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Frowning with slight worry, Angela shifted within her seat, causing it to turn as she sat forward, her bright blue orbs fixated on the patient file that was lain out before her- the poor child… he didn’t ask for any of this; he didn’t deserve any of this. But wishing and praying weren’t going to help her solve this case. That was for the parents; as a consultant on this particular case, her job was to do all that she could to help make the child better, so that he could go out and enjoy life as any other child his age would.

Even so, this was not going to be an easy case…

Shifting once more at her desk, she lifted her leg up, crossing it over the other as she reached out to the file, flicking through the different forms; looking for something… anything that was going to give her some clue as to what could be affecting the boy so much that it had ended up with him in the hospital like he was, “..a six year old child… he’s young; his immune systems don’t work as well as that of an adult, they could be compromised. Could be Listeria…”

“I already checked for that. Leukemia has a higher prevalence in the young- so does asthma. Could also be diabetes.”

“No… it’s too simple; besides, the child shows no signs of kidney failure… though I must admit, I have ill feeling that he soon will, should my suspicions be confirmed.” Sighing softly, Angela let the paper slip through her finger, allowing it to once more settle within the file as her head lightly shook from side to side- please to God, let her be wrong in her suspicions… nevertheless, if they were to catch it early on before the disease had time to set any further-…

“..I want you to do a colonoscopy.” Lifting her eyes from the information lain out before her in the file, she let her gaze settle on the black phone, knowing that what she had just suggested to those she was on call with would have come with a slight shock considering the age of the patient; but she had to be sure… she had to, “..I know it isn’t routine given the patients age, however, I believe it to be a necessary evil; especially if we wish to get to the bottom of this case. During the procedure, I want you to look out for purple papules; if you find any, take a sample… I want you to test for Erdheim-Chester.”

“Erdheim-Chester..? You believe this is a disease that has had, what..? Only two hundred reported cases, ever.”

“I know that this is a long shot… however the symptoms fit with the diagnosis.” Pausing for a short spell so that the doctors on the other line could think over the idea, Angela lifted her hand up, running her fingers back through her long blonde locks, pushing them back though with not much success as they once more fell back down, framing her face as she turned her attention back down to the patient file, “..run the test… if it comes back positive, start him on Systemic corticosteroids. I want you to keep me informed on his condition; and call me right away should any complications arise.”

“Understood… we’ll be in touch soon with the results of the test.”

Unable to help the small and rather relieved (though still saddened) smile that played over her soft pink lips, Angela leant forward slightly, her gaze dropping and a gentle sigh falling as she hit the ‘end call’ button on the phone, her body seeming frozen in the moment for what felt like a lifetime before she leant herself back in her chair, her head resting against the leather and her eyes flicking out of the large floor to ceiling windows on the far wall as she allowed herself a moment to think- this case… if she was right about her diagnosis; it was a big one, and with only two hundred reported cases worldwide-…

She was just praying that she was both right, and wrong about this being number two hundred and one.

Seemingly managing to finally pull herself out of her own little world, Angela closed the file, pushing it over to the side of her desk as she got to her feet, causing the chair she had been using to roll back ever slightly as she made her way around the desk and towards the door, her long white coat hung open and bouncing lightly against the back of her calves, and her heels making soft clicks over the polished floors as she followed the familiar path through the base- it was huge… when it had first been built, it had taken her days, if not weeks to remember the paths, and to not get lost whenever she tried to find her way around.

It was ridiculous how many times she had gone searching for the lounge, only to then end up in the middle of the gym. It was embarrassing… and it was because of that fact that she had made it her mission to help any new members out- it was the reason each member received a map included within their induction paperwork.

Whether or not they chose to use it was to their own discretion and, on the odd occasion, their humiliation.

Slipping her hands down into the pockets of her lab coat, she let her brilliant blue eyes flick about the halls, allowing them to linger upon the photos… the plaques… the memorials… Each one had a story to tell; and each one was just as important than the last. Slowing to a stop, Angela turned to face one in particular, her head tilting lightly to the side as her eyes lingered upon the familiar faces held safe within the frame; her own being one of them. How quickly things could change… the fact that in a drop of the hat- just a quick twist of fate; and everything you held dear could all be over…

Hesitating a moment, she lifted her hand, the very tips of her fingers brushing lightly over the glass for a moment before she forced herself to turn away, her hand once more returning to the warmth and safety of her pocket as she turned on her heel, the gentle click of her heels once more filling the air as she rounded the corner, her gaze flicking up to the large staircase that led to the bedrooms- it was still early… once again, she had watched the sun rising from her office as she did what she could to complete her work. Perhaps no one had risen yet..?

Pushing the thought from her mind, Angela rounded yet another corner, her body slipping through the open arch and into the familiar décor that was the kitchen. Pristine… no mess in sight… not a thing out of its place; either she was correct in her assumption that no one had woken yet, or they had all chosen to skip breakfast on the same day. Unable to stop the way her lips turned up in a more genuine smile than before, she brought her hands up to her coat, shrugging it off and draping it lightly over the back of one of the stools at the bench before she moved further into the room, taking a moment to roll up the sleeves on her white shirt before getting to work, the smell of bacon and eggs (enough for what looked like a small army) filling the air around her before floating out into the hall for all to enjoy.

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Lucas was, of all things, sitting on the roof of the base, the sun rising in front of him, he appeared to be thoughtful. Troubled. Knowing his sisters were safe, Lucas often found himself wandering the base, and at these times he, perhaps cheekily, test the security of the base out, enjoy frustrating Fareeha at times. Yet it was an unspoken agreement between them that if Lucas could get through it, then they needed to upgrade the base. Yet it was also unspoken between them that Lucas did such things when he was sentimental over his fathers disappearance. Despite the fact it had been a while, Lucas often found himself thoughtful over it. It was something that he and Fareeha could share, not that they ever talked about it, except with actions. Settled on the roof, Lucas had stared up at the stars, wondering where his father was, as Lucas flat out refused to believe his father was dead. Having been left to care for and raise his sisters, Lucas was glad they were safe, and well. Thank god he had had Angela. He didn't know what he would have done without her. She had helped him through the rough patches of teenage girls.

On the roof, Lucas let his thoughts roam. At thirty five, Lucas's greatest achivement was his sisters. Making sure they knew they could always count on him, that they were happy, and could follow their own dreams, was enough for him. Now, with Hana nineteen-and jeez, when did that happen? Seemed only yesterday she was going bonkers over a game...oh, wait, that was yesterday. He chuckled to himself. It seemed only yesterday, that she was small enough to be carried on his hip, that he'd have to hide the Mountain Dew and Doritos in a high cupboard, only to come back and find that she'd somehow managed to get them again. And juliette...he tried so hard to make sure she knew he was there, to know he would support her in anything. Alwaays nudging her to follow her dreams, Lucas would do anything to make them come true.

As the sun rose, Lucas knew that he needed to go back downstairs and he sighed, sitting back up. Down bellow, he could see Remus, his wolf dog, trotting back to him, from wherever he had gone, a happy grin on his wolf-y face, tongue hanging out. Lucas chuckled, and climbing down of the roof, he stretched when his feet hit the ground, stumbling slightly as Remus leaned against him, pushing him slightly as the wolf-dog put his full weight against him, steeling himself a moment, before he leaned slightly to pat Remus on his head. "Hey boy, what were you up to? No troubles?" Remus gave a wolf-like bark, low and with a slight rumble, causing Lucas to chuckle once more. "Come on, buddy, lets go back inside" He said, starting around the back of the base, he entered through the rear door, Remus trotting after him happily, the large dog often stopping to sniff things, or just have a second look at them.

Stopping a moment in the small room before the kitchen, Lucas could smell the bacon and eggs cooking. He took the time to fill the animals, the various pets, bowls and feeders, to check their water, Remus going to happily lap at a water bowl. Leaving him to it, Lucas continued onward to the ktichen, watching Angela a moment from the doorway. She'd been working, as she was won't to do, all hours of the day. Lucas wished she wouldn't work quite so hard, but knew that she did it, because she was, generally, the only one for the task. Going over to her, he gathered plates and untensils, setting them within reach, or where people could come to just serve themselves, slipping toast into the revolving (Conveyer) toaster. "Good morning, Angela" He said, giving her a smile. He went to the fridge, taking out butter and various assortments of jams, the home-y task something Lucas was familiar with, as he went through the motions, "Long night?" He asked softly, looking to her once more.

Sampson Dubois

Location: Talon HQ, Los Angeles
Interacting with: Whoever's on base and cares to talk

Sampson rolled over, snug beneath his blankets. The key there was blankets, not blanket. Unlike all the soldiers that actually served the cause, the mercenary had learned long ago that having a blanket or two for deployment on someone else’s base was a good way to protect your sleep, and that was one thing he wasn’t living without.

There was a scratching noise in the distance, then a small clatter. Almost like the sound of metal against stone, just like in Russia when the omnics would try to sneak through the cliffsides...

Sampson’s eyes slammed open, muscle memory kicking his body into motion. No armor, no gear, but he had the pistol. He dove from his bed, rolling on the ground as he came up behind the next row of cots, sidearm at the ready. It was at this point that a big, black mutt came into view, his claws clacking on the hard stone floors as his tail wagged. There was a leash dangling in his mouth.

A pent-up breath escaped him as he flicked the safety back onto the handgun, laughing to himself as he stood up to scratch Jimmy. The man uttering horrid oaths under his breath, swearing at the animal as warm tones conveyed what he really meant. The pooch tried to lick his face, the dog’s tail slapping his sides.

Jimmy was not a pretty dog, but he was infinitely better looking now than when Sampson had found him. His fur was shiny and smooth, his claws clipped, and he actually had some bulk to him. If made to guess, Sampson would say he probably had a hefty dose of mastiff in him. The smashed face gave it away if the size didn’t. The very smashed face. In all likelihood, Jimmy had probably been on the receiving end of a car more than once, one eye missing and with several incorrectly healed ribs.

Looking around, the mercenary saw that he was alone in the barracks. Not all that strange, considering it was about noon. With an eleven hour difference between Moscow and Los Angeles, the jet lag was hell. Stretching, he heard his mechanical arm click several dozen times. He tilted his head for a second, making sure they were the same as usual before concluding all was well.

Grabbing the leash from the dog, Sampson looped it around the animal’s neck, scratching behind his buddy’s ears before pulling on his own clothes. Opening up his footlocker, he saw a talon uniform among his other belongings. No rank insignia, no identifying features. Nothing to let the soldiers in his fireteam know who he was. Frowning, he pulled on a pair of grey fatigues he had acquired in Russia and a simple, black tee tucked into his pants. For now, he would have to let his standard armor set him apart on missions. On base, he would wear what he damn well pleased. Jimmy already made him stand out; he may as well enjoy it.

Looking back at the tail wagging the dog, a smile pulled at the corner of the soldier’s mouth. “Well, I figure we can still get us a run in so long as we take care of business beforehand. C’mon, let’s go around and see if I can’t get some gear, eh?” Jimmy’s eyes brightened at the mention of running, a single woof signaling his approval. Together they set out into the base, footfalls mixing with the same steady clatter that woke him.

I'M IN A B BOY STANCE, I AIN'T DANCING

I GOT YOUR GIRL ON THE BACK GOING TANDEM

CAUSE I'M TOO DAMN QUICK, I'M TOO DAMN SLICK

WHOLE DOWNTOWN YELLING OUT "WHO THAT IS?"

"LIKE POW!" Erika skidded into the kitchen, nearly slamming into the counter as she tried to regain her balance, arms flailing wildly before--

WAIT NOPE THAT'S A KNIFE THERE DOOOOOOON'T HIT THE COUNTER!

With a speed that would make a god AI proud, her brain analyzed its options, decided using a pyrokinesis blast to right herself would be distinctly bad--Angela bought organic, phosphorus free bacon for a reason, and you know fire in the base was frowned upon--and latched onto the nearest option, grabbing onto Lucas' shoulders as she slid past the refrigerator, just in time to avoid smashing her hip against the wall.

She winced, then blinked twice and let go of Lucas, stepping backward quickly and sitting quickly on a stool, grinning sheepishly from ear to ear to a magnitude that would surprise anyone--who didn't know her. "Uh... What's up, y'all? Beautiful morning, ain't it?"

Luckily, she was fully dressed. In street clothes, admittedly, but dressed nonetheless. Would have been a lot more embarrassing if she'd pulled that crap in her pajamas. She untied the shoes from her belt loop while she waited for a response and slipped them on her sock feet, almost seeming to sigh in relief as she felt the traction of her tennis shoes on the tile floor of the kitchen.



The clattering soon resolved itself to a mechanical figure, walking with a deliberate stride through the corridors of Talon's Los Angeles facility. It went silent as he stopped, only the slight buzz of the cloud of nanites swarming in the mechanoid body's storage tanks making a sound. There was a crick and a whirr as his head rose, photoreceptors observing both Sampson and the dog impassively, evidently deliberating on something. A long pause seemed to stretch, before the omnic self-designated as Peacere Kovalyov finally spoke. "Good afternoon, Sampson DuBois. Am I to assume you have been asleep until this hour?"

The Omnic's morning had gone pretty much as normal. Clothing was unnecessary, so he had not gotten dressed. Rather, he had meditated, gone for a walk, and was patiently waiting for orders while continuing to walk around the base. Socializing, as it were. Humans seemed to trust him more if he spoke to and greeted them more often, though he didn't see how that had much of a bearing on his ability to perform on the battlefield.

The intel he gathered on their capabilities, however, was in fact useful.

---

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*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP*

Two gleaming yellow eyes suddenly open, followed by a snort, as the mighty Winston wakes up with a startle. He was lying by his worktable downstairs, his head tucked between his two giant hairy arms, with pieces of metal, tools, and peanut butter jar lids littered across it. He looks to his right to see the clock, still beeping loudly. It looked like a 6:30. It was still rather early. The gorilla growls softly as he tries to get his bearings together, turning off the alarm clock next to him. He then slowly yawns as he groggily gets himself to finally stand up. It appears he overworked yet again. He was working almost the entire night on this little project of his and forgot to tell himself when to quit. This isn't the first time this has happened though. It's actually a pretty common occurrence for him to pull an all-nighter.

Is it healthy? Not really. Did it matter to Winston? Somewhat.

The gorilla rubs his eyes slowly, followed by several huffs to his glasses, condensing them with his breath and cleaning them with his fiber rag. Man did his breath reek of peanut butter. He quickly heads to the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth. He didn't want his teammates to smell the midnight must on him anyways. As he walks out of the bathroom, the computer system turns on as ATHENA greets him.

"Good Morning Winston." the AI speaks in a welcoming feminine voice,
"It seems you've finally woken up and gotten yourself ready. I thought that you would~"

"If it weren't for the rather convenient alarm clock, then yeah I'd be still sleeping." Winston answers while clearing his throat and reaching for a banana, taking a bite out of it.

"You need to sleep at a regular schedule Winston. It's not healthy to sleep for a mere three hours. Besides you promised that~"

"I know, Athena, I know..." the gorilla rolls his eyes boringly, "I promised to start a proper sleep schedule and get the daily recommended 8 hours of sleep a night, but last night I was busy working on that project of mine. Thought I could finish it before I headed to bed... looks like I was mistaken."

He holds the project in his hands, a metal white ball with several little holes in it. It was about the size of a grapefruit. Whatever this project was seemed to have, and what purpose it would serve, was of up most importance towards Winston. The big ape simply sighs as he puts it back on the table.

"Oh well..." he simply states as he walks to the door, "It'll have to be finished later. ATHENA I'm heading out to meet with the rest of the members. I'll be back here in a couple of hours to finish the project."

"Right. Have an excellent day Winston."

And with that, the door automatically shuts behind the ape.

---

Winston heads towards the kitchen, the hypnotizing smell of fresh eggs and sizzling bacon always being a welcome sense to embrace. One banana isn't going to do him that much for one entire day anyways. As he slowly enters the kitchen, he can see Angela, Lucas, and Erika already having awoken as well. Actually, on his way there, he didn't see too many people. They must be still asleep or just getting ready if anything. With a friendly chuckle, he waves towards the trio as he makes his way into the door frame.

"Morning everyone!" he greets welcomingly with a warm smile and announcing voice, "You all ready to start the day?"

As he finishes, he grabs the nearest coffee pot and pours himself a nice hot cup of coffee. He didn't bother to add sugar to it though, nor did he add any cream. He always liked the blackest and rawest of coffee, primal and bitter in taste, but still providing the best boost to the day.

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Several echoing cries of bird-like calls announce the presence of the return of a species dead for over 70 millions years. The calls of Alpha I alert the other Raptors in the area for roll call in orderly formation. The daily formation of the Raptor Crew. The first to arrive was the fiery Beta II, followed by the cool-colored Gamma III, then Delta IV and finally Omega V. They lined up in front of him, each with their own respected armor colors and cackled with various chirps and growls as they follow orders from the Alpha himself. Another bark from the Crew Leader called for their immediate attention and the side-talked ceased entirely, the panting being the only noise in the room.

Alpha then began to bark and chirp in his own native tongue, one that his brothers and sisters can understand. Their own little secret "code" language. The main Raptor continues to speak to his teammates, rapidly pointing at various objects and barriers behind them. That area is their own private training course, a course that tests their abilities to the maximum and theirs alone. And after a quick minute of talk, Alpha shrieks, followed by a guttural growl, dismissing the rest of the crew to the course. Some were testing their endurance in combat against various practice dummies, some were improving their stamina on long specialized treadmills, hell one was even practicing on horizontal climbing on a rope wall. These Raptors weren't only smart, but physically trained to the peak of almost near-perfection. These were special units, perhaps some of the finest and most elite units at Talon's disposal. Who knew that the resurrection of dinosaurs would provide them with such valued assets?

As the Crew continued training, Alpha continued to oversee their progress from on top a high stepping stone. Their training place didn't all look like a regular garage like those in modern military bases, no. Their enclosure was inside a large greenhouse-like structure, with plenty of space and jungle foliage. It also had a sandy desert/beach-like spot near the corner, where all the equipment laid, along with a large rock formation by the edge. It was a pretty luxurious place for one to train in, but for the Raptors, it feels almost natural for them. They didn't like their previous training grounds, an old dreary and dark enclosure with metal everywhere. Thankfully, this greenhouse enclosure was the perfect location for them to reside in. It took a year for all the additional placements to be added, as well as its expansion, but it was all worth the wait.

*Double post. I hate this error*

Glasses pressed firmly against the bridge of his nose and a ball cap hung low. Johnathon "Jack" Morrison, with his nose stuck to the pages of a book, read the same sentences over and over and over again. His mind itched with the insatiable need to keep moving. Paranoia, over the years, had become as much a good friend as the woman he waited on. It kept him alive more times than he could count, though less than the amount of needles Amari stuck him with.

His hand pressed the crumbling book closed, sliding Tolstoy back in his spot on the bookshelf before him. Wrong place, but he couldn’t be concerned with bookstore etiquette now. Jack had to organize his thoughts before he cared about anything else. They could fuss over antiques some other time.

Without sparing a glance, Jack slid another of the dilapidated books into his hands, letting his eyes linger on the cafe across the street. He could catch the purple of a hijab floating among the patrons in the window, stark only to his eyes. The flutter of the fabric in the air conditioned room, it reminded him of something. Or, perhaps the absence of something.

Years spent alone, Jack wouldn’t have thought he’d end up like this, with someone from his past, nonetheless. It felt surreal, though he couldn’t quite complain, much less bring it up to her. They’d both died, Captain Amari the first to go, and then Jack and Gabriel. The words felt bitter on his tongue, even speaking his own. Even though Ana sat right there, not a few hundred feet away, it still tore at his heart. Perhaps not Ana’s name, but rather his.

Jack ground his teeth, shutting the book the moment Ana stood. Her voice rang in his ear, relaying information on their next target. Jesse McCree. “Been years, kid,” he mumbled, not bothering to mute his side of the transmission.

Taking the finality in her words, Jack moved toward the bookshop's lone exit, taking care to slide the book on the nearest surface before leaving - he ignored the cry from the decked out, hipster, cashier. It always took a year for him to do much of anything these days. Old age didn’t slow him as much as his own instincts did. It never hurt to tread cautiously these days.

Once he’d finally matched pace with Ana, Jack opened their secured channel, once more. ”Details on the bounty? Location. Urgency.” he asked, barely moving his lips while he parsed through the crowded sidewalk. The less he thought, the more rigid his steps were, more deliberate, and more spartan. He had to actively calm himself to fall back into a relaxed gait. He needed to come off as less military and more civilian, to keep attention off of him.

“He has some big spenders out after him––sixty million if he’s taken alive,” Ana said. She was several yards away, hands clasped behind her back. Some people were naturals at appearing discrete, and she was one of them, or so her own mentors in the military said way back when. Though she swore she could feel Jack’s laser stare focusing on her as he tailed her, she didn’t so much as peek over to the other side of the road, instead staring in the display windows of the stores with feigned interest. “Location… I’ll have to make a few calls to check on his whereabouts. I have a few trustworthy trackers. But I think he’ll need our help soon; it’s sixty million.”

She stopped at the end of the block to briefly wait for traffic. Her eyes caught Jack’s from across the street, and she gestured for him with a quick jerk of her head for him to come and join her. “I don’t think it’s the UN whose upped his price. It’s someone else, and I don’t want to point fingers, but we do happen to know of a murderous organisation with the funding for it.”

Not much in the way of expression filtered across Jack’s face, even in dire times. But, the slight nudge of his jaw as his teeth ground against each other was enough to denote the shock to himself. Filtered anger. While he talked, Jack walked toward the nearest stoplight to cross, taking care to keep his pace unhurried.

“It’s my fault for not wiping his slate entirely clean,” Jack said. He stopped a small distance from Ana, side to side and facing opposite directions. The com-link died with a small press, though his voice remained small, distant. He had to choose his words carefully here. Just uttering the world felt like ash, as if the name would summon a pair of black clad mooks around the corner. “If what you’re suggesting is true, then all the more reason to get our hands on him first.”

Jack tapped the side of Ana’s jacket, tugging at the fabric just slightly before beginning to trot casually in front of her. “We’ll have a short window of time. How fast can your trackers spot him?”

“If he’s stationary, lying low, it’s hard to say. But when has that ever been Jesse?” There was something akin to pride in her voice. If anyone took Ana Amari’s teachings to heart before her death, it was the gunslinger––if he had even the slightest inkling that he was being hunted, and hell, maybe even if he was completely unaware of the danger he was in, she was sure that her words would still echo like bullets in a train carriage in his thick skull. Don’t stop moving. “If he’s heading somewhere, anywhere in particular, they can find him within thirty-six hours. My… friends, shall we say, have their fingers on the pulse of public and private transport all over the country. They can find him.”

They were closer now, but there was still an insurmountable distance between them. Ana felt it in her bones, an emptiness where there was once companionship. Jack, Gabriel, Reinhardt, Torbjorn, Ana. Now they were scattered and dead and “dead”, and since meeting the elusive Soldier: 76, she couldn’t help but to cling to him as a reminder of the past. To bog it all down in protocol was so typically Morrison, but neither was it a particularly helpful reminder of what they had lost.

“Jack, we should be careful not to show our faces to him. It’s too much of a temptation just to take off my mask, hang it up and wrangle him back to Overwatch, if he’s not with them already.” Ana brushed the old soldier’s elbow as she took a position at his side, guided by the movement of the sparse crowds. “He was never one of yours, always mine and Gabriel’s––” She winced, slightly, at the accidental but no less touchy reminder of the intense rivalry turned sour, but continued on. “I just want to make sure he’s okay from afar.”

Those words reminded Jack plenty of his own memories with Jesse. They’d always been terse, with politeness verging on exasperated sarcasm. But the kid grew on him, it just took a lot longer than his companionship with the others. The only thing Jack hadn’t shared, that Ana and Gabriel did, was just how close their relationships had been. Jesse was a soldier to him, but he might as well have been Ana and Gabriel’s own son - shared custody, likely.

Jack pressed his shoulder against Ana’s, looking down at her beyond the tint of his glasses. He hummed, contemplating for a moment before nodding. “You’ll head this one, then,” he started, tearing his gaze from her, “I’ll follow your lead. You understand stealth and reconnaissance better than I do.” Jack stopped the both of them abruptly, pulling Ana to the side, caged in an alley and away from strangers.

“However,” Jack said, “I’m entrusting you to make the right decision should things end up southbound. I’m assuming your tactics haven’t changed much.” He brushed passed her, sliding back into the thrum of the crowds walking past them. “Still act like a hard ass, Ana?”

Ana damn near cackled in the middle of the street, which would have certainly sold the ‘mad old lady’ impression. “You know it’s not an act, Commander. Or do I need to beat you six ways to Sunday in a training scenario again?” A bus rattled down the road beside them, slow enough so that it was beginning to become hard to hear with their purposeful distancing from each other. “I can lead a strike team of two. It’s been a long time, but I can do it. The old Omnic skirmishing tactics, me on the high ground calling shots and keeping you… in one piece. Something like that.”

The further away she was from McCree, the better it would be. “Of course, we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves here. For all we know he could be safe as can be, and our mutual enemy isn’t even gunning full force for him.”

A tinge of something twitched at Jack's lips. Fondness? Nostalgia? He couldn't pinpoint the feeling; he was just glad to have something again, however flimsy it may have seemed. Or perhaps that was his own perception of his and Ana's current relationship. That distance he put himself at, the one that could be seen physically portrayed between them, was his own fault. But, Jack never dwelt on his own introspection. He had to keep moving; safety laid in unpredictability.

Who knew how long this would last between them. “Taking chances like that could get him killed,” Jack put it blunt, though he respected her need to tell herself otherwise. A mother needed hope when her cub's safety was a concern. He didn't want her complacency to slow her down. “Let's get geared up. I'll meet you at the nearest airport. I assume you'll handle the ticket fair.”

Jack left with his words, sliding into the crowds and the corners, until he disappeared completely from view. Ana knew where he'd be when she called for him. Jack was nothing if not reliable.

---

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*...CLANG...CLANG...CLANG...CLANG...*

Ansgar Staudinger stood in front of a workbench, hammering away steadily at one of the load bearing components of his life support rig. The vital parts that didn't come off were hooked up to an external power source while he worked on the rest of the rig. Which was, right now, fixing the way the contraption rested on his torso. As of late, it worked fine in armor, but out of it the rig sat poorly. After figuring out the why of the matter, it was mostly how the weight rested on the connection between his arms and torso, he had a way to fix it. Reshape the load bearing portions, coupled with a minor rearrangement of parts, and it should sit better. Still wouldn't help him sleep terribly well, but that was irrelevant anyways. Sighing and wiping the sweat from his brow, he tried to rub the tiredness from his eyes as he looked at the rig. He shook his head before his mind took off again, not worth getting that riled up this early in the morning. Instead he started reassembling the rig, it was a snug fitting thing that fit under his armor, hell, it sat under most clothing too. It took him some time to get the thing put back together, hence why he rarely disassembled it. Was it more comfortable without the whole rig? Absolutely. But he couldn't afford the delay of reassembly.

Grunting as he torqued the last of the bolts back in place, he set the tools down and tentatively grasped the external power coupling. This part was always one of concern, mainly since if the power didn't switch over to the internals properly, it would hurt like someone had injected liquid metal into his torso. He'd live, but it would be one hell of a way to start the day. Without another thought he disconnected the external power supply, and while there was a brief flash of discomfort, everything ran smoothly. Small miracles, the German thought, as he coiled up the power cable and put away the tools. Taking a few experimental steps and short jumps, he noted that it was setting better now. Good, made daily life a bit easier. With such, he put on his normal attire outside of work. Which was to say, not in his armor. Which meant he still had that black tactical vest that he caught flak for every now and again, alongside black cargo pants and boots. The vest helped conceal the bulk of his life support rig, which he didn't need people prodding at. Besides, it was more comfortable than it looked.

Winston wasn't the only one with a habit of sleeping too little, Ansgar spent as much time in the gym, usually on the punching bag since weights didn't increase the strength of his arms at all, or working on his gear. He didn't even bother shaving, only taking time to stop by his quarters and take a brief shower so he didn't reek of sweat and machinery. He had that latter smell anyways, the amount of time he spent working on equipment kind of made that a given. The sweaty smell? He could fix that at least. But it did give him a chance to put on a cleaner set of his usual attire, and grab his personal coffee mug, before heading out for the kitchen area. He already knew he wasn't the first one there, and sure enough, it seemed there was a decent number already there upon his arrival. Small miracle he got there in one try, the place still got him lost on an, albeit rare, occasion. Doctor Zeigler, that Lucas fellow, Ms. Striker (which he considered with a mental sigh), and none other than Winston, who stood out like a monkey out of its pen. Which he wouldn't say to the gorilla's face, rude to do that.

"Guten Morgen Dr. Zeigler. Mr. Lucas, Ms. Striker, Dr. Winston." The familiar German accent was clear, despite the tiredness in his eyes, as Ansgar greeted each person present in turn, falling into his native tongue of German for Doctor Zeigler, the rest getting short nods when mentioned. The rest, Winston being referred to as a Doctor out of respect, had been referred to as last names. But Ansgar refused to refer to Lucas by his last name, for reasons older members of Overwatch would likely be aware of, but he didn't speak on the matter. Rather, he walked over to the coffee pot, once Winston was done with it of course since, obviously, he wasn't going to move the scientific gorilla on brute force alone, and poured himself his morning coffee. No additives, nothing of the sort. Before his first sip though, he produced a bottle of multi vitamins, meant for those that had cybernetics, and shook two out of the bottle. He was running low, would have to get another bottle soon. Swallowing the pills, and rinsing them down with coffee, he stepped away from the counter, looking out at nowhere in particular, not taking a seat and not eating either. He didn't eat much these days, maybe one proper meal a day and it certainly was not breakfast. "What orders of business needs to be done today? Sooner started, sooner finished."

The sun peeked over the horizon as Asbjorn woke from a troubled sleep. He groaned, pulling the blanket off of his body and tucking it between his legs. Late night consciousness always led to early morning grogginess. The Norwegian groaned as he reached for his phone at the corner of the bed, activating the display to reveal a blurry blue light emanating from his hand. Asbjorn's bleary eyes had to be blinked several times before they could discern any information from the device.

"It's too damn early. Asbjorn pulled his pillow over his head and buried himself face first into the mattress. The scent of pine trees and nighttime sweat drifted from the bed, filling his nostrils. The sensation of smelling himself through his bed was an oddity to Asbjorn, however he soon forgot this as his mind numbed itself.

As time went on, any hope of deep sleep left Asbjorn's mind. A second groan emanated from his chest as he threw the pillow off of his head, rolling out of bed. The man ignored the blanket as it fell to the ground, stumbling groggily across the room. A few minutes later, the warm water of a shower cascaded down his body, awakening his mind. Steam drifted in and out of his nostrils as Asbjorn breathed deeply, cleansing himself of the night's troubles.

He shut off the shower and dried himself off, dressing in a pair of gray sweatpants and a blue tank top. Stepping into the hall, Asbjorn was greeted by the inviting smells of breakfast. A faint smile drifted across his face as he followed his nose to the kitchen, his bare feet making small slapping sounds against the tile.

"Morning everyone! You all ready to start the day?"As he entered the kitchen, he saw Erika sheepishly glance at Lucas as she sat down at the bar, a smile splitting her face. Angela stood by the stove, nurturing a pan of bacon to crisp perfection. Asbjorn forced a wide smile onto his face as he entered the room, nodding to the counter where Winston was preparing a cup of black coffee.

"Uh... What's up y'all? Beautiful morning, ain't it?" Asbjorn chuckled pleasantly as he moved into the room, walking towards the stove. "Morning, everyone."

Squeezing Angela's shoulder lightly, Asbjorn leaned past her and over exaggerated an inhalation. "It smells divine, Angie." He moved past her and clapped Lucas' shoulder, reaching past him into the open refrigerator, snagged a half empty bottle of cranberry juice. He unscrewed the lip and took a swig as he took a seat next to Erika at the bar, bumping her shoulder lightly with his in a silent greeting.

For a split second, Sampson’s jaw locked as his eyes locked on the metal frame, the faint buzzing of nanites in his ears.. He had read Peacere’s file, knew what he was, knew that he was on his side. He sure as hell knew it wasn’t fair to judge people on how they looked. Still, the face was a little too close to the more recent models in Siberia for his comfort, and he hadn’t lived this long by being fair. He would reserve judgement.

The mercenary smiled a little too broadly at the omnic, resting his hand on the Jimmy’s head. “I assure you, I normally keep better hours. Only got here last night, still adaptin’. You know how it is with those of us who have to sleep.” He locked eyes with the omnic, for a moment thinking about just how many models he had seen with the exact same face, same arms, same gunmetal grey armor. The exact same neutral expression, unchanging, coated in ash and blood. The sound of screaming in Russian, gunfire, shrieking metal, the smell of cooked flesh and ozone in the air. The omnic didn’t respond, studying the Sampson with his optics. He didn’t blink. Jimmy wagged his tail nervously, looking back and forth between the man and the machine.

After a pause, he sighed. His voice grew more serious as his brows met, his mouth curling into a small frown. “Listen. I’ve read your file, and I know you’ve seen mine. I spent a solid six years fighting in Siberia and watched a whole lotta men die. Just like I know you’ve seen your fair share buy the barn.” He crossed his arms, his mouth pulling to the side as he raised an eyebrow. “I have no issues with you. But your face’s real familiar, so if I jump around ya, don’t take it personally. We’re both here, we’re both professionals.” At this, a grin snuck onto his face, growing wider as he spoke. “More than that, I’ve read about your performance and your combat specs. Bit of a loner, but you work best in groups, ambushes, targeted strikes. You know how to set up a killzone. I can appreciate that. As is, I think we could work well together.”

At a small nudge from a wet nose, Sampson looked down. Jimmy was staring him down, pawing at his leg and panting. The mercenary let out a short, barking laugh before turning back to Peacere. The smile had returned, genuine now. “Sorry, I told my buddy here we’d have a run after I get my gear. Tell you what,” he pulled a small phone from his pocket, tapping at it for a second. “I’m going to snag some supplies and take this one out and about for a time. I won’t stray too far from the neighborhood, but fresh air does ya good, and I’ve gotta talk to a contact here. After that though, I’m figuring out who’s in my squad and well...” He extended his hands in an exaggerated shrug, his eyes lighting up with a maniacal gleam. “What are your thoughts on partners?”

Fareeha woke early, as was her habit, and after she dressed and got ready, Fareeha ran a hand through her hair, glancing around her room, which was for all intents and purposes, a little slice of home. her own design, she enjoyed coming back to its warmth and...safety. It was, at the moment, a little messy, something Fareeha was a little ashamed off. Working late into the night, Fareeha had retreated to the quiet of her room, and hunkered down, working on some new security as well as going over a recent mission, checking for any faults or just anything wrong, in both the security and the way it was executed. She had fallen asleep doing so, leaving the small mess where it was instead of cleaning it up like she normally did before bed. She sighed softly to herself, gathered up her papers, setting them neatly to the side, she tidied up, throwing clothes into the hamper, and straightening anything else, quickly making the bed.

She then headed out of her room, starting to the security room, she entered with ease, one of a handful of people that could access the security, checking to make sure there were no blips or issues with the system, noting the what would be later defined as a “Lucas Attack” on the system, and sighing softly. She checked to make sure he hadn’t got through, but still made a mental note to increase the system just slightly, add another layer, just in case. You could never be too careful, after all. Then she made her way back out, stopping by the training room, she examined it, checking to make sure there was no damage anywhere, and then, because she could smell the bacon and eggs, and it was irresistible, she began to make her way towards the kitchen, stopping, she gave a heavy sigh, looking at the photos of overwatch agents, her eyes drawn, as they always were, to her mother. She hadn’t been much of a mother, really, but she had been her mother. Knowing she had been more of a...burden to her mother then anything else, Fareeha still couldn’t help but love her, miss her, even as she was angry at her mother, something that would never be resolved. At least, not now.

She sighed to herself, and started towards the kitchen again, noting that there were few people there, drawn no doubt by the scent. Angela, Lucas, ansgar, Winston, Erika...Her brother was, no doubt, still asleep. She smiled at them all, content for the moment to lean against the door frame, and watch, Fareeha said ”Good morning, everyone”

---

---

It was the morning of Wendy's one year anniversary since being offered a spot as an operative under the Overwatch initiative. To mark the occasion, Wendy stirred earlier than usual in her room, brewing herself a fresh pot of tea and sitting silently in her room. There would be no celebration, or so Wendy believed, as it wasn't significant enough to warrant anything. Still, she found herself recollecting the previous year and its many firsts, like her first gunfight. Although exciting, there were never enough instances to warrant sending Wendy as a combatant. Instead, most of her time was spent on the maintenance and construction of various Overwatch products. It left many of Wendy's days to be a dull but there were some ways she'd keep herself entertained. Best example was walking through the damages Reinhardt's Crusader Armor had received, often imagining the sequence of events that lead the armor to her shop.

Ah, who was she kidding. She was still feeling empty in her life. It was a mystery to her why this was the case as she had lived a very full life already with claims that most men and women could only dream of. So why hasn't been enough?

Her thoughts had robbed her of enough sleep as she leaned back in her chair and gave a long yawn, stretching her arms out in the process. It was kind of pointless to think about life purposes this early, anyway. Maybe breakfast would cheer her up?

Wendy slipped into the kitchen of the complex after a bit of aimlessly wandering the corridors, passing the time with an ounce of curiosity to see who stirred where this morning. Turned out, all of Wendy's colleagues had the same idea. Wendy brought her mug of tea up to take a sip as she surveyed the room. Everyone seemed cheerful this morning, almost too cheery especially that Asbjorn, and Wendy deduced that it was probably a problem with the ventilation. She made a note to check that later as she strode over to the servery station to grab a plate of whatever they were serving and sat down in proximity to Erika, a less than optimal choice as there was just too much cheer being exhumed from Erika and Asbjorn.

Wendy buried her head as she stuffed her mouth of much needed sustenance, taking a break after a few mouthfuls to glance up at the director herself, Angela. "Yea. I agree with Tin-Man." Wendy recalled that Ansgar had asked what was the tasks for today. "I would like to know early whether or not this day is going to be another paid vacation day."

Sixty. Million. Dollars.

He wanted to vomit. He wanted to tear the bounty down. Back in the old west, in the films Jesse watched, they made these posters out of paper, nailed to the side of a saloon. It would've felt so satisfying to take his anger out on a flimsy piece of paper. Everything these days faded out of digital and into holographic, even in rural states like this one.

Not many frequented New Mexico, aside from a few areas that festered with Deadlock like giant, bleeding chasms. They hung a few miles out of larger cities in the West, near Santa Fe, Tuscan, Phoenix, Albuquerque. Jesse avoided most of those cities like a plague, but Santa Fe had once gave Jesse a home. With his streak of luck, upon rolling in he'd discovered the Gang abandoned one of their bases. It sat close to an Overwatch Outpost that still stood pre-fall, and they didn't bother coming back when they'd fled the first time.

For Jesse, that meant a few days in a dingy Motel Six barely scraping by on a bounty he'd stolen. A few thousand bucks for a deadbeat snitch. Unfortunately, since his ten year long bounty only ever increased in price, Jesse had to subside for months on fake names and small bounties. The smaller the better; people didn't bother checking who turned who in when the stipend barely covered a weeks worth of groceries. He played that to his strengths, riding through half of North America on the production line rails.

Only recently had he heard Winston's call to arms, passing Overwatch's defunct base in Grand Mesa. The message, likely courtesy of Athena, played on repeat on all of the functioning consoles in the base. It made for an awful night's sleep, until Jesse finally packed what he could of the rations and reserves, then left.

To this day, all he dreamed about was Winston's recall. It made no sense. What would he go back to? Ana died, something Jesse still felt numb about. He still wanted to blame Jack again and again, but Jesse already enacted his vendetta; he hadn't told Jack of Gabriel's plans. None of it was justified and he might as well have been spitting on Jack's grave for surviving this long. But, like any wanderer, guilt kept him alive, kept him going, kept his mind on a goal to repent even if he knew it would never be for Jack. He was selfish that way.

Survival. He had to take care to remember what Ana taught him: stay low, make friends where you can, keep alert. Most importantly, she told him to never stop running. And he didn't. Funny, that. The moment Ana died and Gabriel betrayed them all, Jesse never stopped running. For an entire decade, all Jesse McCree ever knew were dirt roads, rat holes, and a starving hunger. All he knew was the pounding of his boots against pavement and his eyes on the horizon. He just hoped Ana would have been proud of him.

"You alright, sir?" a voice caught McCree's thoughts, a net reeling in a bucket of fish.

He turned toward the voice, slid his lips into a wicked smile, and tipped his hat. "Jus' fine," he said, dipping his tone into a smooth bass, "I just needed some direction. I gotta pal lookin' for me and I ain't been round these parts in so long." Jesse tipped over, letting his torso lean against the cold metal of the bar. The man behind swallowed hard, red tinting his cheeks. "What say you, uh, point me in the direction of Perrito's bar, cariño?"

A good few minutes longer than Jesse expected and he had what he needed. The ad flashing his name on the wall next to the bar fizzled slightly, though failed to go out entirely. He wiped his mouth and stomped out of the establishment with hardly any eyes on him. Unfortunate for the bar owner, but Jesse supposed it was their fault for placing a bar where no bikers or gangs frequented. He could feel the pounding music from a nearby club that likely soaked up what would have been this guy's customers. The younger generations never could appreciate the smell of stale piss and the broken jukebox that only ever played Achy Breaky Heart. Jesse couldn't blame them.

It took Jesse a few hours to traverse the city in the safest way possible, walking through the most crowded bits for as long as he could allow. Everything eventually bled into grimy streets and back alleys, until he finally found his destination:

Perrito's. A giant, red neon sign jutted out from a dilapidated establishment. It flickered with a heavy buzz of a busted out light fixture. The place looked as worn out as he'd imagined when he'd gotten the call from the owner telling him he could throw him a bone. Safe passage from Santa Fe all the way to Carson City, from there he could find a way to get to Washington on his own accord.

Jesse looked up one last time, staring at the low hanging T that had seemingly lodged itself into the O. The beginning P-E-R and the S had fizzed out long ago, leaving '-rito' as the only flickering, red letters. Except it looked more like -rip, than -rito. A part of him wanted desperately to believe in omens, enough so that Jesse felt a chill crawl down his spine. "Rip, indeed," he said, wincing as he yanked the cigar from his mouth and flicked it against the black pavement.

Passing that threshold sealed his fate. The minute Jesse's boots clacked against the rotted hardwood of the bar, just about seven guns trained their sights on his head. He raised both hands, looking up from his tilted head. "Well, Ah'll be damned," Jesse drew, taking in the silence of his warm welcome. He broke it almost immediately, "Y'aint gonna gimme a head start, are ya, cabrón?"

"Not how this works, my friend."

"Figured as much," Jesse said. He shrugged and put his hands back down, slow as not to startle anyone. "Bet it's too much to ask if you actually have that ticket to Nevada?"

"Just a bit," Perrito, the owner didn't spare any more words, though he tutted as soon as Jesse took a step forward, "Ay, hey, hey. You got seven bloodthirsty mercs lookin' to get rich. I wouldn't be so casual, if I were you."

Jesse let out a burst of laughter, not daring to stop his meander to the nearest bar stool. He side-eyed the patron sat there, her grimace enough of a warning for Jesse. Though, Jesse didn't take any heed much anyways. He slid his hand past her, snatching the bottle of whiskey she was downing and ignoring her cry. "'M worth more alive, cabrón. You know it, they know it, I know it. They ain't gettin' paid a dime with a bullet in my head," he explained, throwing his arm out at one of the hired mercs. He finger gunned away, mocking the man with little, exasperated gunshot noises.

"Ya see," Jesse turned his head toward Perrito, a full row of white teeth bared in his most charming grin, "there's only a few ways this'll turn out, but I'll spare ya the details and give you the most likely story." Jesse took a great swig of the Jack Daniels before standing up again, throwing his body around as if already three sheets to the wind. "You're gonna try 'n cuff me. Knock me out. Tie me up. Throw me in a piss ridden cellar. But first, all seven of your men are gonna surround me, just like they're doin' now, 'n the first thing I'm gonna do is down this entire bottle of whiskey. While I'm doin' that, I'm gonna unlatch all my flash bangs and in the most heinous, stupidest, and idiotic of moves, I'ma toss 'em up and fall to the floor. Yeah? Ya still followin' 'cause if I lost you, then you might wanna check yer pockets."

Not every cowboy fell for it, but the one who did, the one closest to McCree made sure to lean right into his grasp. Jesse threw the whiskey across the bar counter, smacking Perrito in the face while he threw the distracted merc into the circle of already firing guns. Without a second to hesitate, McCree unholstered Peacekeeper and with six flicks of his wrist, downed each and every one of Perrito's men before they could so much as cock a look his way.

Pulling himself from the counter, Perrito stared across the bar to a smirking son of a bitch Jesse McCree, clutching his bleeding nose and eye. McCree tipped his hat, bending over to rummage in each of the pockets. "Sorry 'bout the mess, Pero," he apologized, stuffing a thick wad of cash into his pockets, "but I've been on the run for ten long years. Ain't no two-bit... ah shit." The moment McCree took a glance up, he noticed exactly how many individuals actually did pay his shenanigan any mind. Too many to count.

"Fifty-fifty of thirty-million bucks for that man's head on a pike - fuck the alive payment!," Perrito screamed over the cacophony of gunfire riddling holes in his bar. He yelled a hoarse scream after McCree, boots having already taken him skidding down the alleyway, "Dead man walking! Ten years and this is how you die, Jesse McCree!"

With the sun peaking over the horizon, it was a dead man's race to the all-American tram way that split Santa Fe in two on its way to Los Angeles. A whole saloon of angry mercenaries and bounty hunters with a whiff of his scent would tear Santa Fe down for even a few thousand bucks of cash. What they'd do for millions, Jesse wasn't about to find out.

Godspeed, cowboy.

---

---

Jamison, never one to sit still, had quite despised the almost twenty hour flight all together, something he would rarely suffer for, except for his family. For his cousin, Raelene. He was her guardian, poor one that he was, and needed to check up on her from time to time. Particularly when Mako had told him Raelene wanted to come to overwatch. So, trunk empty of all bombs, pockets empty of everything that could be considered deadly. He felt naked without it all. But he’d promised Angela he wouldn’t get into trouble, and having bombs on a plane sure did spell trouble. Making it through security however was fun-his arm certainly caused concern between guards, and Jamison chuckled, happily sitting through it for the simple fact it puzzled the suits. Eventually making it out of the airport, Jamison blinked blearily about him, chuckling to himself.

He eventually found transportation, very reluctant to not not steal one. But that would cause trouble. And Angela could be frightening. Besides, he wanted to spend time with Raelene. Not in some cell. Although that would be fun as well. As he drove, and boy, was that fun, Jamison let his thoughts roam. He was itching to get his hands on some explosives, and as soon as he was out of the city, Jamison began to speed, traveling wildly without, it seemed, a care in the world. Traveling to Junker town, Jamison couldn’t help the happy feeling of home, even if things hadn’t always been good there. Mako was there, and so was Raelene, his little Rae Rae. He might only be a handful of years older than her, but they were family, and Family was important. They were all, the three of them, the only ones they had. Jamison would do anything for Mako and Raelene. Anything.

As Junker town appeared, that spark of excitement grew and Jamison slowed, studying it a moment. The town was, as it had been the last time he saw it, a scattering of dwellings that rose in the air, on what was the ruins of a previous community, built up from the ground after the war. Scavenging was common-you could often find pieces from omnics, and Jamison had scavenging the materials for his own bombs, for his own arm, and Raelene’s. He’d helped give her a place, and despite the cut-throat society,. Jamison knew that Raelene was safe, especially with Mako there. He was at times troubled, wondering if he should be the one to stay with Raelene, but Mako had proved to be an efficient bodyguard, and Jamison knew she was safer than...well, them at the overwatch base in Mako’s care. Still, he was her guardian...and even if she was of age, at least according to Aussie standards, Jamison would also be her guardian. They were all they had.

Parking the car out the front of the house, Jamison set the alarm, although he knew that that wouldn’t stop the junkers for long, he’d set some traps about later, he turned to the house, one of the better ones-Jamison had been a fine scavenger, he drew in a breath and let it out in a shout ”Rae Rae! I’m home!”

Sombra enjoyed watching the Discovery Channel. Being one enraptured by puzzles and riddles, the channel held plenty of documentaries and docu-dramas for her to sink her inquisitive teeth into. Many of them were trashy, and badly acted, but with the stories behind them true, she couldn't resist watching them till the end to find out if she was right. It was only five minutes into this one that she'd figured out the murderer. Some South African shrink with a mysteriously ill wife? Well, it was obvious. Sombra couldn't help but hold back a laugh as she continued to watch.

"Insulin, the perfect way to kill somebody? And he thought he was being clever. Idiota." She scoffed quietly, both to herself and the python lazing on her lap; Hermes' tongue flicking lazily into the air in response as he curled further around her crossed legs. Perhaps people were simply less intelligent two decades ago? Paper trails, evidence, taking out life insurance policies prior to death... it was embarrassing to watch, especially for a master of cover-ups like herself. Either way, she was happy to get the correct answer, regardless of how obvious it had seemed to her. As the show came to an end, she minimised the page with a flick of her wrist, the movement swiftly turning into a cat-like stretch that got her spine cracking.

"C'mon guapo. Back to your hidey-hole." Gently untangling Hermes from her lap, Sombra stood up with a yawn, placing him back in his vivarium before had a chance to wrap himself around her arms and body as he tended to do. Lightly "booping" his snout before replacing the lid, the hacker turned back to her computer, stretching once again. She'd spent most of the night awake, dealing with... business. If anyone asked her, she'd been watching her murder mysteries all night. In reality, she was attempting to stop some death. Waving her hand again, a gruff, familiar face filled the screen, paired with the words that would provide nothing but trouble for the guy. "Stupid Cowboy always getting himself into trouble." She sighed, a smile quirking her lips. Normally, she'd have no worries for anyone in this situation, but McCree had helped her out before. Excellent drinking partner too - but with the bounty as high as it had been? Dios Mio, he was in some real trouble now. Sombra had done what she could with the bounty; lowering it from a much higher stake before it had been released to make sure nobody too professional tried to take him out. Still, $60 million was a lot of money. Knowing all too well about the greedy nature of humans, Sombra could already envision people going to stupidly long lengths just to try and bring Jesse in alive - or dead. Either way, other people would likely be caught in the crossfire. Deciding it would be best to keep an eye open for news, Sombra opened up a new programme, fingers dancing across the holographic keypads as she inputted instructions.

_{INPUT SEARCH PARAMETERS: Gun Fights -- Mercenaries -- America -- New Mexico -- McCree -- Overwatch
... SEARCHING
...
128,767 RESULTS FOUND}

Sombra sighed again, this time more exasperated than concerned. Naturally, there was plenty both on the internet and in her own files about any of the following things she had searched. Especially in regards to Overwatch and all of the juicy things she'd uncovered about it. All of these murder mysteries and real-life puzzles she had read about or watched, and here she was, living in the biggest one of all. Leaning over against the desktop, manicured nails tapping rhythmically against the hard surface, Sombra tried again.

_{INPUT SEARCH PARAMETERS: McCree, Bounty, Mercenaries: RECENT
CONTINUE SEARCH}

A small, purple skull was all that now remained on the screen, and Sombra allowed herself a smile as it rotated and bounced around, akin to a screensaver. At least if any information came through, either through leaks, hacks or her own "friends", she'd be the first to hear about it. While doubtful she'd herself would go all the way out there to aid McCree, there would be something or someone to hack to give him some kind of fighting chance. And while she waited? Breakfast!

Closing and locking everything down in her office before leaving, it didn't take long for Sombra to go back to her room, look presentable, and already be on her way out into the main facility with a plate of food. Someone up top didn't appreciate her eating her meals in supposed "sterile areas" or "sensitive rooms", but she didn't care. Sombra ate her rancher's eggs wherever pleased her. The smell seemed to be pleasing other people too; simply walking by several Talon operatives with her trademark mischievous smile, their eyes followed her plate as she ambled past them. Chili, spices, beans, and a fresh tortilla all topped with fried eggs. It was rare to find food that good in America; from what she had seen, there were too many white people out there who only used salt and pepper to season their cooking - and what a truly tragic thing that was. Speaking of tragic, Talon's current robo-boy came into her line of sight as she continued her walk. Omnics had no sense of taste or smell, as far as she knew - what a terrible existence. Still, one can't miss what they've never experienced.

Walking up to Peacere and their newest addition Sampson, Sombra scooped another mouthful of breakfast into her mouth before settling on a nearby desk, one leg thrown over the other as she swallowed.

"Hola! You boys have anything planned today? People to kill? Battles to fight?" She paused, glancing at Peacere with a teasing smirk. "Joints to oil?"

---

---

Phoebe was asleep on her desk, leaning against the desk, her chair slightly rolled bacl, she was in a little danger of fallen, but that didn’t seem to bother her. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, a few loose strands falling over her face and desk. The gray wolf pup, that she had found abandoned-or more then likely orphaned-and hurt, stirred in the crate she had her in, for her own protection, so that the pup wouldn’t go wandering and hurt her leg even more then it was. Phoebe suspected that the wolf-pup had been hit by a car, and was grateful she had survived. Phoebe had done surgery to reset the pups leg, and spent the night making sure that she was alright, for the moment she had called her Orana, for the simple fact she didn’t like thinking of animals. They deserved to be treated right.

As the pup made little barking sounds, Phoebe stirred, reaching up to brush hair out of her eyes, and to rub them, giving a soft sigh, the young woman had pressure lines on her face from where she’d been leaning, not seeming to notice them as she rose smoothly, pushing her chair back in before she went to check on Orana, lifting the wolf-pup out of the crate carefully, she took her over to the examining table, checking over the pups leg, pleased to see that the swelling had gone down, and that Orana pulled it back when she gently touched it. ”Well, little one, you’re doing well, but I’ll keep you here until I can take the stitches out, Make sure that nothing is wrong….and see if we can find your mothe” She patted the pup, knowing that more then likely she wouldn’t be able to release Orana back into the wild until she was old enough to look after herself.

Setting Orana down, she gently settled a harness around the pups middle, not wanting her to run into any of the other animals in the base and wanting to keep her eye on the pup. Gently leading Orana out, she intended to go to the kitchen and make a meal for Orana that would help with the healing, and figured she ought to also tell Angela she had, for the time being, rescued the pup. Hearing the voices, Phoebe knelt and lifted Orana into her arms, the pup was quite heavy, but bearable for some time. She gently squeezed passed Fareeha, giving her a nod and a quick breezy Good morning everyone”, and moving onto the feed room, seeing Remus there, she set Orana down, watching the wolf dog curiously before she gathered some things, putting some food together for Orana, and then returning to the kitchen.

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Music blared from the living room, the music to Fight Song echoing through the facility, and the sound of laughter could be heard, as Ceridwyn danced, twirled and just generally bounced around, the energetic young girl converting, for a brief moment, the living room into a dance floor, her own lightning sparks echoing off her in her happiness, the young girl dressed in what was obviously her sleep wear, pajamas with dogs on them, her hair sticking up-but then it often was anyway. She danced happily over the place, without a care in the world. She giggled to herself, and jumped off the couch when the song ended, trotting off happily as if she hadn’t just danced her heart out, skipping back to her room, throwing off her pjs ,she rounded up a rainbow coloured dress, slipping on boots, not caring if they didn’t go with the dress, as she pulled her hair back with a bright yellow headband, her clothes no doubt clashing, but that wasn’t something Ceri cared about.

She burst out of her room, the smell of food intoxicating, as she followed it to Sombra, Sampson and Paecere ”Mo-o-o-orning” She said in a sing song voice, contemplating stealing a bit of food from Sombra’s plate, but deciding that it wasn’t worth it Asides from the fact it was often laced with chilli and spices, Ceri knew it wasn’t worth Sombra’s wrath. She smiled at the hacker, a smile full of innocence, despite the slightly haunted look in her eyes, dancing around her a moment before she dashed off to get her own food, hungry now. And her stomach just wouldn’t wait. She happily retrieved some eggs, piling them up on her plate she smothered them in BBQ sauce, grabbing a fork, she happily skipped back towards the others, managing to not spill anything, piling a large amount of egg into her mouth, she happily waved at the others again, chewing furiously.

She swallowed, and smiled brightly, ”Hi hi hi” She said cheerfully, ”The eggs are goooood” her sing song voice was filled with happiness and she shoveled another forkful of egg into her mouth. She chewed happily and swallowed again, balancing the plate in one hand, she waved the fork around, and said ”How is everyone this fine morning?” The small young woman looked to them all, bouncing slightly on the spot, never seeming to be able to stay still, even despite the fact she had a plate of eggs.

The Omnic remained perfectly silent during Sampson's self-introduction, only the slight flicker of the room's lights off of adjusting photoreceptors revealing that he was alive at all, rather than a metal statue. When it was finished, however, his head tilted slightly to the side in a gesture he'd been taught by Valentine. She'd always claimed that his lack of motion while speaking made him off-putting.

"I am not opposed to the idea of partnerships in general, but it may not be advisable for someone of your background to work with one of those who has caused them psychological distress."

Peacere paused for another moment, though for a far shorter time than it would take an organic to do what he was: downloading and reprocessing Sampson's file, after seeing the man's face. His shoulders moved up, then back down, in the best approximation his servos could create of a shrug. "Your file, however, seems to indicate that you are the consummate professional, with no job too messy so long as the pay is high enough," the Omnic continued, his monotone defying any attempts to tell if he meant it as a dig or not. "I will leave any such partnership to your judgment."

There was a whirr and a clank of two steps as Sombra approached, the mechanical being realigning himself in the presence of another person.

"Hola! You boys have anything planned today? People to kill? Battles to fight?" She paused, glancing at Peacere with a teasing smirk. "Joints to oil?"

The sound of a dialup connection started to emit from Peacere's body, his body seeming to go slack as if his poor pitiful primitive processor couldn't handle so many questions simultaneously and his "oil valves" were about to blow a gasket, before he refocused. His face was still expressionless. "My plans are irrelevant. Whatever I do will ultimately depend on what I am ordered to. I presume that you have plans, though, to ask about those of others." His eyes clicked as he spoke, looking down at her breakfast, before looking back up at her face. "Plans, I assume, that will be delayed by your acquisition of breakfast."

When Ceri entered, his positioning was already optimal for the group--and he had learned long ago that trying to orient according to the girl's erratic movement was a hopeless affair.

"You will drop your eggs," he said impassively.