla acknowledged. "So, how are things out there?"

"Pretty quiet at the moment, but I doubt that'll last."

"Where's Nathan and Reinhardt?"

The Courier then came into view of the video chat, behind the Pilot.

"Right here, chief," he confirmed with much fake enthusiasm. "Reinhardt stayed back at the ship, to keep an eye on things while we were gone. Besides, he ain't exactly conspicuous."

"He's the opposite of that, really," Lena added on. "So, what now, big guy?"

"The reports I received about King's Row are rather... Concerning," Winston explained, his face fidgeting from the details. "Tensions have gotten worse since Mondatta's death, and the frequency of rioting and clashing have gotten higher. Surely isn't helped by the registration and curfew there's been. Now, there are rumors that something big is going to happen in midst of all the chaos."

"Any clue to what?"

"Only rumors. That's why you'll need to stake out the area and find any clues to what it is."

"How long will that take?" Nathan asks, a bit peeved from their vague orders.

"I don't know. Depends on what you guys will be able to achieve. I wish you the best of luck."

The screen blinks off, leaving Lena and Nathan alone in the room.

"Well, now what?" Brin asks, unsure of how to even get on with the mission.

"Well, I for one am going to start walking around me old stomping grounds," Lena declares, grabbing her outfit and equipment. "And by stomping grounds, I mean the rooftops."

"I guess I'll do some wandering, too. Though, I'll keep my boots on the ground."

"Don't get lost," Oxton's tone more scornful than concerned.

Nathan walks out of the hotel room, giving the Brit Pilot privacy. He takes the elevator to the ground level and walks out, briskly ignoring the receptionist desk as he walks past and goes out onto the streets. This time, he looks up and immediately sees the large golden statue of some kind of humanoid creature holding what looks like a levitating gyroscope in one hand and holding the hand of a child in the other. The Wasterlander saw it when they were pulling up to the hotel, but didn't really have the inclination to ask what it was about. He just looks around the block and sees the street lead to another part of town, and sees some establishments in the distance. Maybe checking out the sights wouldn't be too bad of a first step.

A few minutes of strolling around the cobblestone streets felt rather different than anywhere else he's been. Everything was tightly packed and the streets were all windy and seemed to lead to wherever, kind of like how rundown Giza was, but the chilly and cloudy climate was something almost alien to him. There were only a few instances he ever traveled outside a desert, but they weren't in another "alien" civilization.

'I guess I'm the first New Californian to go to Britain,' he thought, somewhat amused at by the circumstances but shivered from failing to bring some proper clothing for the weather. 'I guess I'm the first New Californian to go to Britain. How exciting. Wish it wasn't this cold, though.'

The noise of glass cups clinking and laughter distracted him from his shivering and looks to see the open door to some establishment with the faded sign "The Fox and the Bear" over its windows. He gets closer and inspects it, but stops short of the doorway to see a plaque posted next to it. It read "No Omnics Allowed".

'The hell's an 'Omnic'?'he asks himself, thinking back to the statue minutes earlier and wondering if that was related in any way.

He goes in, regardless, and is pleasantly surprised to see that it's a bar. Pretty lively one at that, too. What instantly stood out to him was the music. Some kind of jazz, but it had electronic noises and sound effects, very different to what he's listened to. It sounded interesting, at least.

Spying an open stool at the counter, Nathan walks forward and plops his ass down right on it, the green cushion compressing and the beige wood creaking under his weight. Not soon after, the bartender dressed in a white button-up shirt with a black vest walks over to him. He an older, portly man, his hair white and gray and adorning a pair of eyeglasses with rather large lenses.

"Welcome," he greets, his accent of a deeper tenor and enunciation than Oxton's. "Haven't seen you around here, before. What can I get ya', lad?"

"Ya' got some Scotch?" Nathan asks, eager to wet his whistle. "On the rocks preferably?"

"Oh, wasn't expecting to serve an American in my pub. But sure, I'll get you a glass in a moment."

The patron could only keep his mouth shut about where he was from when the bartender moved to fetch him a glass. Moments later, he does come back with a clear glass with ice cubes sitting in it and a bottle with a caramel-colored liquid, then unscrewing it and pouring until the glass was half-full.

"Credits, please," he asks.

"Credi-?," the Waster cut himself before realization pops in. "Oh, right..."

"What? You expecting handouts?"

"No, not like that. It's just... I'm new here. Not exactly familiar with the customs."

"Ah, guess they run things differently back home, huh? Well, no harm done."

Nathan reaches into his back pocket and retrieves out a plastic card, one that was loaned to him in case the need ever arose, and he handed it to the older man. After hovering it over a machine and causing an audible beep, he hands it back to the younger man.

"So, where are you from, specifically?" the old man asks.

"California," Brin quickly answered. "Why?"

"Eh, just curious. Don't get much visitors from anywhere else. Some people like to think it's my policies, but to hell with them."

"Policies? What policies?"

Before he could even get his answer, the bartender's eyes drifted upward and looked at something behind him, causing his calm and almost welcoming visage to morph into an irritated expression.

"Oi!" he yells, loud enough to silence the bar and draws everyone's attention to what he was yelling at. "Didn't you see the sign out front? We don't serve tins here!"

Nathan looks back and sees what everyone else is staring at; a blonde woman in a beanie and a humanoid robot with her that had hydraulics all over its body and three blue dots above two slits on its head. It looked like the statue he saw earlier, and his question incidentally got answered.

"We-we're sorry," the blonde woman timidly said, her face getting redder. "We were just looking for a place to-"

"I don't give a rat's arse!" the bartender exclaimed. "Either you leave or I'm callin' the cops!"

The Nathan looks back and forth between the bartender and the couple, wondering what was even happening. Other patrons joined in on the harangue.

"Just bloody do what he says!"

The two exchanged hushed words with each other before they finally decide to turn tail and vacate the premises, with people still yelling at them even when they were on the street.

"That's right, keep moving!"

"Fuck out of here!"

Moments after they were long gone, the bar quickly went back to what it was without a pause, patrons drinking and laughing but now sneering at what happened. Some, however, were silent and their corners were devoid of any laughter. Nathan's included.

"What was that about?" he asked, not to anyone in particular but confusion.

"Er, sorry about that, mate," the bartender apologizes. "I don't know how things are back in the states, but here it's just those damn tin-cans don't know how to follow rules, y'know?"

"...Right..."

He stared at the old man, who went back to business as usual when he tended to the other patrons. Of all the things Nathan expected in this world, he sure as hell wasn't expecting to see a robot and his girlfriend get yelled out of a bar. Thoughts of home and of the Ghouls and Super Mutants came to his mind, for some reason thinking this world was going to be different, especially how one of the first people he met was a literal gorilla-scientist leading a once world-renowned international force. Or, maybe he was giving this world more credit than it deserved. He just kept drinking.


After what seemed like an hour of culturally enriching himself in a London pub, Nathan walked back out onto the streets of the city but now found he wasn't the only one of them. In fact, the streets were now congested with people and "Omnics" holding signs and marching in groups. The messages across these signs varied, from one promoting peace, paintings of human and Omnic hands touching, images of strange symbols he's never seen, and reference to an "iris" for some reason. This wasn't a small demonstration either, as the there were enough people to crowd the cobblestone streets and making it annoyingly difficult for Nathan to weave through. He also saw men and women in black uniforms with a dome-shaped hat with a badge on their heads. They looked like police officers and didn't seem particularly happy to be there. The Waster weaved further through the crowd and spotted some humans and machines putting their hands against the wall as these officers patted them down and arrested them, one of them was even outfitted in some type of riot gear. All the while, protesters were screaming at them.

'Ah, shit,' he cursed in his mind. 'Need to get out of here before things get worse.'

Parting his way through the crowd and getting back to the hotel, he thankfully saw the crowd get less and less dense, making his walk slightly easier the more he drifted from it. He finally freed himself from the crowd and made his back to the hotel, wondering if Oxton was back and with anything new.

As he walks up the hotel steps, he pauses and turns around to look back at the huge statue of the Omnic. He backtracks and walks in front of the monument and stands right at its base. He studies the statue, once again looking at the machine levitating an interesting item in one hand while he held the hand of a human child, looking up at him with awe in her face. Even though he couldn't really read the taller statues face that well, it gave off a sense of poise that he must be representing. Holding hands, and all. Reminds Nathan of unity, but somewhere else. Far away.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" says a synthesized, calming, and tranquil voice from his right.

Nathan turns his head to see one of them, an Omnic, standing next to him. No, he wasn't standing, he was levitating around two feet off the ground. He wore baggy yellow trousers, a red loincloth hanging in between his legs, and a yellow rope around his waist. The fingers on either of his hands clasped together as metal, ornate orbs hovered around his neck. He had glowing blue dots on his head like the others, but much more, around nine in fact. The human looked back up at the statue and saw the similarities between it and the automaton next to him.

"Yeah..." the man responded, before looking back down at the machine. "Friend of yours?"

"Yes," the machine confirmed, but solemnly and in a quieter pitch. "Mondatta was my brother. Of the same clan. I came here to pay my respects."

It was then that the Courier learned this statue wasn't just a monument, but a memorial. And he finally found out this "Mondatta" figure in the briefings he bothered to pay attention to wasn't a man.

"Sorry to hear that," he apologized, after realizing

"All is forgiven," the Omnic accepted before he turned to face the man. "What of you, friend? Your accent marks you as a fellow outsider. What brings you here?"

"Trouble," the Courier flatly states. "Or, at least that's one way of putting it."

"I see..." the machine acknowledges. "I can sense disorder in you. Restlessness. I hope those feelings will pass soon."

The man furrows his brow at the robot, thinking of a proper response to that odd statement.

"Thanks," he said, somewhat awkwardly but gratefully. "I guess."

"You are very welcome."

The Wanderers both stood together at the base of the monument, staring up at its gold stature. Movement to the right catches Nathan's eyes and he sees an approaching group of Omnics and humans. He steps aside as they stop a couple of feet from the floating Omnic and speak to him.

"E-excuse me?" one of the robots asks. "Are you a member of the Shambali?"

"Not anymore," the floating Omnic responds a bit solemnly. "But, I am always willing to lend a hand. How may I help?"

"We would appreciate it if you could help us in our rally. I'm sure you could do a world's worth of good for us!"

"Of course, my friends! Anything to help mend the fissure between humans and Omnics here. Please, lead the way."

And so, they departed for the demonstration mere blocks away, but the ex-Shambali pauses and faces Nathan.

"Oh, and goodbye my friend!" the monk gleefully said, taking care to bid farewell. "May you walk in harmony."

"Thanks," Nathan says, not sure how to follow up. "You too."

The Courier stood there and watched as the group departed, making their way back to the crowded streets. However, he noticed a group of humans dressed in dark clothing standing next to a telephone booth and eye the group as they walked past, one of them even spitting on the path they walked on. He could only sigh and shake his head as he went back into the hotel.