Revised on the 14th of November 2017


AN:

Guest: Great to hear that! Y'know, as I write the chapters for this story I always feel like that I'm losing my groove with the story or that this can't compare with the earlier chapters I've written, and that my story is just dipping in quality after every update. Reviews like yours bring a smile to my face and tell me I'm probably doing something right to receive such praise. Thank you for your kind review!

And please, for everyone else, don't be afraid to give me any reviews/criticisms you have! I'm a big boy, and I would love some advice to improve ;D Thanks!

Update (4/7/2017): Made some grammar and spelling corrections.


Numbani, Western Africa

2076

It was a nearly pitch-black room, everything either blacked out or nonexistent. There was only one light source in the room, a monitor, and in front of the monitor creating a silhouette was someone sitting in a chair. The furious tapping and clicking of a holographic keyboard united with the rampant sounds of war from the speakers. The noise of a video game being played. After a few moments of unrelenting hand movements, enemies on the screen being eliminated with superior precision and tact, the player in the chair is congratulated with the cue of fanfare and the words "Victory" in big bold letters of gold. As the computer monitor slowly fades to black, the triumphant theme still playing, the player sighs and leans back into the chair, relieved but not surprised at the outcome. To the left, a white-gloved hand reaches across the desk and retrieves a bottle with condensation glossed over the glass, twisting the metal cap off and letting air rush out before bringing the neck to their lips. The bottle is green, has a white label with green letters that might as well be scribbles to anyone not familiar with the language. Then, it is revealed that the person drinking from the ice-cold beverage is a young woman with pale skin, ornate glowing headphones on her head, and pink war paint on her blemish-less cheeks. Parting her lips from the bottle with a sigh, she twists her head as if she was staring someone in the eyes and holds up the bottle, reading the words on the label without looking.

"Nano Cola…" the young woman says in a very suggestive manner, smirking coyly as the screen fades to black.

Nathan Brin sat in the middle cushion of the couch, staring at the penthouse T.V. screen with a confounded look on his face. His eyes drift down to look at his right hand holding the same brand of soda. He nearly finished it, in fact.

"What the fuck?"

"Yeah, this commercial kinda sucks," he hears a partygoer to the left say, on a separate piece of furniture with a girl. "It's boring and bland. And the whole seduction thing at the end feels so forced."

"I prefer the one from her country," his lady-friend adds. "Korean commercials are so entertaining. They know how to have fun."

Nathan looks at the two in bewilderment, looks at the T.V. screen in bewilderment, and back down at his soda in bewilderment before rolling his eyes and getting up from the couch to head to the penthouse bar.

They were at Lúcio's hotel room, attending a little party he was throwing before his concert. An excuse to drink and socialize beforehand, probably. Others executing the latter activity better than him, as he sees Lena happily chatting with fellow fans while the musician himself was just at a table manipulating more holographic disks. Making more of that music grate against Nathan's ears.

'Least Oxton seems to be keeping her cover,' Brin noted, polishing off the rest of his soda as he went to the bar to get something with a bit more bite.

The man wasn't alone, as Zenyatta "occupied" one of the stools and was having a friendly chat with the bartender tending to the patrons, who also happened to be an Omnic but in a typical bartender uniform. Ironic for a machine with no mouth to be serving drinks. The bartender addressed Nathan as he planted the empty bottle on the bar top.

"Scotch on the rocks, please," he requested, the Omnic nodding and turning around to retrieve the drink.

"While I am not one to tell someone how to live their life, I'd wager it'd be wiser to practice abstinence before our mission," the floating monk offered, his head turned slightly.

"I tried abstaining, but I need something to help numb this noise," he expressed, somewhat derisively. "Maybe some of the people, too."

The bartender then returned to the counter with a short glass with ice and a bottle, pouring the caramel-colored liquid into the glass. Nathan nodded gratitude before taking it in his hand and taking a generous sip.

"What are we doin' partying, anyway?" he questions, clearing his throat as he feels it burning. "I thought the DJ had a concert?"

"He does, but it isn't for another hour or so. Until then… Leisure, I suppose."

Nathan regards Zenyatta for a moment before shrugging and bringing his drink up to his lips. Taking another generous sip, his eyes sweep across the large penthouse and over the faces of the other guests. Eventually, his eyes landed on the host himself, jamming with people gathered around him. Watching him play music with those holograms as if entranced. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

"Well, are you okay with this?" he questions Zenyatta as he leans back against a stool.

"I am content with relaxing," the monk answered, softly. "No need to rush things if not required."

"No, I meant him. Are you okay with… What might happen?"

Zenyatta's metal head tilted slightly, shifting to the left for one eye slit to be regarding Nathan. The Omnic silently contemplating a response. After several moments of thought, he reoriented his posture to what it was before the question.

"I guess," he simply answers, making the man next to him snap his head and look at him for a couple of moments.

"That-"

"Was rather measly of an answer, wasn't it? Truth be told, if Mr. dos Santos is willing to enlist for a cause such as ourselves, then I see no reason to object to his decision."

"How do we even know he's good in a fight? He seems more content blasting noise than getting in the thick of it."

"There are alternatives to fighting."

Then, somehow hearing it amidst all the noise, there was knocking to their left at the hotel room door. Nathan looked around, to see if anyone else noticed and was going to attend to it. There was another series of knocks, louder and more pronounced, but no one in the room seemed to react to it. Too enthralled by the music.

"Eh, fuck it," Nathan shrugged, setting his drink down and going over to the door. "If no one else is going to."

"Proactive thinking!" he heard Zenyatta jovially observe.

The Waster scoffed and shook his head as he neared the door. Wrapping his hand around the nob and twisting, the door swung inward and he expected to see either more partygoers or room service. Instead, he was met face to face with a robotic yellow faceplate staring right at him and towering over him.

"What the-!" Nathan exclaimed, arching back and tensing up as if to fight. His eyes scrambling all over the robot's form.

Indeed, it was another robot, but it was nothing like other's he's seen in this world so far. Its torso was large and tanky, two long green "tusks" on the chins, and a set of large legs with a loin cloth in between. As it cocked its head, Nathan watched as its eyes "clicked" as it addressed him. The eyes rotating into two arrows pointing up, raising one of its arms with an open palm.

"Greetings!" it said in an accented, feminine voice, waving her hand like Bastion. "We have been invited by Mr. Lúcio. May we come in?"

"W-we?" he questioned, his eyes narrowing at the huge robot.

"Uh, excuse me!" he hears another feminine but higher pitched voice chime in.

Looking down, he sees a dark-skinned girl, only about half his height. She had a "crown" over her face with a visor that matched colors with the robot, rings with similarly colored horns dangling from them, necklaces and accessories around her neck and wrists, and wore a shirt that exposed much of her stomach and arms. She also had white dots speckled around her eyes.

"H-Hi!" she greeted, sounding timid in her accented speech. "Sorry for the intrusion, but yes, Mr. Lúcio did invite us to his party. Is-is he busy? Occupied? We, uh, can come another time!"

Nathan squinted at the little girl, switching between the two. Noticing the significant height difference between them, and wondering why the young girl was hanging out with such a huge robot. Probably a guard dog her dad got for her.

'And I thought Bastion and I were an odd duo,' the tall man thought to himself.

Suddenly, another voice rang as it rushed to the door.

"Is that who I think it is?" Lúcio exclaimed with elation as he ran to the door. "Efi! Orisa! Glad you guys could make it! How's it hanging?"

Instantly, the Wastelander watched as the little girl went from timid and meek to her eyes becoming wide as disks and her mouth becoming agape. All the while, her robot still maintained those "arrow-eyes" and repeated her earlier greeting gesture.

"Efi and I are very well, thank you for asking, sir," Orisa responded, her eyes then switching back to an ordinary circular pattern. Her pupils glowing yellow.

"Y-yes!" the little girl added on, though she still seemed a bit nervous. "Th-thank you for inviting us, Mr. Lúcio! It was, uh, v-very cool and… Uh, nice of you to do so! Very coo- wait, I already said that. Just… Uh… Thanks!"

'Jeez…' Nathan thought to himself, watching the exchange as he got back to the bar. 'And I thought I knew star-struck when I saw it. She's like a kid back home meeting the Vault Dweller… Or me.'

The dreadlocked man laughed heartily, the young fan still a bit flustered.

"That's great to hear," he said, beaming. "Why don't you come inside? Still got a few hours to chill until the concert. Why don't I introduce you to everyone else?"

"Oh, uh, sure!" the girl hesitated, before being invited inside to the penthouse. Her behemoth of a robot walking in after her and looking around at everything.

Lúcio happily placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her to the rest of the party, smiles, and greetings being exchanged as Efi and Orisa were toured around the penthouse. Nathan and Zenyatta silently watching them. Well, Nathan couldn't really tell what the Omnic was looking at. Moments after the new guests had arrived, the two were then joined by Lena as she went to the bar and picked up another drink, hopping on the stool between the two.

"Enjoying the party, lads?" she asked, sipping through a thin straw.

"The alcohol, at least," Nathan responded, still eyeing the robot and girl. "Who're they?"

"Efi Oladele, a local child prodigy, and her creation… Orisha, I think?"

"Orisa," Zenyatta corrected her.

"Thanks, and the two are kinda like local celebrities. Efi because, as I said, she's very smart for a kid her age, and Orisa because she's... Well, she's basically the city's protector."

"Just her?" Nathan questioned, observing the quadruped.

"No, they were other Omnics like her, but do you remember what I told you last night? About Doomfist? Let's just say there aren't a lot of robots like her, anymore."

"Why is she still here, then?"

"I told you. Efi made her. Brought her back to life, so to speak."

Brin pursed his lips in surprise, looking back at the girl and the robot. Seeing them happily chat with a couple on an adjacent couch. Efi much more at ease than she was minutes earlier. Then, he looked at Orisa and noted how she dwarfed everyone in that room, both in height and bulk. Yet, the machine acted very friendly and seemed to look at everything as if it was scanning it and trying to decipher what it was. Just like Bastion.

'Smart kid,' impressed if that robot really was of her own volition. 'I just hope we don't end up babysitting.'


An hour or two later, the sun began to set and the guests vacated the penthouse and were told to wait for Lúcio before going to the concert. Unbeknownst to them, they really were just escorted out of his hotel room to give the Overwatch agents some privacy to gear up before heading out. The musician there to witness the whole thing. It was sort of magical for him, seeing acclaimed heroes getting ready for the line of duty. Only made him want to make sure his hard-light skates were fastened properly, to not look like he was slacking.

"How do I look?" Tracer asked, fastening her chronal accelerator to her chest before posing for Lúcio.

"You look awesome!" he exclaimed, feeling a bit surreal at who was standing right in front of him. "Oh, I gotta hear you say it!"

"Say what?"

"Y'know. You're catchphrase!"

"Catchphrase-?"

She stopped herself upon realization, then snickering and bringing a gloved palm to her face. Bringing one of her hands to wave one finger side-to-side, shaking her head as she does so.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no," the Brit said with a disapproving smirk. "You're not getting that out of me that easily!"

Lena then heard boot steps coming from behind and turned to see Nathan once again in his black armor, towering over everyone, as usual. Weapons slung over his coated form.

"We ready?" he asks, the helmet filtering his voice.

The Brit then responded by flipping her pulse pistols out, spinning them on her palms as she twirled around on her legs. Finishing by grabbing the pistols by their grips and standing on one leg, giving a playful wink.

"Ready!" she playfully declared, maintaining her pose.

"Don't-" the armored man started, his posture tense and taken aback. "Don't spin your guns like that, again. Please."

Her smile then dissipated as she cringed, realizing her shoddy muzzle discipline.

"Sorry about that," she said with a sheepish smile.

"Woah…" Lúcio uttered, walking closer to the Courier and gawking at the armor he's wearing. "I've only seen this thing on the holovids, but your armor looks scarier in person! Never seen anything like it. Where d'ya get it?"

"Nevada," was as much as Nathan was willing to say.

"Really? It says 'L.A.P.D.' on your chest."

"Surplus."

The shorter man tilted his head to the side, his brows furrowing. He then just shrugs it off as they were already pressed for time and he didn't really want to question someone who was with the New Overwatch. Especially someone with that armor.

"If you say so," he says, turning to the others. "I think we've lingered here long enough. Come on, people! I don't want to keep my fans waiting!"

With a grin, he hopped and skated away on those curious little skates, leaving a trail of green light that seemed to spark but dissipate like smoke. The agents were about to follow until the one draped in a duster asked one more question.

"We're going to a concert, right?" the Wastelander asked, his helmet unable to hide the apprehension in his voice.

"Yeeeahhh…" the Brit answered, addressing him with a hint of concern.

"And he's going to play more of that electric music, right?"

"Yeah."

"And it's going to be loud, right?"

Lena only nodded this time.

Brin takes a deep breath before lowly exhaling. His head craning up to the ceiling he did so. One of the few times she's seen the rugged man act like that. Hopefully, it doesn't interfere with the mission too much.

"C'mon it won't that bad. I promise!" she tries to reassure him in her peppy, jolly tone. "Who knows? You might grow to like it. Lúcio's stuff is top-notch!"

"Whatever you say," Nathan responded, though clearly not entirely relieved. "Hope it isn't too loud."

"You've got a helmet. You should be fine!"


"You were wrong, Oxton!" Brin exclaimed loudly into his helmet, but it was drowned out by electronic noises emanating from the very large speakers on the stage. "Fuck!"

"Awww, lighten up!" Lena responded over the radio. "You're starting to sound like my Nan."

They were at the concert, arriving as the show was starting, and were treated to an absolute overload of the senses by the performance. The venue was a large stadium with a huge crowd of people gathered in front of the stage where Lúcio was performing. Nathan was far away from where the DJ was, high above in the rafters and overlooking the entire concert. An ocean of bodies bouncing up and down to the rhythm of the music pelting them. Possibly more people here than he's seen in most cities. Wondering further how one musician could attract so many people. This supposedly being one of his "smaller" performances.

"It might be a bit too late to ask this question," he questioned, having to yell in his helmet. "But why are we acting as bodyguards for a musician?"

"There are a lot of people out there that aren't big fans of Lúcio, and I don't mean just his music," Lena explained, things a bit too noisy on her end. "You know how Vishkar was driven out his home of Rio in an uprising, right?"

"Yeah, I read about it on that 'web' thing. Why?"

"Who do you think led it?"

It took a while for that to sink in before Nathan scoffed in near-disbelief. Then, he narrowed his eyes when he had realized something.

"Vishkar visited us just a few days ago…" he noted, thinking back to seeing Vaswani walking side-by-side with Winston. "Do you think that has any significance with what we're doing now, Oxton?"

Instead of a response, he was met with relative silence. Emphasis on the relative

"Oxton?" he reaches out, again, wondering what was up. "Oxton, can you hear me? Oxton?"

More silence among the loud electronic noise.

"Oxton! Lena, do you read me? Tracer!"

"What?! Oh, oops, sorry 'bout that!" he heard the Brit speak into his ear, apparently caught off-guard. "I guess I'm getting into the music, a tad too much."

"…Really?"

"It won't happen again, Brin. Just keep watching our backs and I'll keep my boots on the ground."

"Sure," he replied, trying not to sound like a sarcastic-ass and failing. "How are they not even noticing you?"

"I blend in well with crowds. Especially huge crowds entranced by music. Too bad you can't join."

Nathan huffed as he continued watching over the entire venue. Watching the light show being displayed on the stage, wavy and erratic patterns filling the backdrop and somehow coasting along the walls that were big screens themselves. Yet, they moved along with the music, sometimes changing colors rapidly with every beat. The lines compressing and stretch with the noise. Mesmerizing for much of the attendees, almost nauseating to the Courier. The Strip's lights paling to this. It was impressive.

Suddenly, the song that was playing ended and the electronic noise was quickly replaced with a thunderous applause from the crowd. All of them cheering and clapping for the man in green at the stage, holograms and computers surrounding him. Lúcio bowed playfully, before grabbing a microphone and bringing it to his mouth.

"All right, let's bring it down, now!" he exclaimed, a repetitive beat still playing in the background as he gestured the palm of his hand down, coaxing the crowd to a lower volume so he could speak. Even though he was on the other side of the stadium, Nathan could see him grinning as he overlooked the crowd thanks to a big-ass screen over the stage. "I just wanted to say, that in the time that I've spent in your beautiful city – in your beautiful home – I am only showed further proof that there really can be something good in this world. Especially when I see all these beautiful faces in front of me. Omnic and Human!"

The huge screen above the screen then switched to a camera shot of the audience, the camera panning and zooming in on them with impeccable detail; faces and faceplates showered by the show's light. Some signs they held even making it into the shot. The crowd erupted at that, but the DJ kept speaking.

"In fact, if there is somebody I want to bring out onto this stage and enjoy the music with. A smart, little girl who has been doing a lot of good for this city with the help of her big friend. Everyone, please welcome Efi Oladele and Orisa onto the stage!"

With a spotlight appearing on the side, the girl and her Omnic ran out onto the stage, and to Nathan's surprise, to a very loud, welcoming ovation. The giant screen above the stage switched to a camera shot of them, following closely as they went over to Lúcio at his turntable, embracing both the girl and the huge Omnic in a hug. The screen showed their expression to be beyond joyful. Orisa making those upward pointing arrow-eyes, again.

'Really?' the Courier questioned, astonished at the amount of fanfare. 'All of this just for a little girl?'

"Anything you two want to say to the crowd?" Lúcio asked, offering his microphone.

Exchanging a glance with Orisa, Efi grabbed the microphone and brought it up to her mouth as she faced the crowd.

"H-hello, everyone," she greeted, the crowd cheering louder and causing the little girl to crack a smile. "I just wanted to say that-"

A shadow cast over Nathan, quickly turning to see nothing but open sky and the moon staring down at him in the rafters. He stood up to his feet, eyes still fixed above him as his hands wrapped around his marksman carbine. After staring up and seeing no further movement, he turns back to the stage.

"… and that's all I have to say. Thank you!"

The audience clapped and cheered as Lúcio took the mic from her and spoke up again.

"Thank you very much, Efi!" he expresses, still maintaining that smile as he hugged the cheerful girl close. "And with that, this next song is dedicated to you, the beautiful people of Numbani; We love you!"

The speakers blared with the entry of another song, that quickly developed into a series of beats that fizzled like electricity before giving way to another, stronger beat. The audience went wild and jumped manically to the beat, but Nathan's face scowled as he looked back up to the sky and seeing nothing else casting a shadow.

"Fuck it," he said, moving from his spot to find a way to the stadium's higher levels. "Tracer, I'm going up to the roof to check something out."

"What? Why?" Tracer questioned, slight concern in the tremor of her voice.

"I might have seen something. Need to confirm it."

"Need any help?"

"Stay down there and keep an eye on things. I'll holler if I need help."

He switched on his helmet's low light vision as he got through the darker parts of the stadium, traversing the catwalk to find a way up. He thought about that shadow, how there were no lights near his spot other than the slight glow of the moon. The rest of the sky drowned out by the concert happening beneath him. As he got through maintenance tunnels and climbed further up, the sound of the concert grew fainter, but still loud enough to be heard through the walls. The deeper he went into the stadium's facilities there were signs of disuse. His lowlight vision helping immensely in these dimly lit areas. Felt like a maze, getting by with the few signs that were fortunately in English.

Eventually, he came across a utility ladder that led him further up into the rafter and decided that it would be good enough. Climbing onto it, he soon finds himself onto another catwalk. Looking around, he sees it is closer to the sky and was situated under a set of large stadium lights that were currently off. The concert was in view again, but the people on the ground looked even tinier. The music now a bearable level to Nathan.

He walked cautiously across the catwalk, his boots clanging against the grated floor. He reached the other side of the catwalk and saw it was a dead end, before going around the back and going behind the light-array. Seeing nothing else in his vision. He was far from done though.

'Gonna have to find a way to the roof,' he observed, seeing there was a lot of ground for him to cover. 'Should've sent the Brit to scope this out. She'd have a much easier time than-'

The Courier stopped in his tracks, a feeling tingling down the back of his neck. Something cold. He turns around to see seven glowing red-eyes staring back at him. Their owner hanging upside down.

The Courier barely had time to react as a metal cable wrapped around his throat, his hands instantly letting go of the rifle and going to the cable. The tension causing his knuckles to dig into the exposed bits of his neck as he felt himself be somehow hoisted into the air. He felt the tightness all around his throat, the feeling of his windpipe being constricted and trying to gasp for what little air he could. The weight of his large stature working against him. The only thing keeping him from snapping his neck being the hands struggling to hold on to the cable. He could still see through his helmet, watching as something drops down from the catwalk. His lowlight vision allowing him to see the woman haunting his dreams, still in that skimpy outfit. Her visor separated to reveal yellow eyes, staring up at him with a harsh gaze. Her lips then curling into a cruel smirk.

"Such a disappointment," Widowmaker sighed, shaking her head. "And here I thought the 'man in black armor' would be a challenge? But no - Just another fly caught in my web."

'You fucking bitch!' he wanted to scream but had to conserve the little amount of air he had.

She walked, no… Sauntered up to Nathan and reached up to him before unclasping his carbine from the strap and held it in her manicured hand by the shroud.

"Hmm, I'll be keeping this to make sure you don't use it while I'm working," she said as she walked to the far end of the catwalk and threw it unceremoniously onto the grated catwalk, almost making it fall off. "For now, why don't you hang out? I would like an audience for my performance. Don't worry, mon ami, I'll let you breathe when I'm done. I'm not finished, yet."

She chuckled lowly again as she brought her rifle to shoulder, her visor clicking together as she brought the scope up, while the Courier still dangled in the air. His mouth still gurgling.

As the pain seeped through his hands and neck, his mind raced to anyway to get out of this. To free himself from the noose. He wondered how much time he had before she would take the shot on whoever her target was. He couldn't reach for his other guns, and even if he could he didn't want to risk slipping and snapping his vertebrae. He could try and call out for help over the radio but risked expending his last breaths and being shot to death by the blue sniper if he made a peep. Nathan looked around to find a solution, the limited view of his helmet in that position not giving him much. However, as he peered up, he may have found salvation.

Above him was a beam support for the stadium lights, but he saw a cable wrapped around it with a claw keeping it in place. Nathan followed the cable with his eyes and saw it led straight to the noose around his neck but was also connected to the gauntlet around his executor's arm. Watching her, he hesitantly let one hand let go of the noose, feeling it constrict more than he wanted it to, as he used his free hand to grab a section of the cable above him. Barely able to grab onto anything substantial. She didn't seem to notice, so he repeated his movements, painstakingly climbing up the thin string of metal and trying not to slip.

"Allez, montre-toi…" he heard her muse to herself but trying to focus on climbing the rope, counting each inch. Then counting every centimeter.

He could feel his eyes watering, the tightness in his chest becoming unbearable. Feeling himself drift further into unconsciousness as the blood circulation was cut off. Sweat pooling across his brow and forehead. The remaining hand around his neck shaking and starting to slip out of the vise. Trying his best not to dangle and flop too much, trying his best to stay calm. He knew how the human body reacted when being lynched, he knew how painful it was. Just surprised it took this long for him to experience it. All the while that damn music and the cheering audience still pervaded his ears.

"Where could he be?" she asked herself, dragging out the words with her accent and tenor.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour of climbing the rope, he could reach the thin beam and grabbed onto the claw. The hanging man tried to shake it loose, but the hook's mechanized prongs would barely budge. Struggling to set it loose without notifying her with the vibrations. Trying to muster enough strength to open that claw but feeling more lightheaded with every passing second.

Fortunately, he forced them open with an audible click. However, it was at this moment that Nathan realized he should've planned for what happens after as he fell to the catwalk.

"Quoi?!" the blue Sniper expressed surprise as his weight shook the catwalk and made her get off balance, her gauntlet arm jerking to the side, before turning and scowling at the man on the ground coughing violently.

Looking up, he reaches behind and grabs his M1911 from his holster. Not wanting to fire her rifle and alert anyone else to her position, Widowmaker ran forward and kicked the gun out his hand before he could even fire and spun around to deliver another kick to his head. Even with his helmet, the blow was enough to knock him to the left and hit the railing. His dazed eyes becoming wide in shock as he watches his .45 Pistol fall far down. That beloved pistol becoming lost among the dark spaces of the stadium. He then felt the cable wrap around his throat once more and her shifting weight slams him to the ground onto his back. Nathan looks up to see her standing over him and about to slam the stock of her rifle into him, but halts the weapon with one hand before slamming his Pip-Boy to knock her off her feet. The Sniper yelping as her back connected with the catwalk.

"Fucking die!" Nathan roars as he produces his knife and swings it down, Widowmaker craning her neck to barely avoid the blade being driven into her head and only through the grating.

The assassin then jumps up and onto his back and tries to choke him once again and utilize the cables as a garrote, but cries in pain as he feels his elbow slammed into the side of her stomach and strong hands grabbing onto her shoulders and hurling her off him. She tumbles a few meters ahead on the catwalk before stopping and turning her head with a hateful glare. Pointing her left hand into the air, her claw shoots out and latches onto an unseen surface as she flies up and towards Nathan, who scrambles to unsling his Mauser until two heels to the face, knocking him onto his back, again. Quickly, he spun around and brought the muzzle of his rifle up but only sees Widowmaker's shadow briefly in the sky before promptly disappearing behind a stadium structure.

"Fuck!" he yelled in frustration as he brought a hand up to his helmet, but not loud enough to contest with the closet. "Oxton, come in! There's someone here!"

"What?!" Tracer responded, fully paying attention, now. "Who?!"

"The fucking blue bitch!"

"Blue… What? What do you mea-?"

Tracer's face shifted into horror as she realized who he was referring to, then shifting into a concerned frown as she spoke up again.

"Where did you see her?"

"Up in the rafters, but I think she got up to the roof. I'm chasing her down now."

"I'm making my way up there, right now. Tell me when you see her!"

'I'll gladly shoot her first, but sure,' he mused to himself, picking up All-American and charging off the rafters and into the maintenance halls.

Dashing upstairs and scrambling atop ladders, the Courier was hellbent on finding that Sniper. Get payback for what she did and what she has been doing to him. Thoughts of making that pretty little face of hers slam against the ground, taking a knife to it, or blasting it with a high-powered rifle. Just thoughts of maiming it in any way possible coursed through his mind. His breathing becoming ragged as he kept running, not of fatigue but of the anger that was building up inside of him. The rage that was making him bare his teeth like a wasteland predator. The blue woman his quarry.

"Why are you fighting?" a voice rang in his helmet, but not the one he was expecting.

The Courier stopped in his tracks, stunned, and waited there in a silent corridor before he went any further. His eyes darting all around his helmet.

"Why are you fighting for… Them…" she questioned further, her voice dripping with resentment at the last word.

"I don't think you gave me a choice you fucking bitch!" he coldly replied, growling as he started running again.

The Courier heard her clicking her tongue as if she was disappointed with something.

"There's no need for that language, monsieur," she remarked at his vulgarity, acting as if she was talking to a child.

"Whatever you say, puta," he responded, not even caring that it wasn't the same language.

"You are making this more difficult than it should be."

"And you signed your death warrant with me when you almost executed me! Twice! What makes you think you have the right to talk to me?!"

"If you had let me do my job properly, I would've gladly let you down and take in your precious gulps of fresh air. Then, we would've had the opportunity to discuss something with each other. Something beneficial. You were not going to suffocate for long."

He was already rolling his eyes. This world may not be entirely a radioactive wasteland, but he could tell it didn't have a shortage of deceptive degenerates. The Courier practically grew accustomed to spotting bullshit miles away. He knew whatever the Blue Sniper had in plan was a ploy. Her actions did little to justify whatever she was spouting.

"Eat a dick," was all he said to her.

"Hmph," was all he heard her say.

Finally, after that eventful conversation, he found an entrance that led to the roof and slammed his shoulder into it, swinging it wide open. Revealing a dark sky above a flat, white roof with barely any cover. Aiming his rifle, he cautiously walked into the area and waved his muzzle around as he scanned everywhere. Making sure to keep his eyes on the sky. Until he just found himself in the middle of an empty lot on the roof, with no activity to be seen anywhere. He kept breathing shallowly, his body hunched over his rifle, as a sudden flash of blue made him spin around.

"Woah, it's just me!" Lena exclaimed, holding up a hand as she looked up at him.

Nathan lowered his rifle and sighed, narrowing his eyes at her.

"I take it you didn't find her, then?" she asked, looking around and spotting nothing around them.

"She spoke to me," he flatly stated.

"What?!"

"Over the radio. Before I got here. She somehow contacted me on my helmet's radio and… Asked me questions."

"And?"

"I told her to fuck off."

Lena squints under her goggles at the man in black armor, wondering if she should scold him for waving off some potential intel or thank him for saying what she wanted to. However, she learned that their comms were somehow intercepted, and that wasn't something they needed.

"I'm going to have to talk to Winston about our comms," she made a mental note to herself. "I looked all over, and I couldn't find her, so it looks like Widowmaker escaped, again…"

"Where the hell's Zenyatta?"

Lena exchanged looks with Nathan before bringing a hand up to her ear.

"Oi, Zenny? Are you alright?" the Brit called out, concerned if anything had happened to him or the concert while they were gone.

"I am quite fine, Lena," they heard his gentle voice confirm over the comms, making Lena relieved. "And everyone is still having a great time. It looks wonderful from up here!"

"'Up here?' What do you mean by that?"

"I am on stage. Dancing with Efi, Orisa, and Lúcio. They are quite good."

Surprised, Nathan and Lena look at each other before the latter just bends over laughing.

"That's great to hear, love," she responded, before blinking to the door and beckoning Nathan over. "Come on! I don't want to miss this!"

She blinked inside, leaving the Courier to just stand there and look at the door. Eventually, he sighed and made his way through the doorway. Still, as he walked through the tunnels, a feeling was nagging him all the way back. At how the blue assassin strangled him and had every opportunity to commit whatever twisted she wanted to do to him. Even after all that… He still felt like something was off. Baffled that she sounded like she wanted to make an exchange with a man she was lynching.


The concert for the remainder of its duration went without a hitch, with the Disk Jockey, Agents, and some partygoers returning to the penthouse for an after-party. Brin begrudgingly went along, remembering they had to stick close to the mission. The Wastelander didn't see the point of this after-party. Figured everyone would be too tired to even bother. Surprised they weren't.

He never was one for parties. Always preferred emptying a bar in peace and quiet. At least the drinks helped drown out some of the noise. The electronic music and the robotic people. Literally and figuratively.

As Nathan craned his head to drink more scotch, he winced as the skin around his neck stung, a hand going up to try to alleviate the pain. Even with all the implants and doohickeys in his body, they never helped with the pain. Always felt sore for weeks after certain escapades in the Wastes.

As he sat there, hunched over his drink, he felt someone pat him on the back of his shoulder and sit down on the stool to his left. Looking to see a mess of pipe like hair ordering a drink from the bartender. The star himself.

"Hey," Lúcio greeted, smiling as he tipped his head towards Nathan. "You feeling any better, bro?"

"Trying," he dryly answered, gesturing to the glass of alcohol that was almost empty.

"Sorry to hear that. Lena told me what happened. Sounds really rough."

"Yup."

"So, I gotta say 'thanks', man. For going through that. I never realized something that brutal would be happening at my show. Really puts the whole world into perspective and how not even a place like Numbani can be free of that, you know?"

The DJ reorients himself on the stool as he shook his head in disapproval.

"Still, doesn't mean we can't stop striving for what we believe in," the DJ tries to sound hopeful. "Otherwise, you guys wouldn't be here. I guess what I'm trying to say is: Thanks, man. Sorry, you had to go through that."

"Sure."

"I mean, that's a really harsh way to go. Especially today. Man…"

The Courier's eyes peer to the left, seeing Lúcio shaking his head as he leans against the counter. Disbelief for how things turned out.

"I've dealt with worse," was all the Courier said, as he poured the rest of his glass into his throat, ignoring the pain in his neck.

Lúcio's eyes snap to him, eyes wide in mild-shock. Especially at how casually he said that statement. A bit of unease seeping into his stomach. Then, he got distracted as the bartender returned with his drink. It looked fruity.

"Thanks, man," he expressed gratitude for the machine, then rotating on his stool as he addressed Nathan. "Well, I'll leave you to your drinks but if you want, I do have something that can make the pain easier."

"I'll pass," he replied, rubbing his neck again.

"Suit yourself, bro. Just give me a call when you come around."

As he hopped off the stool, Nathan peered over his shoulder and watch him return to the living area and be among his fans. Groupies? Roadies? Whatever the hell they were. He just counted his blessings that he was alone to nestle his drink, again. Didn't want to resort to strangling the bard.

He called out to the bartender and gestured to his drink, helping himself to another serving of scotch. As he took a fresh sip, he propped his left arm up on its elbow and rested his head against his palm. Feeling the Pip-Boy's glove rub against his bearded cheek. Lazily, he shut his eyes, his thoughts drifting. Morbidly, drifting to how many possible ways he can die. He never really accounted for being lynched. Just another footnote in his journal.

As he rested there, half-asleep and half-inebriated, the air around him swished as he felt someone taking a seat next to him on his right. However, he kept his eyes shut, not really caring and just wanting to doze off by himself.

"Tequila, por favor."

That almost woke him up from his stupor, opening his eyes and pivoting his head slightly to see who had sat next to him.

It was a woman, brown-skinned and with long hair that ended with purplish highlights. However, the left side of her head was shaved and glowing purple strips ran along her cranium, like circuits, along with similar patterns shaved into her hair. She wore a purple shirtdress that went down to her thighs. On her face, she had purple eyeliner, purple lipstick, and purple… Eyes?

As Nathan stared at her curiously, the bartender had gotten her drink, pouring a golden colored drink in a glass like his but without the ice.

"¡Gracias!" she thanked, taking the glass and was about to bring it to her lips until she spotted the tall man next to her looking at him. She just smirked and held the glass up to him in the air. "Salud."

The Californian raised an eyebrow, looking at his scotch and her tequila, before sighing and raising his own glass to hers.

"Cheers," he muttered, their glasses clinking among the background noise.

Throwing his head back and taking a generous gulp, he shakes his head as he looks at the woman and sees her do the same. Almost downing half of her drink. He watches her face wince before clearing her throat and feeling relieved. She turns to look at Nathan.

"Nice gauntlet," she complimented in a Mexican accent, looking at the device on his left arm. "Never seen anything like it. May I ask what it is?"

"May I ask who's asking?" he responded, not really willing to answer that question.

"Someone you just toasted with."

He looked at her, seeing her rest her head against her right hand as she held her drink in her left. He rolled his eyes.

"It's a Pip-Boy," he said, holding up his arm for her to see and not really expecting her to know anything he was about to say. "Model 3000. Basically, a wrist-bound computer."

"Seems… big," the woman with the glowing lights on her head noted, leaning in to get a closer look as she scrutinized the device. "Weird name."

"I guess. Now, can I get your name?"

"María. You?"

"James."

"Pleasure to meet you, James."

She held out her free hand to him, which he then shook. Albeit, absentmindedly.

"So, what you brings you here?" she asks, eyeing him as she takes a sip. "To this bar, I mean. Party's on the other side of the room."

"Just felt like getting a drink to relax. Take some of the edge off with scotch."

"You should try some tequila, then. It'll help muy mucho."

"Yo prefiero scotch."

She twisted her head to hearing words in her native tongue and started to giggle. Nathan looked at her and frowned.

"¿Es mi español malo?" the Californian questioned, watching her laugh.

"No, eso no," the Mexican replied, twisting on the stool so that she leaned against the bar. "I just didn't expect you to know Spanish. You'd be pretty hard-pressed to find a gringo that can speak anything other than English."

She kept chuckling, bringing her drink to her lips as Nathan frowned at her and tried to remember what "gringo" meant. Just remembering all the times Raul called him "boss". However, as she laughed, Nathan noticed something at the back of her neck, where some of her skin was exposed. He saw metal, also with purple highlights, that seemed to go up along her vertebrae. Grafted to her, like an implant. The back of her head even had more glowing purple lights, one even forming a circle at the center.

"If you don't mind me asking?" he said, grabbing her attention. "What's all that metal on your back for?"

"Hmm?" she let out, craning her head over her shoulder and feeling around the back of her neck. "Oh, they're just some… Body mods I had installed."

"'Body mods'? Sounds pretty strange. Do they do anything?"

"Not really. They're pretty stylish, though. You can't see it, but I have more running down my back. And then some."

"That so?" he asked, but not really looking for an answer as he brought his glass up again.

"Yup," she answered, before suddenly leaning close to him, bringing her lips up to his ear and whispering. "And I'd like to show you if you don't mind."

The Waster looked up from his scotch. Then, setting the glass on the counter before pivoting on his stool to face the Latina. Incredulous expression addressing her grinning smile.

"Really?" Nathan questioned, more in disbelief than anything.

"I dunno," María shrugged, treating this conversation so casually. "I just thought that two tired and weary adults could spend the rest of their evening having some fun."

"Why not ask the 'rockstar' on the other side of the room? I'm sure he'd like the company."

"He's cool and I do like his music, but I feel like having something more…"

Her purple eyes scan over him, smirking as she brings her fingers to rub against his right forearm.

"Rugged."

The scarred man only laughed, shaking his head as a mix of a smile and a frown formed on his lips.

"While I appreciate the generosity, Señora," he started, only looking at his drink. "I am here on business, not pleasure. Don't think my co-workers would like it very much."

"Who cares what they think," the tanned woman dismissed. "Besides, all we're doing now is just having drinks at a party. I don't think an hour or two will interrupt your schedule that much. You did say you wanted to take some edge off, no?"

Nathan frowned at her, watching as she faces him and casually leans against the counter on her side. Thinking about what she meant with taking "some edge off". Apart from the near-death experience he had just hours earlier, losing his favorite handgun, having to deal with dangerous situations practically weekly under his contract, and the fact that he still had to find a way back home through another fucking dimension gave him a few reasons to ask for more scotch. He's astonished he hasn't even lost his mind, yet.

It didn't help that the Latina next to him was also attractive. Her face was pretty, the only blemish on it being a small mole under her left eye, but that could really go either way for some people. She had a slim figure, but as his gaze drifted downward, he saw her legs looked rather lean – as if she had been working out; He always liked women that took care of themselves. And her hair… Well, he wasn't sure what it was about her style, but it didn't help him stay content with just drinking. Besides, what the fuck else is he gonna do? It's been awhile since he got laid with someone.

"Give me a few more drinks," he said, leaning against the counter and regarding her. "And I'll consider your offer."

"Sure," she said, shrugging with a smirk. "Can we share a few?"

He just shrugged back, not really caring what's going to happen.

"I guess."

"De pelos."