02/08/2025: Revised this chapter to make it leaner and easy to follow.

Gabriel Reyes moved with deliberate precision through the quiet corridors of Overwatch headquarters, his footfalls echoing faintly against the polished floors. His stride was clipped, efficient—no wasted movement, no hesitation. It was the same way he had marched as a young recruit during drill and ceremony exercises, half a lifetime ago.

This section of the complex was unfamiliar territory. By "unfamiliar," he meant he had never given a damn about it before. The main Overwatch offices rarely had anything to do with his side of the organization, and vice versa. They were peacekeepers. He was not. If something from their world required his attention, it usually meant trouble.

And yet, an hour earlier, a message had appeared on his terminal—direct from Gérard Lacroix, Overwatch's head of field intelligence.

The message had been cryptic. Something about an "unexpected development" tied to the recent Overwatch operation in Korea. No further details. Just a request to meet.

At first, Reyes almost ignored it. Korea wasn't his concern. From what he had read in the pre-mission briefing, it was just another routine incursion. The omnics had been making periodic moves on that side of the world for years. Why did this one matter?

More importantly, why did Lacroix think it concerned him?

That question had gnawed at him just enough to make him come. The Frenchman was too smart to waste his time.

Now, standing in front of Lacroix's office, Reyes pressed the holographic entry request button. A pleasant chime echoed from within.

"Enter," came the smooth, almost amused voice from the other side.

The door slid open with a quiet hiss. Reyes stepped inside without hesitation.

Gérard Lacroix was already standing as Reyes entered, his usual polished demeanor firmly in place. Sharp suit, crisp posture, the practiced elegance of a man who always knew more than he let on.

"Ah, Gabriel," Lacroix greeted warmly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Come in, come in."

"You said you wanted to talk."

Reyes' voice was flat, direct. He closed the distance between them, stopping just across from Lacroix's desk.

"I did," Lacroix affirmed smoothly. "Can I offer you something? Tea? Coffee? Brandy? Perhaps scotch?"

"No, thank you."

Lacroix exhaled, as if disappointed but not surprised. With a casual motion, he lowered himself back into his chair, resting his elbows on the polished surface of his desk, fingers steepled. A man settling into business.

"Please, take a seat."

Reyes remained standing. Lacroix merely smiled at the unspoken challenge and continued.

"Before we begin, how are things in the Unit?"

Reyes studied him for a moment, debating whether to engage in the usual pleasantries or bulldoze past them. He normally didn't indulge in small talk—but Lacroix was different. Unlike Morrison, who took intelligence for granted, Lacroix understood the game.

He had also saved Reyes' ass in Cape Town years ago, pulling him out of a compromised operation before things went completely sideways. That earned him at least some patience.

"Could be better," Reyes admitted. "Not enough personnel in the field, too many missions stacking up. Op-tempo keeps rising, and there aren't enough guys to cover the gaps."

Lacroix exhaled in sympathy. "That sounds rough. I imagine I'm not helping, considering how many of your assignments are coming from my department."

"Yeah, no shit," Reyes snorted, his tone edged with dry humor. "It hasn't reached a breaking point yet, but we're definitely feeling the strain."

"Is recruitment not filling the ranks fast enough?"

Reyes let out a humorless chuckle. "We barely get anyone. Our job isn't exactly glamorous or poster-worthy. Not many people even know we exist, and the ones who do? Most don't have the stomach for it."

Lacroix nodded knowingly. Blackwatch operated in the shadows. It didn't get the parades or the headlines. It handled the things Overwatch couldn't afford to be seen doing.

"Oui," Lacroix murmured. "That is true."

There was an unspoken understanding between them. Overwatch may have been the sword, but Blackwatch was the dagger in the dark. And intelligence—Lacroix's world and just as much as his—was what made both function.

Reyes knew firsthand how underappreciated the intelligence branch was. The sleek, high-profile Overwatch agents got all the recognition, but it was people like Lacroix who made their missions possible. Without intelligence—without knowing who, what, when, where, and how— there was no mission.

Morrison never seemed to understand that. Lacroix did.

Reyes sighed. "So, what's this about Korea?"

Lacroix leaned back, shifting gears. "How much do you know?"

"Not much," Reyes admitted. "Omnics hit the region. Overwatch intervened. Another Tuesday."

"Close enough," Lacroix said dryly. "But this one was… unique."

He slid a datapad across the desk. Reyes picked it up, scanning the content. His brow furrowed.

"Damn."

The casualty count was staggering.

Even with air superiority and numbers on their side, the U.S. Air Force had been decimated. The Korean MEKA squads had been overwhelmed. If Reinhardt and his team hadn't intervened, the losses would have been double.

Reyes exhaled sharply. "My heart bleeds for them. Really does. But why the hell does this involve me?"

Lacroix tapped a section on the datapad. "During the battle, Overwatch enlisted the aid of an American fighter pilot. He provided air cover for the ground team."

Reyes skimmed the report. Four enemy drones. The pilot had taken them all on alone.

"Four against one?" Reyes muttered. "Ballsy. Cutting it close, though."

Lacroix continued. "He held them off long enough for the team to complete their mission. Then his aircraft was hit by a SAM."

Reyes' eyes flicked up. "Did he eject?"

Lacroix shook his head. "The missile took out most of his critical systems—including his ejection seat."

"Jesus."

"He should be dead," Lacroix admitted. "But somehow, he survived the crash."

Reyes frowned. "Where is he now?"

"En route to HQ with Reinhardt's team."

That made Reyes pause. "Why the hell didn't they just hand him back to his unit?"

Lacroix smiled. "Angela insisted."

Reyes let out a quiet chuckle. That figured.

Ziegler had a way of getting what she wanted—especially when it came to saving lives.

Still, something about this didn't sit right. Why was Lacroix so interested in one downed pilot?

"Alright," Reyes said. "So he's tough. A damn good pilot. What's this got to do with me?"

Lacroix smiled wider and tapped the datapad again.

"Take a look at his name."

Reyes sighed and glanced down. Then his breath caught.

Hawkins.

He narrowed his eyes. Why did that name feel familiar?

With a few quick keystrokes, he pulled up the pilot's full dossier. The personnel file loaded. A name. A photo.

And Reyes' blood ran cold.

Green eyes. A little darker. Lighter brown hair. Freckles across the nose. But the same face. Same look.

A ghost.

"...Oh. Fuck."

Lacroix chuckled. "Oui."

Reyes stared at the screen. He didn't know the bastard had a kid.

He exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. "God has a wicked sense of humor."

Lacroix's smirk grew. "Commander, meet Nathaniel Emerson Hawkins."