Disclaimer: I do not own Overwatch and 'Overwatch X male reader: A fugitive solder but a hero in heart' by 'JustyTurner'. They belong to their respective owners.
Enjoy.
I looked into the seas; I could almost smell the salty ocean beneath me. The ship creaked with every wave, every shuddering movement. Around me, a cacophony of voices – men bustling, boasting, gossiping and lastly, complaining about stuff like, "Are we there yet?" or, "This is boring." or, "Man, hope there are hot babes."
Impatient bastards, aren't they? All healthy, strong men, yet they whine. And me? An outdated relic, barely functioning in a society that spits me out, yet I don't utter a word of complaint.
Who am I, you ask? I am MT Foxtrot, or at least that's the name I use. One of the many mercenaries hired by some wealthy individual for a retrieval mission in an abandoned secret facility on an undisclosed island.
I don't care. As long as I get paid, it doesn't matter.
As I ruminated, I overheard snippets of their conversations. They gossiped about Overwatch, lamenting its fall from grace, its transformation from a heroic organization into a shadow of its former self.
I scoffed. IrememberOverwatch. I rememberwhyI became a mercenary.
My name is, or ratherwas, Micheal Torres. I was recruited into a project that transformed me into a super soldier. Beyond my name and the hazy memory of being born during the Omnic War—a time when humanity's creations nearly destroyed us—I recall little of my past life. But I was a member of a death squad. We were augmented, made superhuman, capable of enduring unimaginable pain, of lifting a car with ease.
The augmentations came at a cost. My body is a mutilated mess, a freak of nature. But the government that created me and my squad didn't care. They wanted executioners, not soldiers. We were a black ops unit, responsible for acts that would be considered crimes against humanity. We did it without hesitation, without regret. And the government kept us on a tight leash, our augmentations a slow, agonizing poison unless we received regular treatments.
Then Overwatch intervened, exposing the government's corruption. My squad was scattered, left to fend for ourselves, either executed or forced to find a way to survive. Many became mercenaries, scraping together the money to reverse, or at least mitigate, the effects of the augmentations.
I was one of the latter. And I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound, at Overwatch's comeuppance. They exposed the government's corruption, but now they tasted their own medicine.
The thought, I know, is unsympathetic. But Overwatch left us to our fates, abandoned tools. They never even tried to save us.
Oh, who am I kidding? After everything I've done… I don't think Iwantedto be saved.
I glanced at the other mercenaries, then at my reflection in a chipped mirror. My getup – a tricorne-style hat with an orange visor, a blue cape obscuring most of my armored body – either looked incredibly cool or ridiculously absurd. I was trying to hide the horror beneath the costume, not wanting anyone to see the freak they were about to work alongside.
I sighed. I didn't have a choice. It was either this or looking like a horrific monstrosity.
My hand tightened around my weapon, a versatile rifle firing magnetic rounds. I could still feel the ghost of its power, the sickening ease with which it tore limbs apart.
An announcement crackled over the ship's PA. My "leader"—if you could call the de facto leader of a mercenary band a leader—announced our arrival. I saw the island now, the abandoned facility looming against the horizon.
What kind of retrieval mission necessitated such a desolate location? I wondered.
Then I realized. I didn't care. As long as the money was good… who gives a shit?
The air hung thick with the stench of decay and something else… something metallic and sickeningly sweet. Dried blood crusted the walls like morbid artwork, interspersed with the frantic claw marks of something desperate and powerful. "Just like home, right?" I muttered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
My thoughts were interrupted by the incessant chirping of my partner. 'Badass,' as he'd like introduced himself, the name dripping with an irony so thick it could curdle milk. He looks to be barely out of his twenties, all nervous energy and having a poorly-concealed bravado. He hadn't stopped talking since we'd split from the group. Like:
"Man, this place is scary. Hope there aren't any ghosts or monsters here?"
Or...
"Man, it feels so great having a partner. I know that we know each other for just this moment but I know that we will bonded ever closer."
Or...
"Man, nice costume you're wearing. I mean, I know that hat of yours is pretty old fashioned but know that I kind of like it. I mean, I don't know what you are wearing it but it looks cool, stylish and-"
Or even worse...
"Man, what an awesome weapon you have there. Where did you get? Or how did you get it? Oh, it would be cool if I can have it. Imagine if I have it, I could-"
"Badass," I said, my voice low and dangerously quiet and almost blanched that I am forced to call him that, "Shut. Up."
The immediate silence was almost blissful. I breathed a sigh of relief, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. It lasted all of three minutes.
"So... uh... what are you gonna do with the money?" he chirped, shattering the fragile peace.
"It's none of your business," I snapped, already regretting my momentary lapse into civility.
He mumbled an apology, then launched into a rambling confession. "Well, I don't know if you noticed this but I got into this gig because of my dad. He fought during the Omnic War and I thought about following his footsteps by joining the military. But I think it's kind of too restricted for someone like me so maybe I could try being a mercenary. I mean, feeling the freedom and even getting payed? Plus, I thought it would look cool."
I just let out a sardonic laugh at his comment as I said, "Being a mercenary isn't cool, kid. You won't get fame and prestige by being a hired gun."
He shrugged that off with the casual indifference only someone who'd never faced true danger could manage. "Yeah, but maybe Overwatch would disagree!" he chirped, oblivious to my groan of despair.
An Overwatch fanboy.
Fantastic.
Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream ripped through the silence. We spun around, weapons raised. Confusion clouded our faces.
"What was that?" Badass squeaked.
"Doesn't matter. You aren't getting paid to care," I muttered, already moving away the sound with Badass' reluctant shuffling following me.
The briefing had been succinct: retrieval mission, abandoned facility, core level. Each mercenary had a key to a specific door. Mine was '01'. I punched in the code, the door sliding open with a hiss to reveal a large, wrecked laboratory. The air here was even more foul than before. Badass visibly flinched, while I remained steady, my rifle held firm.
I scanned the room, trying to pick up any clues as to what we were supposed to be retrieving, when a voice cut through the quiet. "Hey!" I and Badass turned around as I aimed my magnetic rifle at the one who called out before calming down to see who it is.
Rounding a tangle of wrecked equipment, we saw our leader, a grizzled woman named Anya, along with the rest of the squad. They looked… battered. Hell, they looked like they'd wrestled a rabid Omnics and lost. The cheerful optimism of an hour ago had evaporated, replaced by grim expression of distress etched onto their faces.
The flickering fluorescent lights of the wrecked laboratory cast long, distorted shadows as Anya, the mercenary leader, limped in. Her team, a ragtag bunch, leaned heavily on anything they could find – broken equipment, shattered walls – to keep themselves upright. They looked like they'd wrestled demons, and judging by their appearance, they probably had.
"What happened?" I asked, already bracing myself for a gruesome tale.
Anya's voice was strained. "Something... in this facility. Tore us apart. Ripped us to shreds." She shuddered, a visible tremor running through her battered frame.
My own problems paled in comparison to whatever had mauled them, but I pressed on. "What are you searching for?"
She shook her head. "We don't know. Only that our target's in a small, compact refrigerator."
"A refrigerator?" I echoed, incredulous.
An optimistic voice cut through the tension. "Is it like this?" Badass announced, holding up a bulky, boxy device. Despite the scratches and dents, it seemed surprisingly intact.
Anya snatched it from his hand, her fingers tracing the worn metal. She examined it intently, a frown etched deep on her dirt-smeared face.
"What is it?" Badass asked, his usual bravado wavering slightly.
I let out a weary sigh. "Probably someone's porn," I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
Badass, bless his naive heart, actually said, "Really?" As if he seemed to believe me. I groaned inwardly. This was going to be a long day.
Before I could launch into a more detailed (and accurate) explanation, a low growl reverberated through the laboratory. The air crackled with a palpable tension. I gripped my magnetic rifle, the familiar weight comforting, as Anya and her remaining men scrambled for their own weapons, faces pale with fear.
"What was that?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Anya's answer was a single word, chilling in its simplicity: "A monster."
My senses sharpened, focusing on the movement in the shadows. A scream ripped through the silence. One of Anya's mercenaries was pulled into the darkness. Rapid gunfire erupted, but it was too late. The only sound left was the sickening crunch of bone and the wet tearing of flesh.
Another roar, impossibly alien, sent a chill down my spine. A fleshy tendril snaked from the shadows, seizing another mercenary, dragging him into the abyss with the same horrifying swiftness.
"Retreat!" Anya yelled, her voice raw with panic.
I didn't need a second invitation. We bolted, Badass clutching the mysterious refrigerator-sized device. I ran past the horrifically mutilated corpses of Anya's team, the scene seared into my memory.
Behind me, I could hear Anya and Badass's labored breathing. When I glanced back, only two figures remained. The rest of the squad was gone.
A light appeared ahead, the promise of escape. But before we could reach it, another scream cut through the air. Badass had been grabbed. He thrashed, kicking wildly against the fleshy tendrils, but the device remained clutched tightly in his hand.
Before I could consider whether the device justified risking my life for Badass (it emphatically did not), Anya was a blur of motion. Her knife flashed, severing the tendril. "Go!" she screamed at Badass, her voice tight with urgency.
Badass, surprisingly, obeyed, yelling for Anya to join them. She refused, her eyes fixed on the monstrous form that emerged from the shadows – a horrifying mass of red flesh, countless tendrils writhing, a grotesque human face somehow amidst the chaos of its body. Its maw opened, revealing a horrifying array of teeth and a grotesque tongue.
As Badass called out her name again, I grabbed him, dragging him out of the laboratory and into the night, leaving Anya to face the creature alone. The door slammed shut behind us, sealing her fate within the darkness. The only sound that remained was the chilling, alien roar that trailed us through the night.
I heaved a sigh of relief, gasping for breath, clutching my chest and the magnetic rifle. My augmented heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Across from me, Badass, the rookie, still clutched the small, refrigerator-sized device, his face a mask of horrified stillness. The memory of the hulking monstrosity, its claws dripping with the gore of Anya and the rest of our squad, was seared into my mind. Anya, our pragmatic leader… Gone.
"Get over it," I snapped, my voice rough.
The shock on his face was almost comical, given the circumstances. "Get… over it? Anya's dead!"
I sighed, the sound a rasping hiss. "I didn't get paid to care. At least you're useful for something, 'Badass'" I called him in a sarcastic tone, "That thing in your hand is secure, thankfully."
Suddenly, he dropped the device as a sharp crack of metal against concrete filled the silence.
My temper flared at his audacity.
"What the hell are you doing?! You almost broke it!" I roared, lunging for him. He flinched, expecting a bullet, not my fist. I grabbed his arm as he tried to swing, the augmented strength in my arm like a vise. With a sickening crack, I twisted his arm and punched him hard enough to send him sprawling. The blow, amplified by my augmentations, shattered his nose. He clutched at his bleeding face, whimpering.
I pointed the magnetic rifle at his head. "This is the mercenary life, kid. Live and get paid, or die and be forgotten. There's no glory, no recognition, no damn Overwatch highlight reel. Is that 'cool' now?"
He glared at me, defiant despite the blood streaming down his face. I scoffed, picked up the device – thankfully unbroken – and checked it. As Badass tried to rise, the low hum of a dropship cut through the silence. It landed with a jarring thud. The ramp hissed open.
"Wait," I muttered, a knot of unease tightening in my gut. "What the…?"
Talon. Those bastards. Their soldiers, clad in black, fanned out, weapons trained on me and the whimpering Badass. My rifle clicked into place, the magnetic field crackling. I was outnumbered. Badass looked utterly terrified, his eyes wide as saucers.
A sharply dressed man emerged from the soldiers, his face a mask of smug composure. "Do you have the device?" he asked, his voice oozing arrogance.
"Yes," I replied, already planning my escape route, "I've got it right…"
Before I could finish, Badass snatched the device from my hand. "What are you doing?!" I yelled.
"What areyoudoing?" he countered, his voice shaking. "Giving it to a bunch of bad guys?"
Before I could threaten him with a broken something far worse than a nose, the suited man barked an order. The Talon soldiers opened fire. Badass, the idiot, had cost us everything. He died, a mess of blood and defiance, barely registering the bullet barrage that ended his short, tragic mercenary career.
I shook my head, the futility of it all crashing down on me. There was no time for sentiment. I pried the device from his dead fingers, ignoring the simmering anger at his blatant stupidity.
"Clever," the suited man said, his voice dripping with false praise. "Now, hand it over."
"Where's the money?" I countered, my rifle already leveled at his head.
"Your payment awaits on my ship," he said, a condescending smile playing on his lips.
"Payment first or the device gets it," I said, my voice cold.
We were at a standoff. His soldiers aimed at me. I glared back. "Fire!" he snarled in defiance and in retaliation, I shot him in the head.
Talon Soldiers opened fire on me so I grabbed the nearest for cover, letting him take the bullets, killing my shield in the process. When they stopped to reload, I charged one of them, punching him so hard that his neck broke.
I then take out my magnetic rifle and take out two remaining soldiers on their heads, killing them with two well placed headshots.
The last one tried to gun me down with his weapon but thankful for my augmentations that I can survive but I shrugged it off as I held my arm to block the assault, backhand the rifle away before I grabbed the collar of his armour and I punched him in the face, breaking his helmet as I continue to punch him until finally, his helmet becomes a broken mess as I dropped him, the soldier giving one last plea as he tried to reach his hand towards me before I aimed my rifle at his head, killing him with one well placed headshot.
All I can do is sighing as I shake my head in disappointment, knowing that the reward for this 'simple retrieval mission is just too good to be true.
Looking at the ship, I decided to steal the ship although not before I take the pilot hostage and as I look at the device that is still okay, I then had the idea that I could sell to someone else, maybe some rich fat cats, or something because as long as the money is good, then maybe I could finally undo my surgery.
But just as I am thankful that I think things through, a massive explosion had occurred from the ship, blasting me and crashing me on on a wall as I groaned from the pain as the only thing I can hear are the ringing in my ears.
I then slumped down to the floor as I look at the wreckage before looking at Badass, sardonically chuckling that this is probably karma for the shit I did as I look at the small refrigerator device, seeing how it is broken, which is just another stroke of bad luck in my book.
As I crawl farther as I strained myself to lie on my back, I want to know what did I do to deserve this.
Anything specific, if someone wants to but I guess I probably deserved it for how much of dick I've been.
As I look at the corpse of Badass again, I just sigh again, at least that It was a fruitful goal anyway and he would at least die a 'hero' as much as I don't deserve to die a hero, after all I've done.
Before I could close my eyes to feel the embrace of death, I then saw another airship coming on the way as I thought this could probably be Talon until when it finally lands, I then see that it isn't Talon but something else as I don't recognize this soldiers as they get out from the ship and ran towards me and all I can hear is:
"He's alive, sir."
"Good..." One of the most striking figures, appearing as someone dressed in some sort of power armour, said, "At least you're kind is good for something, after all."
"Who... Who the fuck are you?" I asked him in particular.
"Don't worry yourself..." He said as he crouched down at me, "All that you know is that you are in good hands. And unlike someone else, I'm willing to give your kind a second chance."
I don't know what is he talking about before I was carried to who knows where.
Well, hope that you enjoyed that.
First time seeing being much longer at that.
Well, anyway...
If you have anymore ideas, let me know in the comments below.
Now, as always...
Ciao...