Revised on the 20th of November 2017


Watchpoint: Gibraltar, Mediterranean, Europe

2076

Nathan's room was typically quiet, the usual sounds being the shuffling of his feet, stuff moving around the space, and the occasional expression of frustration in the form of colorful vocabulary. This time not being an exception, as he sat in at his desk with the gentle hum of its systems and the holograms. The glowing pages displayed a manual – detailed instructions on how to fieldstrip a certain type of handgun accompanied by colored images and diagrams. Useful, as the instructions were in German. However, he probably wouldn't have needed to look up the instructions as he found the weapon was stupidly easy to disassemble, literally separating into five distinguished, finely crafted parts. All he had to do left was clean and that wouldn't be hard. Probably should've expected as much since the words "SIG Sauer" were etched into the pistol's grip.

He fervently wiped a small piece of cloth, wet with oil, over the underside of the handgun's slide. The white cloth getting darker and dirtier as the residue was wiped off. The smell of sulfur slightly wafting through the air. It was a well-designed machine, but it felt strange that it wasn't his M1911 that he was polishing to a finish. Even stranger that he now knew the Swiss arms manufacturer existed across dimensions, but he didn't want to trouble himself with that thought, again. Just focus on cleaning, something he's done and enjoyed a million times before.

With one last wipe of oil across the slide, he grabbed a brush with metal bristles from a wooden box and began brushing off any further residue and powder from the piece. Finishing, he set the clean part of the handgun back on the desk, on top of a random newspaper he found. Now before him was the slide, barrel, recoil spring, trigger group, and frame all cleaned and oiled – the matte black finish shining in the light. After admiring his hard work, he started reassembling the handgun, the parts fitting and clicking to each other effortlessly. Polymer conjoining metal. The slide now seated and locked on the frame, he let it slam forward with a flick of his thumb, the resulting sound echoing throughout his room. It won't replace his M1911, but it'll do. On the bright side, it turns out the handgun was chambered to the same ammo, so all the .45 ACP he had won't go to waste. Magazines would be a different story, however…

"Mr. Brin," Athena notified through the speakers, then appearing on his holodesk. "Dr. Ziegler wishes to speak with you."

"About what?" Brin asks, racking the slide on his new pistol as he inspects it.

"About an upcoming mission. She wishes to discuss the details with you and is on her way."

"Is she bringing coffee?"

"She is."

Nathan looked up at the A.I., not expecting that answer, before heaving a long sigh as he set the pistol down and got up from his chair, then stretching and yawning. Not long after that, someone knocked on his door.

Walking to it, he taps his hand on the panel and the door slides open, revealing Dr. Ziegler standing there in her doctor's coat and two steaming cups of coffee in her hands. She looks up with a generous smile.

"Guete Morge!" the Swiss woman greeted.

"Mornin'," the Californian returned, taking a coffee cup in hand. "Here to talk?"

"I am. May I come in?"

Upon her request, Nathan invited her inside with a wave of his hand, Angela walking in and looking around his quarters for the second time. It started to look like a properly lived in residence, the Wastelander's possessions scattered around but neatly and in an organized fashion. Everything was where it was and where it should; The weapons, his armor, and other random bits of his inventory stationed at the appropriate shelves and drawers. Not what one would usually expect of someone who says they're from an irradiated wasteland.

"Your room looks pretty nice," Angela commented, taking a sip from her mug. "How's your arm?"

"Fine, thanks to you," Nathan answered, looking at his right arm as he sat back down. "So, Dr. Ziegler, how can I help you?"

"Well, as Athena probably told you, I'm planning to head off on a mission, soon," she explained, the Doctor getting more comfortable by sitting down on Nathan's bed.

"Where's the ape sending you this time?" he asked somewhat accusingly, leaning back into his chair as he brings the coffee cup up to his lips.

"Actually, I was the one who requested this mission with Winston's approval."

Nathan stopped drinking and looked at the blonde, his eyes now glimmering with interest as to what that meant.

"Really?" Brin questioned.

"Yes," Dr. Ziegler answered, before elaborating. "I actually requested that I, along with a few others, be sent on a relief mission to a crisis zone in the Middle-East. Specifically, at a refugee camp I was working in before I was recalled to Overwatch."

"And provide medical aid, I presume?"

"Correct."

Nathan perked an eyebrow, intrigued that – for once – he might be sent on a mission to not provide supporting gunfire. It sounded easier than what he's been doing for the past few months. Help a few injured people, get compensated for it, then leave. At least, that's what it sounded like, at first.

"Hold on," he stopped, making sure to hold his breath before agreeing to anything. "If this is a relief mission and we're being sent to help people, why are you telling me all of this? I'm not exactly… great with people. I'm more suited for combat roles, honestly."

"I know," the Field Medic replied, before taking in a deep sigh. "However, as much as I want to help the people stuck in their terrible circumstances, I must acknowledge that the areas we will be sent to aren't safe, and may require some security in the form of personnel. It is, unfortunately, near a war zone. So, we can't expect things to go smoothly, even if we're not there to fight anyone."

"So, I'm being a bodyguard, again?"

"Essentially. However, confrontation would and should be a last resort."

"Okay, but are you posing this question to anyone else?"

"I've thought about it, but the others aren't what I really need for this operation. Reinhardt, as caring and sweet as he is, might be excessive seeing that giant of a man walking around even without his armor. McCree's a wanted man and we must be deployed as 'under the books' as we possibly can. The camp is international not U.N., but bringing him along could only raise further suspicions; The same could basically be said for the others. Except you, however. So, what do you think?"

After Dr. Ziegler said that, she put up a sheepish smile, trying to make it seem like it wasn't still risky despite being literally told it was next to a war zone. However, it didn't sound like the riskiest mission he would be sent on and would be simple if things did go smoothly; Just walk around and make sure no one tries anything on the Doctor. As Nathan looked at Angela and contemplated what he should do as those blue eyes observed him, the Courier only reminded of how indebted he is to the blonde Doctor. He hasn't figured out the course of action to take to repay her, but this felt like a start.

"I'm going to need a few more details, but sure, I'll come along," Brin accepted, silently wincing in his mind.

"Really?" Dr. Ziegler responded, genuinely surprised by how easy that was before smiling in appreciation. "That's great!"

However, that smile awkwardly morphed into a sheepish grin as she looked away, looking at the ground and looking worried. Nathan noticed.

"Is there something else you wanted to say, Dr. Ziegler?" he asked, somewhat concerned.

"Yes, I almost forgot to mention," she explained, sitting upright as she cleared her throat. "You may not like this, but I would like to request that you leave your 'Ranger armor' at the base."

"… Oh."

"I'm afraid that the… 'Aesthetic' of your armor would be too intimidating and would make the civilians very nervous. I'm sorry because I know how connected you are to that armor and how much you rely on it. Much like any other piece of your equipment. If you want to opt out of the mission because of this, I understand, and I'll try to find someone else to undertake it-!"

"Doctor!"

The Swiss Doctor looked up and saw Nathan looking at her with an understanding expression, holding up an open palm to her. He then took a sip of his coffee before continuing.

"It's fine," the Waster reassured. "I can make do. I might be able to find something in storage. I'll figure it out, don't worry. When's the mission?"

"Within a couple of days," the Field Medic answered, now breathing a bit easy. "Thank you for this, Nathan. I really appreciate you agreeing to this."

"Thank me when the mission's done, Dr. Ziegler."

She nodded, then getting up to make her way to his door. However, she looked back and noticed something on the man's desk glimmer brightly in the computer's light.

"That's new," the Swiss woman observed, looking at the black pistol on his desk. "Where did you get it?"

"Oh, this?" Nathan asked, picking up the handgun and holding it up to the light. "Snatched it in Numbani. Lost my M1911 there so I had to find a replacement. Did some research and learned it's a 'SIG P320'. Not a bad pistol. You probably know about SIG, don't you?"

"Schweizerische Industrie Gesellschaft?" Angela questioned, switching to her native language. "Of course, I'm Swiss."

The Californian snapped his eyes to her, surprised at the sudden outburst of the "alien" language before just chuckling lightly in amusement. Angela joined him and the two shared the silliness for a couple of seconds before it died down. Nathan set the gun down and rotated on his chair to face the Swiss woman.

"Never really took you for a gun person," the Wasteland Veteran admitted, looking up at her.

"Well, if there's one thing I know; It's that that weapon is quality and should serve you well," the Swiss Doctor stated. "Auf Wiedersehen, Brin."

"Uh… off-veder-sen, Doctor," he returned the saying, butchering the German phrase but she appreciated the attempt, nonetheless. "Thanks for the coffee."

With a smile and a nod, she left, Nathan alone once again in his room. The Courier then looked back at the Swiss Handgun and picked it up. He fiddled with the firearm a bit more, familiarizing with every notch, lever, and button he felt. Pulling back on the slide, feeling the grip's grooves dig into his calloused palm. Locking into place, he reached over and grabbed one of the handgun's magazines, full of .45 ACP. He slid the box magazine into the grip and looked at the breach to see the rounds sitting there. Flicking his thumb and watching it chamber a round with a sharp noise.


30 miles West of the Iraq-Iran Border, Nathan was being flown in a helicopter, sitting on a bench in the cabin. Looking out one of the circular windows on the side. He watched as stretch after stretch of desert passed by them, barely any life aside from the occasional watering hole and minute village. It was a strange thought thinking how a city like Oasis could thrive in a country whose landscape was as arid and dry as this, but he of all people should not question that.

Then, buildings started coming into view, not long until he could see they were now flying over a sea of structures and not sand. The city not nearly as tall or lavish as the others, but it was smoking all the same. Many of the buildings weren't even whole, just piles of rubble spilling out onto empty streets. The Wastelander needn't wonder how it came to this.

Nathan stopped sightseeing out of the window and looked down at himself, seeing All-American resting between his knees. Not draped in a cuirass and a coat, the Courier wore a metal chest piece over his torso, that had glowing highlights for some reason. It was different than most vests he was used to and recalls McCree wearing a similar piece of armor. Whether it'll protect him remains to be seen. Over that, he had a pouch for magazines and equipment, and on his waist, was a belt that held the holster for his sidearm as well as extra ammo. He wore a regular white t-shirt under the armor, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and wore a pair of beige cargo pants with his boots for the desert setting. However, for headwear, he – unfortunately – couldn't find anything that wasn't in a tacky shade of blue. So, he just opted for some old baseball cap and a pair of aviators he had.

There was talk within the cabin across from him, looking up to see Dr. Ziegler discussing something with Aida, who sat next to her. The Doctor was outfitted in her Valkyrie, wearing a doctor's coat over it, while Aida wore a coat over ordinary clothes. Nathan just watched them as they had their conversation, unable to figure out the Arabic they spoke to each other. If he could guess, however, from Aida's slight stuttering and shallow breathing to Angela's gentle and soothing tone, the assistant was probably worried about the deployment. Her very first deployment.

"We're arriving at the camp now!" the helicopter's intercom grabbed everyone's attention. "Bringing her to land."

The occupants felt the aircraft speed shift, and they looked outside to see themselves slowly hover to the ground. As they felt cabin shake for a final time, everyone got up and readied themselves as the helicopter's ramp lowered and let the light and dust flood in. Nathan rotated the cap's brim over his eyes as he picked up his pack, slinging it over his shoulder. Dr. Ziegler took point, standing at the front with Aida to her side.

"Remember what I told you, okay?" the older woman said, placing a reassuring hand on Aida.

Aida looked up at her and nodded, before looking forward and watching the ramp descend to the ground. When it stopped, the two walked out and into the light, Nathan close behind. Almost blinded at first, his eyes slowly adjust, and looks out to see a field of tents before them, many of them dirty and stricken with sand. People - civilians and aid workers - milled about camp. There was a metal perimeter formed around the entire encampment, separating it from the rest of the ruined city. Some of the walls even had armed men walking on catwalks and keeping watch. Some of them looked like they belong to a local security force, but others looked like they were a long way gone from home. Volunteers, he presumes. Must've been stuck here long, if the dirt on their faces was an indication.

Then, he spots one of the aid workers, a brunette woman in a green medical robe and cap, approaching Dr. Ziegler. Upon closer inspection, he could see bags under her eyes, complemented by faint red stains on her green gown. Despite that, she had an ear to ear grin as she got close to Angela and hugged her closely, the recipient hugging back as tightly as they could.

"Oh, Angela!" the woman exclaimed, burying her head in her shoulder. "Thank you so much for coming!"

"I came as soon as I could, Gloria," she responded calmly, letting go to look at her face. "Are you okay? You look like you haven't slept in weeks!"

"I'm fine, Doctor. It's just that things have been really picking up since you've left."

"Please, tell me more as we get inside. Oh, and I'd like you to meet some of my colleagues."

Angela stepped aside, gesturing for Aida to come forward. "This is Aida, a bright young girl. She was a student at Oasis' University before becoming my assistant. You'll find that she is very capable."

"Pleasure to meet you," the student greeted. "I'm sorry to hear about your situation. Sounds very rough."

"Oh, don't trouble yourself with that," the nurse assured, before looking at Nathan. "And who's this?"

"Name's James," he lied, nodding to her. "Just here to make sure these two stay safe."

"I see. Well, let me show all of you what we're dealing with. Please, come with me."

Gloria began walking into the camp, Angela and Aida following her. Nathan was about to, as well, until he heard feet shuffling behind him and looked back to see the other Overwatch workers they brought along unloading crates and supplies off the helicopter. Two of them passed by him with a sizable shipment, and he saw one of the men was the worker from the infirmary the day before. The worker noticed him too and gave a wave with his free hand.

As the nurse led them further within the camp, the group saw more evidence of the apparent struggles they've been dealing with. There were so many refugees; young, old, male, female. People with bandages and gauze wrapped around their bodies, sometimes wrapped around stumps where their limbs should be. There were a lot of mothers, keeping their children close. There were a lot of kids just wandering around without any guardians in sight. Some in groups, some by their lonesome. They all had grim looks on their dirty, tired faces. Seen too much. Crumbling buildings not too far away, still smoldering with smoke. The Courier was all too familiar with such sights. He just never expected to find such a thing here.

"Where did all these people come from?" he questioned, looking around with an almost morose interest.

"Most of them are from here," Angela answered glumly, witnessing the reality around them. "Many are, however, from neighboring cities, towns, villages. The conflict displaced so many civilians within the region."

"What caused it?"

"I don't know, to be truthful about it. The belligerents will spout anything if it makes them sound like they're justified. There's too many to keep track of, for the sake of everyone's sanity. Water is my most likely guess."

"Resource war, huh? Hmph."

Angela peered over her shoulder to look at Nathan, seeing him still looking around in those aviators, a slight frown on his face. She thought about what he said, looking forward. However, she saw Aida walking alongside her, unable to stop gawking at what was around her.

"Are you all right, Aida?" the Field Medic asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Yes, it's just…" Aida said, making eye contact for a split-second before looking at the ground. "I just have family that lives in a city like this. Nothing happened yet but seeing this… It makes me worried."

Angela looked at her with pity and wrapped an arm around her, hugging the assistant close.

"Don't trouble yourself with that," Dr. Ziegler calmed, with a soothing voice. "Your family will be fine. I'm sure of it."

"Thank you, Angela."

Nathan watched the Doctor comfort Aida until he noticed the tents they were walking along seemed busier, more active than the ones near the landing pad. The busiest ones had a red cross plastered over their sides, but there were some canopies that showed personnel tending to some refugees. Long lines forming to a lot of them. However, there was one tent that didn't have a line or anyone standing in front of it. Curious, Nathan stopped and glanced at the others to see if they were looking before bringing his hand up to shove the flap away. Peering inside, it takes a while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he sees two rows of cots aligned on either side of the tent. He sees people lined up on these cots, all of them injured or wounded in some way. Gauze wrapped around their bodies like mummies, IV bags with clear liquids being drained into them, and blood stains everywhere. They all were either unconscious and or on the brink of passing out. It was just what the Waster expected, letting the flap fall back down and quietly slipping away.

When the group finally reached the main organizational tent, they gathered around a desk with Gloria, Angela, and Aida taking seats. Nathan still stood up, pacing around the tent's interior and looking at all the desks and whiteboards, reading off what was written on them. They looked like charts, setting up schedules for all the staff and volunteers to specific roles. The hours were long.

"So, Gloria, what has been happening in the camp since my absence?" Angela asks.

"For starters, we've been getting more refugees than we're able to effectively care for," Gloria admitted, rubbing her tired head. "We're understaffed, and are close to having a shortage of supplies."

"How many civilians are still out there?"

"There's no telling, but we already have so many people here that we can't spare any search parties. This refugee camp is basically a city, now."

"I see. That's disconcerting."

Angela's gaze drifted down to look at her folded hands on the table, a dampened demeanor on her face. Nathan craned his head to check on her and ask if she was okay until Angela spoke up, again.

"Well, we can't be everywhere at once," the Doctor admitted with a heavy sigh. "One step at a time. Where do you need us?"

After further debriefing, it wasn't long until they were sent to another nearby tent and got to work. The shelter was spacious, had rows of cots aligned throughout the room but had a section cornered off to house the medical supplies and equipment as well as a small desk. The front tent wall was rolled up, opening the interior for all to see. Nathan decided to sit in the back at the desk when their shift started, silently watching as the tent was soon flooded with patients.

Many were treated in mere minutes, others took up to an hour of tending. The Waster watched Dr. Ziegler work, expertly and with little hesitation to those who needed it the most. The Field Medic was gentle with her patients, calmly talking to them or their relatives in their native tongue. Helping them to understand their situations. Aida, while not treating ailments herself, still received instruction from her mentor and did them with little hesitation. Mainly passing out medicine and water to patients, handing the Doctor the supplies and tools she would need, or speaking to the ones still waiting in line. Angela even took some opportunities to teach Aida, letting her look and observe what she does. It was… intriguing to watch. However, even with an assistant and some staff, the line wasn't getting any shorter. Patients coming, patients leaving, patients becoming bed-ridden, and this went on for hours. Nathan sitting there in the dark and watching everything move along. It didn't run smoothly forever.

A few hours in, Angela was tending to a child – a little girl – an injury running along her leg. As she did this, Aida was at the line, talking to some of the waiting children. Nathan just sat at the desk and watched them. He felt a bit bored, but he'd rather leave the job to the professionals. She was doing fine with the kids and he didn't want to mess that up. He never did well with kids, especially ones running from a war zone. However, the bodyguard's ears perked as he heard yelling and suddenly a group of grown men approached the tent, cutting in front of the line, and held their palms out to the Doctor as if expecting handouts. It startled Angela and she rocketed up, holding the little girl close to her. Nathan rocketed up from the desk and practically stomped over to them, but the imposing Waster stopped as Angela held an open palm to him. Regarding him for a moment, she turned back to the crowd and began yelling at them in Arabic, throwing her arm in the air as if to cast them away. Making enough noise to stop some onlookers walking outside the tent. After she berated them, the group of men disbursed, disgruntled and shaking their heads. She lowered herself and planted the young girl on the cot again, trying to calm down the frightened child. Nathan then approached her, keeping an eye on the crowd.

"You alright?" he asks, looking down at her.

"I'm fine," the woman answered, trying to soothe the girl.

"What was that all about?"

"They all said they couldn't sleep. Wanted something to alleviate that. I told them they would get nothing for cutting in front of everyone else."

Then, he heard more yelling and looked to see Aida still at the line, dealing with another group of men, trying to wrestle something from their hands. His hand went to his sidearm but paused as he looked at the crowd, in the way of his line of fire. He then let go of the grip and marched over to them, closing the distance quickly with his wide gait. As the tall Waster got to Aida, he grabbed the arm of the man she was struggling with and bumped his shoulder into him, knocking the man to the ground. The group around him backed away and the man was scrambling away with an angry and surprised look on his face. Aida backs away surprised, hands over her chest.

"Fuck outta here!" the bodyguard commanded, throwing his arm in the air. He began shoving some of the other men away, putting distance between them and the line. "Get the fuck out of here! Go!"

Like the earlier group, they began to disperse in random directions, leaving the tent and the staff alone. Nathan stood there, staring daggers at them and making sure they didn't get close. After a few moments, he backpedaled and walked back to Aida, who was still talking to the kids.

"Thanks," she expressed, still a bit shaken.

"What were they doing?" he questioned, occasionally looking over his shoulder to see if there were more of them.

"They were stealing candy. From the kids, I mean."

"Christ…" Nathan cursed, brushing his hand through his hair.

The sun had gone halfway across the sky and the line only seemed to have gotten bigger. As if a bunch more refugees had flooded the place since they landed, or had gotten out of their tents to see the charitable Dr. Ziegler to cure their ailments. Earlier, he looked at the supplies they had in the tent and it didn't look like it was going to be enough for everyone. That staff of hers could only fix so much.

Suddenly, he heard yelling but it was in English, accompanied by the sound of a gunshot that made everyone jump and panic. Nathan pulled out his sidearm and flipped the safety off, hearing the shot originate from a nearby tent. Then, a man burst through the entrance, carrying a white box. Another man came out, one of the security personnel, chasing the man while screaming.

"Stop! Thief!" he yelled in English, waving his arm as he chased the man. "Someone stop him!"

Nathan leveled his sight at the man, but couldn't get a clear shot as there were civilians in the way, screaming and running around. The other security personnel were chasing the man, but they were too late as the thief climbed over one of the barriers and jumped off. Nathan ran up to the barrier, watching as the man sprinted down the road before turning a corner and was now out of sight. The security guard that was yelling ran up beside him and shouted in frustration.

"What did he steal?" Nathan questioned, holstering his sidearm.

"Some medical supplies," he answered, cursing. "Fucking bandits! This is the third time this month this has happened."

"And nothing's been done about it?"

"What can we do? We're supposed to be here guarding this place and making sure everyone's safe. Can't spare any men to go hunt for the bastards. If I could hire a mercenary, though, I gladly would."

The security guard sighed and trudged away, head hanging low. Nathan watched him walk away before staring out at the street again, seeing rubble and litter spread across the road. However, he felt something wet as he laid his hand on the barrier and looked to see it was blood on his hand. The thief's blood. Looking back up, he notices other blots of blood that dotted the way. He hummed in thought as he looks out into the ruined street, flanked on either side by dilapidated buildings. The Courier wiped the blood over his trousers as he made his way back to the tent. As he arrived, Angela saw him and directed for a staff member to fill in for her, before standing up and going over to her bodyguard.

"Nathan, has the situation been contained?" Angela asked, looking up at him.

"Bastard's gone, but he stole some medical supplies in the process," Nathan answered, going back to the desk, and rearranging some things.

"That's a shame… Thank you for telling me."

Dr. Zielger turned away, about to go back to her patient until she felt a hand gently grab her arm. She looked back to see the tall Waster looking down at her with a slight face of pity.

"Do you need some help, at least?" he asked, glancing at the line. "It looks like you need it."

"I…" Angela hesitated, looking down at her feet as she thought about it. Her job wasn't getting any easier, and even with the staff they had they there were still so many others to be cared for. It looked like she was going to be there well after midnight. Nathan was offering, so why not?

"Yes, I would like some help, please. Thank you," she admitted, looking up at him and pointing to the corner. "You can start by unloading some of the supplies and handing them out."

"Sure thing, Doctor," Nathan nodded, going to the corner and crouching down to the supply crate.

"Oh, and another question: Do you have any medical training?"

Nathan stopped, looked over his shoulder to Angela, awaiting an answer.

"… Some, actually," the Waster admitted, harkening back to some memories. "This wouldn't be the first infirmary I've worked in."

"That's good," the Doctor stated, smiling to some good news. "We could really use what you know. Come back with the supplies and a fresh pair of gloves so we can get you started."

"Sure thing."

He smiled as he addressed Angela, but when she went back to her patient, that smile faded as he turned back to the supplies. He opened a crate full of medical supplies and started grabbing the contents and laid them all out on the desk. However, after emptying it, he went back into the corner to his pack and unzipped it. In it, the metal helmet of his Ranger Armor shined in the low light, along with the rest of his uniform. Nathan looked over his shoulder to see if Dr. Ziegler was looking, but she wasn't. The Courier looked back at his armor again before closing it up. Standing up, he went to the Doctor with the supplies and got to work right away.


Night time had finally fallen, campfires and lanterns across the site being lit while much of the activity died down. Despite their fears, Angela and her assistants were able to tend to most of the patients, only a few individuals left with mendable ailments. Angela was hunched over a cot, sitting on a chair as she hooked up her Caduceus Staff to hang over her sleeping patient and link the healing stream. The blonde let out an exhausted yawn, her eyes half-closed, leaning against her arm as it was propped up against her thigh. Then, something crossed her tired vision and sat up to see it was a metal mug with a steaming, brown drink. She took it in her hands and gave it a whiff, letting out a moan of delight from the pleasant scent of the brew before taking a sip.

"Thank you, Nathan," the Doctor expressed gratitude, looking up at him. "I really needed this."

"No problem, Doctor," the man responded. "Need anything else done?"

"No, I'm fine. I think we all are. I'm glad we could treat all those refugees. Get some rest, you clearly earned it."

"If there's anyone here that deserves some shut-eye it's you. You've been nodding off there a couple of times. Are you sure you don't need anything else?"

"I told you, I'm fine. Thank you for worrying. Now please, get some rest. I'll take care of things over here."

Nathan frowned slightly, unconvinced but who was he to challenge one of the top doctors in the world? With a nod, he left her to her task and went to the desk. He passed by Aida, who had her head resting on her arms over the counter, unaware of the tall man passing by. He crouched down and grabbed his pack, looking back to see Angela still hunched over her patient, the golden tether from her Staff illuminating her face and the space around her. Disheveled blonde locks loosely hanging across her forehead, her blue eyes seeming dull from the fatigue, and the occasional sip of the coffee to keep her mind straight. Nathan stared at her for several moments, noting how committed she was to help her patients, before getting up and bringing his pack outside. Making sure to go somewhere where he'll be unseen.


The Courier landed with a heavy thud onto the broken road, his boots scraping along the concrete and kicking up dust as he snuck away from the refugee camp to go into the ruined city. The night complimented the dark duster that covered his riot armor, easily slipping away from the view of the camp's security, and soon slipping behind a building to be completely out of sight. The Wastelander kept one eye trained on the ground and the other trained before him to beware of any threats that could be lurking throughout this city. He had his hands wrapped around All-American, the carbine locked and loaded, only a flip of the safety away from being hot. He was unsure, at first, if there could be a viable trail of blood for him to track the thief with, but his worries were subsided as he kept seeing sizable spurts of crimson spilled across the dusty road. The blood wet enough for it to rub off on his fingers when he touches it.

However, even when he hunkered low to the ground, his attention occasionally got distracted by the buildings surrounding him. Individually, they were rather bland and didn't have anything to make them stand out in a certain way, either by design or molded that way by war. The crumbling buildings, roads busted and cracked, sand and trash scattered everywhere with little care, and only the eerie rush of the wind to accompany the Wander as he ran through the streets alone. He would've compared the environment to Eichenwalde if it wasn't for the fact the old German village still had signs of life in the form of lush vegetation and feathery-fauna. Here? It didn't look much better than the Boneyard.

Following the trail of blood, the memory of bounty hunting crept in the back of his mind like a bug. The only thing missing being a bounty notice in his pocket calling for the thief's head and the promise of caps at the end of it. Getting back those medical supplies would suffice, and he doubts they would appreciate having the thief's head as proof. He looked around the desolate city block, his breaths warming up the inside of his mask. Any windows that weren't shattered or close to breaking displayed empty and dark canvasses, bleak of activity. The streets were almost pitch-black, impassable if it wasn't for the low-light vision, and even then, he had to be careful crossing into unknown territory. He strayed a good distance away from the refugee camp.

However, the pitch of the wind changed, and he looked to the left of the street to see two bright lights approaching from the distance. Quickly, Nathan sprinted to a nearby alleyway and hid in the shadows. He propped his muzzle up as the source of the lights, a pickup truck with an unseen number of occupants, sped by down the road. When it passed, the coated man stayed in the alleyway and waited for the sand to settle, before slowing inching his way back out onto the street. There was suddenly a noise behind him and he spun around, safety off. Then, his brow rises, and his stance loosens up as it was a small, furry animal standing wide-eyed at him. Stood on four legs, pointed ears, and a short-pointed snout. He hasn't seen many of these things in California, but he'd reckoned they weren't on the brink of extinction here. With a purr, the cat turned and ran away from the human, quickly disappearing into the alley. The Waster huffed and walked back onto the road, quickly getting back on the blood trail. It soon led him in the same direction that truck went to.

After minutes of traversing abandoned streets, the trail had finally led him to an empty lot next to a large warehouse that didn't have windows, but the steel sheet roof had openings that let faint light spill outwards, showing something was inside. Wary, Nathan crouched low to the ground and snuck over to the warehouse, his legs somewhat burning from all the activity, but he ignored it along the way. He reached the wall, silently crossing it to see if there was another entrance or any opening he could use. He eventually comes across what appeared to be construction scaffoldings that led up to the roof. With the carbine trained on the roof, he climbed up the supports, his boots lightly tapping against the metal. Finally, he reached the roof and climbed in through an opening to find himself on the warehouse's second level, overlooking the ground floor. It wasn't hard finding the source of the light: a barrel with fire and two men huddled around it.

Slowly, with his eyes fixed on them, the Courier slowly moved along the metal beam and made his way to the other side of the warehouse to get closer to the men. Getting a lay of the land, he notices something covered in a tarp next to them, possibly the supplies they've stolen. His assumption is only bolstered as he notices one of the men has gauze wrapped around his arm. They were talking, indiscernible to the Californian, of course. Then, close enough to where he was almost hovering over them, he shouldered his rifle and peered through the scope at both his targets. However, through the scope, he could see they had guns, rifles resting against the tarp. That wouldn't be a problem, as he could've easily popped off two shots and be done with it, but that changed when the warehouse gate started opening. As it soon as it was wide enough, the truck Nathan saw earlier drove in and parked itself, a few armed men filing out. Some of them were unpacking random boxes and crates from the flatbed and place them near the tarp, some went to the burn barrel and started conversing with the others. Nathan's eyes darted to all of them, planning and calculating as he let out a low growl. Counting, he saw eight. Looking down at the holster on his hip, he recounted the number of rounds his pistol's magazine held - Ten.

Peering back up at the group of bandits, the Courier slung All-American onto his back and promptly pulled his new .45 from the holster. He looked down at the handgun, wrapping his hands around the grip and getting a feel for its weight. Then, he brings up his left hand to the side of his helmet, his red eyes blinking off. After the electronics whirred to silence, he wrapped the hand around the slide and chambered a round.

The group of bandits immediately fell silent as the sound of something metallic echoed throughout the largely empty warehouse, most of them taking up arms and looking around to try to decipher the source of that noise. They stayed close to the burn barrel, the muzzles of their guns sweeping all over the area, mainly pointing at the dark corners of the warehouse. Some of them yelled in their language, questioning who was hiding in the shadows or prompting any intruder to come out and show themselves. Obviously, no one answered. However, after a few moments of silence, the warehouse suddenly lit up as a gunshot rang and one of the men collapsed to the floor as blood erupted from his head.

They all started firing wildly, the automatic fire of their weapons lighting up the entire room and their rounds peppering the walls, pillars, ceilings, and floor. They didn't know what they were shooting at, just where they believed the shot came from – which was apparently five different directions. Never letting go of the triggers, they yelled as they felt the rifles kick against their shoulders, casings scattered everywhere. Hundreds of rounds being used up in seconds. Finally, the gunfire died down, their ears ringing and sweat dripping. Looking around the dimly lit warehouse, the only thing they see is the corpse not of their doing.

Two gunshots ring out from behind, followed by two of their own collapsing like ragdolls. The others tried to fire back but their rifles only clicked, signaling they were out as they spent all the rounds in them like amateurs. Suddenly, a large man burst from the shadows and swiped at one of the bandits, knocking the rifle away and placing the muzzle of his pistol against his stomach before squeezing the trigger twice. As he recoiled back, clutching his bleeding belly, the armored man fired and downed two others. He heard a cry to his left and saw a bandit ready to swing his rifle at him. He blocked it with the gauntlet and knocked the weapon away, bringing his pistol up. The man gagged as he felt his throat collapse on itself, clutching it as he fell to the floor and choked on his own blood. The Courier stood over him with the pistol and executed the choking man, ending the sound of his rattles. He then heard a click and looked to see the last bandit standing, the one with the gauze around his hand, with a rifle in his hands. The thief's right hand was inches away from the charging handle, staring at the man with the pistol still hanging over his dead friend. They stared at each other, terrified eyes staring at the dirty lenses. The helmet not even looking slightly concerned. Standing tall.

"Try me."

The man scrambled to wrap his hand around the charging hand but yelped as something struck his hand and made him drop the rifle. Clutching his hands and falling to the floor, the thief looks down to see his hand broken and bleeding. He then hears heavy footfalls approaching and looks up to see the black figure looming over him, blocking out the fire from the barrel. The thief holds up his hands, hyperventilating as fear strikes his eyes. Then, a hand shoots out and grabs him by the shirt, the man screaming in fear before the polymer grip of the SIG connected with the side of his head and knocked him unconscious. The Courier unceremoniously letting him fall to the floor. He brings the pistol to the light of the flame and ejects the magazine to see that it was empty. He then racks the slide and the last .45 caliber round pops out, twirling in the air before being snatched.

"Nine rounds, eight targets?" he observes, putting the magazine and the loose round in a pocket. "…Dammit."

Nathan holsters the P320, having thoroughly tested it, and walked over to the tarp. Throwing it off, he finds multiple crates and boxes stacked over one another. It wasn't exclusively medical supplies, as there were rations, equipment, and even ammunition crates piled neatly and strapped to a floating flat cart. Too much for just a group of bandits to subsist on. These guys must've been making a killing from this merchandise until the Courier killed most of them. Walking around, he looked on the cart's control panel and powered it on, the device and its load hovering into the air with ease. He looked at the supplies, now having something to bring back to the camp. He didn't know how much it would help, but something is better than nothing. However, he heard slight groaning and looked back to see the thief stirring. Nathan looked down, picking up some spare straps and rope, before walking over to the thief.


A guard posted at the refugee camp sat with his back against the barrier, dozing off as his rifle was nuzzled between him and his arm. However, before he was about to go to dreamland, he felt something hit him in the back of the head, then scrambling to his feet with the rifle in hand. Activating a light on his rifle, it swept across the street until something glistened. He stopped on it, before raising his head in the air in surprise.

It was a cart of what seemed to be supplies, just lying in the middle of the street. Even stranger was the person in front of those supplies, hogtied and unconscious. Upon closer inspection, he recognized the man as being the thief from earlier, but he was wondering what was he and the stolen goods were doing there in the middle of the street. He didn't like it, but it was tempting to walk out there and grab those supplies, especially the ones they needed.

"Base Security, this is the North Entrance," the man spoke into a radio. "Be advised, I've spotted a cart full of supplies in the middle of the street in front of me, and the unconscious body of the thief from earlier today in front of that, all tied up. Over."

"Uh, North Entrance this is Base Security, can you confirm what you just said?" a voice spoke over the radio, sounding befuddled. "A 'cart full of supplies'? Over."

"I'm telling you, man, that's what I see. I'm staring directly at it. A cart full of supplies, thirty meters from the entrance. Over."

"Roger that, sending a team to investigate. Stay put and keep your head on a swivel. Over"

"Wilco."

Releasing his hand from the comms, he trained his rifle on the suspicious cart. However, his gaze drifted down and he saw the thing that had hit him and saw it was a small rock but it had something wrapped around it – paper. Intrigued but still cautious, he crouched down and picked the rock up. Releasing the piece of paper from it, he folded it open to see what was on it. To his surprise, it was a message in English.

"Caught the thief and got your supplies back. You're welcome."

That only made him more confused.

Meanwhile, not so far away, the Courier watched with glowing red eyes as a group of men got out of the entrance and slowly approached the cart. Seeing that, he slipped into cover and snuck back into the camp.


Nathan's pack landed on the tent floor with a thump, the tall man exhaling deeply as he wiped sweat away from his forehead. He didn't feel tired, but that little stunt outside the camp left him… Satisfied, for now. It felt good, stretching his legs and breaking in his new sidearm. But now, all he wanted was a smoke.

He made his way to the front, eager to fill his lungs with tobacco, but stopped as he noticed something. There was a cot with two patients on it – another little girl and her mother – sleeping together as the latter hugged her daughter close under a blanket. Next to them, Dr. Ziegler was sitting on a chair and was passed out, still staying close to her patients. Her sleeping head hanging to the side, her arms crossed over his chest. The blonde was resting her head on a stuffed animal that looked like the cross between an onion and an octopus, the weight compressing the soft creature and its silly face. Nathan looked down at the sleeping blonde, before turning around and going to a corner of the tent. He came back, and draped Angela with a spare blanket, covering her up to her neck. Standing back, he watched her stir slightly in her sleep as she unconsciously grabbed the blanket and hugged it close to her body. That thing she rested on letting out a low squeaking noise as she moved.

Nathan finally walked out, greeted by all the light of the encampment, and reveled in the relative silence. The chaos from earlier has long died down. He found a sturdy enough box and sat upon it, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his back pocket. Sticking one in his mouth, he lights the end of it before snapping the box closed and gives one long pull on the cig, feeling something warm fill up his lungs. Taking it out and resting it between his fingers, he puffs a large cloud into the air to watch it go up into the night sky. Staring at the innumerable sea of stars through the translucent cloud. Probably one benefit of a city in darkness.

He hears movement to his right and sees a man in an Overwatch jumpsuit come up with a crate and a plant it into the ground with a sigh of relief. Seeing a familiar face. The brown-haired man wipes sweat from his brow and looks at Nathan, smiling and jutting his chin out to greet him. Nathan returns the gesture before going back to his smoke. The man in the jumpsuit then pulls out a pack of cigarettes of his own, grabbing one of the stick from the box with his mouth. He then reaches for his other pocket, but his face contorts into annoyance as he doesn't find what he's looking for, before patting his hand all over his suit. Nathan notices and watches as the man groans in frustrations with an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. The worker looks at him, before pointing to his mouth with pleading in his eyes. The Waster looks at the lighter in his hand before flipping it open and striking the flame alive. He brings it over to the man, who leans forward and lets the ember spark his cigarette until Nathan pulls back and shuts it.

"Thank ya' kindly," the worker expresses, letting out a little cloud into the air. "I really needed this."

"Yup," the Waster responded, staring blankly at the sky. "I guess some of us do."

"What's your name? I never caught it back at the infirmary."

"That's because I never said it."

"Well, maybe we can start. Name's Manuel."

The man held an open palm to the Courier, who looked at it before glancing upward to see a smiling face with a lit cigarette. The Waster could never figure out what everyone's deal was in Overwatch. However, it never occurred to him to at least try and get used to it.

"Nathan," he stated, reaching across to grab his hand and shake it.

"Hell of a day we've had, huh, Nathan?" Manuel asked, shaking his hand with vigor before letting go.

"I guess, depending on who you ask. I'm sure Dr. Ziegler would agree."

"Yeah, but it comes with the territory. I think. At least we can smoke out to good feelings, now."

"'Good feelings…?' Eh, not always."

"We got a cool view, though," Manual responded, looking up at the starry sky. "Seen plenty of these back in California."

Nathan looked and addressed the man when he heard that word.

"You're from California?" the New Californian asked.

"Yup, not from L.A., though," the Californian responded with a stern face. "Just wanted to make that clear. Everybody always assumes I'm from there. Kinda annoying given how big the state is. Are you from California?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Cheers to that! Wish we had beer, though."

Manuel shook his head and laughed, taking another drag from the cigarette and reclining further back to stare at the sky. Nathan just sat there and looked at him, before staring up, as well. The two enjoyed the rest of the night puffing clouds of tobacco near a medical tent.