Revised on the 22nd of November 2017


AN:

Responses…

Guest: So, are you going to explain why you think the chapter was "not interesting" so I can at least improve something about my writing and not make it that way anymore, or are you just going to call it "boring as shit" and not help fix anything? I'd like to know.

With that out of the way, let's get on with the chapter.


Watchpoint: Gibraltar, Mediterranean

2076

"Beeep!"

A high-pitched beep echoed throughout the shooting range – from a much wider booth in the middle of the shooting line – and almost in the blink of an eye, a Marksman Carbine went off with three shots in succession. As swiftly as he lifted his gun and fired, the Courier flipped the selector switch to "safe" and brought the barrel down to face the floor. There were three holographic targets before him in the range, a gunshot wound on each of them, all hitting directly center-mass. Accuracy wasn't really his goal for this range trip, however, his shots simply landing on target being good enough in that regard. Instead, he wanted to work on the speed of his draw. Firing off his shots rapidly, his hands operating his weapons skillfully. He waited until a blue hologram appeared from the shooting bench and displayed a set of numbers.

"00:01.53"

"Dammit," Nathan grumbled in his helmet, disappointed with the time.

He ejected the magazine from his weapon and placed it on the table, then retrieving another mag with rounds in it. It was lighter than average, clearly not at full capacity, but he inserted it into All-American and let the bolt slam forward to chamber the first round. He pressed a few buttons on the table to reset the targets and the stopwatch. Getting back into shooting position, he held the rifle against his chest, muzzle pointing to the ground, and finger straight off the trigger. His eyes stared at the three red targets, eyeing them, and mentally preparing himself. Tightening his grip on his rifle. Waiting.

"Beeep!"

Simultaneously flipping the safety off, getting his finger on the trigger, and raising the barrel, Nathan fired off three more shots in rapid succession towards the three targets before flipping the safety on, getting his finger off the trigger, and lowering the barrel. All three targets bearing wounds in center-mass, again. Fast enough to miss in a blink, but he wanted specifics. Waiting until the blue hologram popped up, again.

"00:01.02"

'Better, but not good enough,' he lamented, ejecting the magazine and going to retrieve a fresh one.

"That's some fast shooting, son."

Nathan turned his helmeted head to see a black mask with a thin red eye looking at him, leaning against the booth divider next to him. Not wearing his signature leather jacket indoors, going for a more casual look with a simple grey shirt and grey tactical pants. That seemed unlike him, coupled with his appearance on the base and in the open.

"I suppose," the younger man responds, resetting the shooting gallery and his rifle clicking with a new round in the chamber.

He gets back into his stance, readying himself again and eyeing the three targets. Paying little mind to who was standing a few feet to the left, silently watching with eyes concealed behind that red visor.

"Beeep!"

Nathan flipped the safety off and lifted the muzzle, as if it was second nature, and had already fired off the first two shots noticeably faster than before. As he drifted his barrel to the third and last target, he squeezed the trigger but froze as the muzzle didn't flare up for a third time. Only the audible click of the hammer striking the firing pin echoing throughout the room. The shooter eased his stance, peering over to the right side of his gun, and looking at the breach to see the bolt still closed. Grumbling, he removed the magazine and flipped the safety on before pulling back on the charging round and ejecting an unspent cartridge onto the bench. He picked the gold casing between his thumb and finger, looking to see the primer with a faint indent from the firing pin.

"Goddammit."

"Light primer strike?" Morrison asked, not moving from his spot.

"Light primer strike," Brin answered, tossing the dud round onto the bench. "Or faulty primer. I don't know."

He leaned against the shooting bench and unslung his rifle from his torso. Placing it on the bench, prominent scratches and damage greeting him. It no longer bared a scope and had some generic iron sight attachment Nathan found before promptly slapping it onto the railing. It seemed to be properly sighted in, but as mentioned before, accuracy was the least of his concerns.

The American Soldier craned his neck, looking at the badge painted onto the left side of All-American's magwell. Two white A's in a circle of blue, then surrounded by a maroon square, with the word "Airborne" in white above in a blue rectangle.

"Why're you here, Morrison?" Nathan went straight to the point, casting a gaze towards the red visor.

"I wanted to talk about the mission to Guizhou, what happened at the Ecopoint," Jack answered, that red line across his visor unfazed.

"Gonna wail on me for fucking up, huh?" Nathan began to shake his head side-to-side. "This soon? It's not unwarranted, I'll give you that."

"No, that's not why I'm here."

The Courier's ill-smile fades, looking up at Morrison with doubt in his eyes. Again, it was hard to read the Soldier's face with that mask over his face. Only ever seeing his actual face on one or two occasions.

"I thought you wanted to talk about Guizhou?" Nathan asked.

"I do," Jack responded. "I already know what happened. How fast it went it went south when he appeared, but that's not why I'm here."

"Then what did you want to talk about, then?"

"What happened with Mirembe."

Nathan just stared at him for several moments before dismissingly grunting as he went back to the shooting bench and fieldstripping All-American, already separating the upper and lower receivers. Next, taking out the bolt carrier group and inspecting it, while Morrison still leaned against the booth and addressed him.

"I heard what happened with her and you. What you did while under fire," the Soldier went on anyway. "You really didn't have to do that, you know? The fact you even did is rather telling."

"You going to pin a medal on my chest, then, old man?" the Courier quipped, not bothering to look up. "Or court-martial me?"

"No, that type of stuff is long gone for me. What I'm saying is that I don't think I'd know a lot of people who would outright do that. For a corpse, I mean."

"Not even Amari? I'd imagine she would try to lug you around if you had a big crater in the side of your head."

"I'm sure she'd be an exception."

"What makes my situation special, then?"

"Not much, at least in my old eyes. The others, though? They're not going to forget what you did anytime soon."

Nathan paused, looking up from the bench to look Jack in his red-eye and black mask. His own red eyes unmoving and unfaltering for the duration of the gaze, before he breaks eye-contact and looks down back down at his carbine.

"I didn't do it for them," the Courier spat out.

"Bullshit," the Soldier retorted. "Why else would you do it?"

"The guilt festering inside of me, I guess. Whatever the hell that sinking feeling in your gut is. Or, maybe seeing pretty women like that just doesn't feel good. Of course, that's what I drink alcohol for."

Finishing that sentence, he clasped All-American back together and made the bolt slam against the chamber with the pull of the charging handle. Everything in good order for the most part.

"Now, let me ask you something," the Courier began, turning to face the Old Soldier straight in the eye. "Why do you care? For the entirety I've been here, you've been scarcer in this base than a whore in church. You rarely take that mask off, and I only ever see you with Amari or close-by to her. The fact that you're here, next to me, is baffling. You're 'calling' is more synonymous with you than your name. If you're really a part of this organization, then where the hell have you been? Why would you care for Mirembe?"

"Because back when Overwatch was a well-oiled machine, I used to be her squad leader and her commander, that's why."

Nathan's eyes widened, clearly not expecting that answer from him and caught off-guard by how sudden the answer was, as well. The scratched-up helmet hiding his expression from the Old Soldier. Then, they heard a faint buzzing noise approaching from behind and saw Hana walking into the range with her earphones blaring music, holding a carrier for her pink Light Gun along her forearm as she held her pink phone in her hands, too enamored with what was on the screen as she blew a piece of bubble gum from her mouth before it popped.

"Hi, Uncle," she greeted as she passed Nathan, then passing by Jack. "Hi, Dad."

"Uncle's" gaze follows her as she went further down the booths until occupying spot on the other side of the room, far from them. Plenty of space in the largely empty gun range. As Nathan just stared at her, more than taken aback by the sudden name-calling, he broke out of his trance as he heard a low chuckle emanate from Jack and see him slightly shaking. That mask hiding his amused expression.

"She's calling you 'Uncle', now," he said, shaking his head as if to act somewhat disappointed. "How 'bout that? You probably would've seen that coming if you've been looking around, which I've apparently not been doing."

The taller man grumbles under his masks as he went back to tending to the things on his shooting bench. Jack then looks out at the targets Nathan's been shooting as if seeing them for the first time.

"What're you doing?" he asks.

"Working on my draw," Nathan answers, begrudgingly.

"Well, you definitely seem fast now. Especially with a rifle. Kind of reminds me of my younger self."

"Would you believe me if I told you I was once faster than this?"

"Was?"

The Courier peered down to the back of his right hand, displaying a set of scars that covered his skin like paint on canvas. Twitching his fingers to reaffirm that he still had a sensation within in them. The same could be said for the other one, concealed by his Pip-Boy's glove. Then, without warning, Nathan's left hand slammed a button on the bench before his shooting hand went to his waist and speedily drew his SIG and fired off three shots towards the holographic targets as fast as a Deathclaw's swipe. Morrison's head snapped to the targets, seeing his shots had expertly landed on all of them in the short timeframe. After a few moments, the barrel of the handgun still smoking, a hologram popped up and displayed the time of his shots. McCree surely has some competition, he thought.

"00:01.32"

"Was," Nathan admitted, putting his gun back into the leather.

"What happened to the 1911?" Jack asked, noting his sidearm was different.

"Lost it, thanks to the Blue Bitch."

"Ah, sorry to hear that. I know what it's like to lose something like that… Well, I hope you don't choke on it, Brin. I'd know what that would feel like, too."

The ex-Commander finally got off the divider and walked away from the booth, giving the tall Waster a pat on the shoulder. Leaving the Courier alone in the booth of a shooting range quieter than normal.


After an hour more at the range, Nathan began to wrap up his practice as he was summoned to Winston's office. However, feeling a bit lazier than usual, Nathan hoisted both All-American and his gear over his body instead of dropping them off at his room, beforehand. People didn't seem to mind as he walked through the hall, his carbine dangling from the strap on his chest. It was a nice change of pace, so he didn't pay much mind to the others, either. Going through a hallway, there was a man in a jumpsuit before him, walking in the other direction and staring down at his tablet. The tall Waster was just going to walk-by until the man looked up and saw him.

"Afternoon, sir!" he said.

Nathan almost froze in his tracks out of surprise before nodding to him and letting out a grunt of acknowledgment. Good enough, as the man happily went on his way.

'Huh,' Brin thought, certain he was starting to become well-known in this tiny base built into a rock. 'That better not get annoying.'

Finally, Nathan reached Winston's laboratory to find him on the ground floor and looking at something on one of his workbenches. The Gorilla Scientist looks up and his eyes light up upon seeing who just came. That wasn't normal.

"You're here! Great!" Winston exclaimed, getting off his stool and lumbering over to him. "I wanted to discuss something with you-"

"You're requesting me here to take a gander at my equipment?" Nathan cut him off. "Or ask me to fetch something for you? Or to fix something you very well could've figured out? Or brief me on a dangerous mission you're going to send me on?"

Winston's cheery expression disappeared in that moment, replaced by an awkward, wide-eyed gaze.

"Uh… No, actually, none of those things…"

"…Oh…?"

"Yes… I, uh… Actually, want to give you something!"

The Gorilla's demeanor tried to get back to feigning a smile, again, but they were already well beyond that point. Nathan just standing there and staring at him, skepticism very much present on his face.

"Er-what?"

"Our deal!" Winston explained, awkwardly chuckling as he scratched his head. "I, uh, realized I haven't been really honoring my part of the deal and haven't really given you anything of value while you sacrificed a great deal for us. I want to change that today, even if it seems very long overdue. So… I want to show my thanks!"

"…Okay?"

"Okay!"

Winston gaped at Nathan with a big toothy grin, his canines prominently glinting in the light. Nathan just narrowed his eyes at him, wondering if this was some weird joke. They kept staring at each other for several long, awkward moments until Winston's smile faded, his eyes darting side-to-side, then clearing his throat into a closed fist. Nathan just standing there with his face scrunched up in uncertainty.

"So, uh, here it is!" Winston turned around to the workbench, picking something up, and presenting it to the tall man. It was a rectangular, metallic device that had a dim blue light in the center with black nylon straps that went through it and wrapped around. It looked like a very tacky belt with a brick buckle that was slightly skewed. The Waster already did not like its aesthetic.

"Umm, what the hell is this?" he asked, wrinkling his brow.

"It's a holster! A magnetic holster to be more precise," the Scientist explained, two large thumbs then pressing a button in the middle and watching it flicker to a bright blue.

"I already have straps for my guns, though," Brin responded, grabbing the base of All-American's leash, and dangling it in the air. "Why would I need another holster, nonetheless, a magnetic one?"

"Well, with the way I designed this holster, I made it so that you wouldn't need to a have a strap for each one of your long guns and that they could all share the same spot. Saving you space and time! It can store around three guns and makes holstering and unholstering a breeze. A demonstration would better articulate this, and I already see you brought one of your rifles with you. So, want to try?"

Winston held out his gift to Nathan, who still regarded the piece of equipment like he would a dead Radroach in the middle of a rusty shed. However, he was already there, and it wasn't like a holster was going to kill him… Hopefully. The man sighed as the Gorilla kept looking up at him, expectantly.

"Fine," he said lowly, ejecting the magazine from his carbine and clearing the chamber to make it safe for the demonstration.

"Great! Just tell me if there's anything that needs work," the Scientist said, handing the device to him.

Unclasping All-American from its strap and laying it on the workbench, Nathan then grabbed the magnetic holster and lifted it over his shoulder to wrap it around his chest. As he does so, he notices the straps begin to fasten by themselves and the metal "brick" on his back began turning like a gear, before stopping and setting itself parallel with his spine. When it lay snug against his body, he glanced at Winston who gave him a thumbs-up and a goofy grin. Wasn't reassuring in the slightest. Then, carefully, he grabbed his carbine by the stock, lifted it over his head, and brought it to the magnetic block. He felt the gun fall from his hand before it stuck to the magnet with a metallic clank. He peered over his shoulder to see that it was hanging from his back, magnetically kept in place on the brick. Nathan shook his body, jumped around a bit, and watched the strap bounce without the gun itself falling off. When he lifted his shooting hand to grab it, he was surprised to see the holster twist at an angle perpendicular to his hand and "lift" the gun up close to his hand, the grip closer as a result.

"Huh, handy," Brin said, somewhat surprised by the ease as he grabbed his gun. Despite being his first "gift" in this exchange, he felt it was a bit lacking in terms of utility, technology, and everything. "But, uh, when it came to the deal I wasn't really expecting… This."

"Really?" Winston earnestly asked. "Well, I've been working on it for some time, I thought you'd like it. I had Athena help analyze your combat routines and thought that holster seemed like the most helpful piece of equipment I could give you at this time. Was quite difficult trying to fit in the time for it, with everything else I had to juggle around. What don't you like about it?"

"It's not that I don't see the use for it," he responded, placing his carbine back on the holster to assess it further. "It just seems a bit paltry compared to what I've been giving you for the duration I've been here."

"Ah… I'm sorry for that, then. Did you have anything else in mind?"

"Something a bit more substantial than a holster. For example, I remember Vaswani using a shield one time when we got shot at. Wouldn't happen to know how to do something like that?"

"A shield…? Yes, I might be able to do something like that. I already have a similar device, but I've never considered applying it for individual use."

The spectacled Gorilla brought a hand up to his chin and rubbed in thought before his face lit up and he spun around to his workbench. Grabbing a piece of paper and a pen. Already scribbling a paragraph on it. Nathan looked over his shoulder before rolling his eyes and going back to testing out his new holster. The seasoned Wastelander will admit that it was easier than swinging a standard sling. If there is one thing he learned wandering in the Wastes, it was the importance of conserving space… And the speed of his draw. Then, as he repeatedly holstered and unholstered his carbine with the brick, it was on an attempted unholster that the gun suddenly decided not to budge. He seized up, giving the carbine a few hard tugs with his shooting hand, before grabbing the stock with both hands and doubling his effort in trying to wrestle it loose from the magnetized brick. The muscles in his arms and stomach bulging slightly as he pulled harder. Finally, he set it free from his back by accidentally snapping the strap and slamming the barrel of gun against a workbench and smashing equipment or sending some of it crashing to the ground. Winston spun around in surprise and looked to see Nathan wielding the rifle like with the block stuck to it.

"I think it needs a few more kinks worked out," Nathan observed, examining his makeshift bat.

"I-I see. Sorry about that," Winston replied, walking up to the device and taking it into his hand. "I'll take care of this. You can go if want."

"You sure you don't need anything else?"

"Nope, I'm all set here!

"You sure?"

"Really, you don't have to do anything for me, now. Go have fun!"

Nathan narrowed his eyes at Winston before shrugging it off and making his way to the exit to find himself a drink.

"Just don't fuck up my gun too much."

"Actually, Nathan, I forgot to say-," Winston called out, Nathan getting ready to have the rest of this day ruined by the mutant ape. "Uh, thanks."

The Courier opened his eyes in confusion before turning around with a perked brow.

"For what?"

"For Mirembe. For what you did for her back in Guizhou."

"… I don't want to hear it," he growled before turning around.

Winston's smile faded away as soon as the Courier said that, watching him stomp away from his lab and disappearing through the rock doorway. He looked down at his hands to see the green tiger-skin rifle with the magnetic holster, noting all the wear it had.

"It's all my fault," he sighed, sulking his shoulders.

"Don't be like that, Winston," Athena said, her voice echoing throughout the lab. "He's just having a hard week."

"Because of me. I authorized the mission to Guizhou and lost three of our own as a result. I never planned for something like this when I initiated the 'Recall'. I never planned for most of this, and yet, here I am, trying to act like a poor man's Strike-Commander. I'm not surprised he hates me. I don't know how Morrison could do this for decades…"

"And being hard on yourself like that is not going to improve our current situation. We are only a few months into the 'Recall' and you're already acting like we've lost everything. We still have operatives and agents counting on us, Winston; You're not going to leave them in the rain, are you?"

"No, of course not."

"I thought so, and don't worry yourself with Nathan too much. He can be a pleasant soul with the others, I've seen it. And he'll lighten up to you someday, I'm sure of it. I've made the calculations."

"I hope you've verified them, then."

"I did, multiple times."

Winston smiled slightly as he heard that, before looking down at the green carbine. Innocently, his mind began to examine and evaluate the weapon. The Scientist was more than curious to see how Nathan could prove to be so effective with such antiquated designs, the rifle in his hands no exception. It already looked fairly worn, and any improvements to the weapon platform could only bolster its performance on the field. It's the least he could do.

"Athena, can you pull up any sites that may still sell attachments and accessories for this type of weapon? At an affordable price?" he requested, working to get the holster off.

"Pulling up results now. Shall I browse the listings on 'Congo' or specialized sites?"

"Congo, first. I have a Chief membership, so there might be a sale."


Long after that exchange in the lab with a talking Gorilla, Nathan found himself out on the street markets of Gibraltar, occupying a lone table with a pair of aviators over his eyes to hide from the sun. The bearded man took drags from a cigarette as he leaned against the table on his elbows, nestling a frosty bottle of beer in the other hand. He found a nice spot along the road next to the beach, giving him a lovely view of the Mediterranean Sea and the sun as it was getting close to setting along the horizon of water. He would've gone out with Bastion if the big robot wasn't already busy doing something with Mei. Didn't take away some of the enjoyment he felt sipping a beer, watching the sun, and listening to the waves. He could do this for hours on end, but it wasn't every time he had the luxury of a beach to sit at. The man's peace was disturbed, unfortunately, as he felt his table shake a little on the other side and saw a furry, brown face of a monkey who decided to perch on the chair across from him.

The Waster's seen these furry critters around the rock at times when he's gone out, learning upon his research on the Internet that they were called "Barbary Macaques" and that they were a major source tourism for Gibraltar. An odd thing to be enamored about, he thought, especially when he learned that they were quite opportunistic thieves. He didn't need to learn that to not trust anything with thumbs.

Not wanting his smoke break to be ruined, the man vigorously kicked the chair the primate sat in and made it scramble across the street. He accidentally made the chair fall on its back, however, causing a groan from him as he got up from his chair to fix it.

"Relájate, wey," a Mexican-accent from his left suddenly piped in as he watched a tanned woman with purple highlights walk by and knelt to the chair. "No need to be so rough."

After placing it back on its feet, Nathan watched as she sat down and hunched over the table, propping her elbows on it and resting her head in her hands. Looking up at the tall man with dreamy, purple eyes, wearing a purple bikini that showed a lot of skin other than a towel wrapped around her waist.

"Of course, you can be rough with me," she said with a lustful smile.

"María…" the Californian recalls her name as he stares at her in the eyes, feeling a knot build up in his throat.

"Hey, James," the Mexican greets back, tilting her head and resting it solely on her right hand, her purple nails glinting in the sun. "¿Me extrañaste?"

"Uh… Un poco."

"You're a terrible liar."

Despite saying that, María kept smiling as she reached across and grabbed the neck of his beer bottle. "James" didn't protest, silently tracking her with his eyes as she retrieved the beer and brought it to her side. With one swift movement, she swung the bottle upwards and locked her mouth onto the beverage, drinking about half of its contents before letting it go with a smack of her lips.

"Ahh," she let out, refreshed, putting the bottle back on the table. "Good choice. Not a bad drink to share with friends."

"Glad you like it," he replied, grabbing back his bottle, and taking a quick glance at it. "So… What brings you to this rock?"

"Same reason we met back in Numbani – Work," she answered, clearly not enthused about her reason for being in Gibraltar.

"Really? How's that working out for you?"

"It can get annoying and I always hate adjusting for time zones, but that's life, I guess. At least it's almost like a vacation on the company payroll."

"You never told me what your work was."

"I work for an international organization. We have assets everywhere, and I handle logistics, mostly. What about you? What are you doing here?"

The Latina leaned forward onto the table, getting a bit closer as she looked up at him. Nathan regarded her for a few moments before taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the cloud to the side.

"Same reason as you," he explained, purposely being vague as he tapped his cigarette above an ashtray. "Working for an organization that requires me to be here."

"What's your role?"

"Security, mostly."

"You're not really doing a good job if you're here indulging in vices, then."

"Eh, it's my break and they don't need me right now. Besides, you're one to talk, Ms. 'sleeps with random strangers at bars'."

"Hey! You were that 'random stranger', remember? Jeez, I thought I would be more than a one-night stand to you."

"I still remembered your name. That would already put me a step above most other guys, wouldn't it?"

María peered up at the smoking man, addressing him with an earnest gaze.

"…I guess it would."

Then, she cracked a little smile as she crossed her arms over the table and leaned forward more. Nathan kept smoking from his cigarette but noticed the way she sat and positioned herself on the table made her chest pop out more towards him. Her bra the only piece of clothing covering her breasts, yet still exposing a lot of skin. He glanced up from them to see her face staring off into the distance to her right, trying her best not to look at him as her lips twisting into painfully coy smile. The purple lights on the shaved side of her head starting to glow more profoundly as it started to get dimmer outside. Nathan could only laugh as he tapped more ash off his cig.

"You're as subtle as fucking dynamite," he said, holding out his hand and offering a drag from his smoke to her. "Showing off your tits like that.

"Thank you, and no thanks," she responded, declining the offer with a shake of her hand. "It's not like you mind, do you?"

"Not really."

"Thought so. How have things been?"

"Bearable."

The two then continued talking to each other for some time, long enough for the sun to finally set beneath the waves. Even when it was dark out, it wasn't enough to deter them from keeping a conversation. They discussed normal, casual stuff everyday folk would casually talk about; Where they're from, how their day's been, and what are the best alcoholic drinks to have in bed. Could've been the beers, could've been the prospect of more sex, but Nathan was possibly more talkative in this instance with María than he has been the entire week. Entire month even. He felt a bit guilty about casually lying to her face. However, he wouldn't be the only party guilty of such deceit.

After about an hour, as they were in the middle of a conversation about Mexican food – which the New Californian was keenly interested in – a noise rang from María's side and she reached down to retrieve her phone which lit up in the early evening. When her eyes read who was calling her, she immediately rolled her eyes and let out a disappointed sigh.

"Maldición…" she cursed under her breath, then looking up at "James". "Looks like I'll have to cut our chat short. It's work-related."

"Heading off, then?" he asked.

"Well, not without giving you this."

She got up from her chair and went around the table to hand him a small piece of paper. Nathan looked at it, seeing a group of numbers scribbled on it with her name next to them. Barely recognizing it as a phone number, from his limited use of telephones back home. They weren't nearly this long.

"I'm going to stick around for a while, so if you ever want to… Hook up," the Latina whispered into this ear, hugging the tall man from behind and brushing her head against his. "Call me. ¿Entiendes?"

"Entiendo," the Californian responded.

"Bueno. I'd kiss you on the lips to say goodbye, but you stink of fuma. So, this'll do."

María gave the bearded man a long, exaggerated kiss on his cheek with a very audible "mwah", then letting him go as she began walking away. She waved goodbye to him, James returning the gesture to her.

"Adiós," he said.

"¡Adiós!" she exclaimed, before finally turning her back to him and walking away with a sway in her hips.

The Waster watched her go before he eventually lost sight of her as she turned right on a corner and was gone. He sat there for a while, trying to peer through the crowds and see if she would appear again. Adjusting himself in his chair, he planted his elbows on his table and looked down at the ashtray, where his lit cigarette still smoldered.

"Stercore…" he muttered under his breath, picking up the stick and pulling hard from it, filling his lungs with a cloud of tobacco. Then, expelling the cloud into the air before taking a swig from his beer and polishing it off. However, as he sulked further into his smokes and booze, someone came into view in front of him. Where María was a minute earlier.

"Well, ain't you a lucky sonofabitch!" Manuel greeted, sitting in the chair opposite of him with a hearty smile. "Tagged a nice little number back there, did'ya?"

The Waster brought the bottle, clearing his throat as he threw it dropped it beside him before going to the pack.

"Tagged? Sure. Lucky?" Nathan questioned, grabbing another bottle from the pack and twisting the cap open. "My spurs ain't jingling, that's for sure."

"But are they jangling?"

The Waster casts his eye up at him when he said that, before his mouth stretches into a slight smirk. Taking solace that someone in this world seemed to be knowledgeable about music that didn't grate his ears. Wishing he had brought the tape with him so he could blast some tunes from Kay Kyser with his beer, smokes, and beach.

"So, came out to enjoy the beach?" Nathan asked, puffing more smoke from his mouth. "And find a hot little number, as well?"

"Just the beach," Manuel answered, pulling out his own pack of smokes. "Already have a little number of my own back home."

"Oh, sorry. Didn't know."

"You don't have to apologize."

Nathan was about to take another pull from his cigarette until he suddenly felt something jump up on his chair and his cigarette got swiped by a small, furry hand. He rocketed up from his chair and saw the rear-end of a monkey already scurrying halfway down the street with his cigarette in one of its paws. The tall man wanted to give chase, but it would've been a futile endeavor as the little thief was already scaling a wall and roof before jumping out of view. As the robbery victim stared off into the distance, Manuel was laughing his ass off.

"Fuckin' A!" he tried to say in between fits of laughter.

"Little bastard!" the Waster roared, baring his teeth and clenching a fist. "If one of them tries that again, I'm gonna field dress it and eat it!"

Manuel kept laughing as Nathan kept seething. A few more raucous tremors and slaps against the tabletop until he began to speak words, again.

"Goddamn, that little critter reminded of the fuckin' pickpockets back home."

For some reason, hearing that made the New Californian's anger subside a little as he looked back to his table-mate. Recounting similar encounters in his travels through California.

"Yeah?" Brin earnestly asked.

"Yeah," the Californian answered. "Especially after the war and especially in the rural counties, like out in Modoc or near Redding, things seem like the Wild West. Not always, but more than I'd like it too."

Nathan regarded him for a few moments before deciding to sit back down in his chair. Still a bit flustered and now wary of any little primates that'll try sneaking up on him.

"I haven't been home in a long time," Nathan says, facing him. "How is it like now?"

"Not that much better, I'm afraid," Manuel honestly admits. "The cities and metropolitan areas have been doing better, I think, but the rural parts I feel like are stuck in the past. Governor says he been working on it, but I'm not sure I believe that fuckin' blockhead."

"Hmph, when has that been different?"

"Yeah…" Manuel agrees, before leaning against the table and tapping some excess ash into the tray. "So, I heard what happened on that mission to China. How're you holdin' up?"

"I'm drinking, smoking, and feel like eating a monkey… I'm also armed," the Courier admits, adjusting himself in his seat so he doesn't constantly feel his pistol digging into his skin.

"Just another day in the office, huh? You know, there are better outlets than trying to kill both your lungs and liver."

"Like what?"

"Trying to kill both your lungs and liver with company. How does that sound?"

Manuel then bent down and picked up a bottle from the pack, holding onto the moist glass bottle as he admired its features. He looked Nathan in the eyes before tipping the beverage towards the larger man, close to his beer bottle. The New Californian looked at the beer bottle before shrugging and clinking his bottle against the Californian's. They had time to kill.


Ministry of Genetics, Oasis

In the dark halls of a facility in an oasis in the desert, a doctor tended to a lone patient in her office, locked away from the rest of the world whenever she conducted work. Especially work that would be considered less than ethical by some people's standards. She didn't bother herself with what she considered trivial notions, but like most doctors, she did believe in tending to those in need. Whether they wanted her treatment or not.

The doctor, a lanky woman with a pale complexion and fiery-red hair, worked almost blissfully as she manipulated tools and equipment that were years ahead of anything the world could possess in terms of medical applications. Waving the tools much like a conductor would their baton for a symphony. Maybe a bit too blissfully, as her patient writhed in pain, his cloud-like aura puffing heavily for a moment.

"Urgh!" the Reaper grunted in pain, his claws digging into cushion. "O'Deorain-!"

"Calm down, Reyes," the doctor with composure said, not deviating from her task. "I promise I won't take much longer."

Reaper was laid out before her on a medical chair and twitched in pain from a series of glowing green stains that coated his body like scabs. The doctor learned his current condition was the result of a type of grenade that used a form of energy like "plasma", but a few hundred degrees hotter than anything that is fielded today. So powerful and so potent, it was able to severely damage the phantom-like anatomy of her patient. It was still treatable, but she wanted to collect some of the green "sludge" for her own research. Much to the masked figure's displeasure.

"Moira!"

"Just a few more samples, Gabriel. This is worse than when that mutant-Gorilla shocked you with his Tesla cannon. Much worse."

"I can – ahh – tell!"

Suddenly, the computer desk next to them blinked with a holoscreen and they both look to see they were receiving a call. Bearing through the pain, Gabriel sat up from his chair and Moira stepped back clearly annoyed at the interruption. Even with glowing green patches of plasma radiating off his body, the ghost went through the effort to attend the call. It was an important one, to him.

"It's her," Reaper said in his gravelly voice. "I need to answer."

"Make it quick," Moira said, setting some of her tools aside. "This green goo is melting your molecular structure."

Reaper growled in pain and agreement, before leaning forward and stretching out a silver claw towards a button on the screen. The screen flashed, showing video-feed of a tan-woman with one half of her head shaved and the other dyed with purple highlights, in a dimly-lit hotel room. Curiously, she was dressed in a bikini. She looked up at the feed with a smile.

"Hey, Gaaaabe!" the woman greeted as if she was calling old friends. "Sorry, I haven't been answering earlier. How're you doing? Did you get my 'get well soon' card?"

"Yeah, I did…" the masked figure said, peering to a table to see the card, with a cute cartoon of a teddy bear holding a red heart with the message floating over it. Moira rolling her eyes as she impatiently tapped her foot on the floor. "What's your status, Sombra? And what're you wearing?"

"I was at the beach, Gabe. What else would I wear?"

"Hmph."

"Anyways, I was able to contact our little… 'Friend'. Well, he's not really little, he's actually pretty freaking tall."

"So, you saw him – the man with the gauntlet? Can you confirm that it's him?"

"He didn't have his black armor with him, but he certainly did have that 'Pip-Boy', as he calls it. So, , I guess it's him. Hanging around Gibraltar with it. You never told me how nice it was here, viejo."

The robed-figure hummed in thought, finally getting confirmation on this man in black armor. A cohort of some sort of Overwatch. The Reaper did make note of the strange name for his device but quickly pushed that thought aside.

"Stay focused," Reyes commanded, trying to get her to get back on track. "Does he suspect anything, about who you are?"

"No, he's still pretty clueless. Heh, he probably thinks I don't know his real name. Good thing that taradita had a big mouth back in Numbani."

"Noted. Maintain you position and keep a low profile, for now. Update me with anything you find about him or Overwatch. Especially about him."

"That's what I've been doing for the past couple of weeks, but, aye-aye, ¡Capitán!"

Sombra gave a mock salute, bringing her right hand to her forehead before the video feed flashed to black. After, Reaper body sulked as he sighed lowly. The dark slits of his mask looking down at the laboratory floor.

"You really need to instill more discipline into her," Moira said, walking up to his side. "I would've expected more from the ex-commander of Blackwatch."

"Then, you should've remembered the other dissidents, and how well that worked," Gabriel responded, lying back down in the medical chair. "Sombra's smart and capable but acts like a teenager at times. Rebellious, and out for her own agenda."

"How so?"

"Well, for starters, she's had sex with the very man we're trying to spy on."

Moira did a double-take, snapping her eyes to her patient with a very incredulous expression. Very much surprised, yet very much curious about what she had just heard.

"Was that necessary?" the Geneticist questioned.

"It helped us dig more dirt on him and Overwatch, but I had a feeling she used the opportunity for more 'recreational' purposes. Without my authorization or anyone else's. As you'd expect, we lost contact with her from the evening to the morning," the Reaper explained. "I need to keep her on a tighter leash."

"Hmm, well whatever her appeal is in this 'Nathan Brin', he has certainly become a significant person of interest for us."

"You think I haven't noticed?"

"I'm sure everyone here has, but speaking personally, he may be an interesting subject for me to analyze when the opportunity comes."

As the red-haired Geneticist went back to work, treating the plasma-burns on her patient, her lips curled into a grin. Becoming excited at the prospects possibly being presented to herself in the upcoming future, regarding the man in black armor. What secrets he may possess for her. Some of his actions have certainly warranted such examination, and he is probably less human than he appears to be at first glance.

"Oh, we have much work to be done," she said, before blissfully attending to her tools, again.

The Reaper noticed her sneering, as subtle as her fiery-hair or his glowing-scabs. He snorts and turned his head to the side.

"I'll give you some privacy when you do."