Soldier: 76 Speaks

Happy Pride Month from @overwatchspeaks!

It’s Overwatch 2, because it takes place after recall and Winston is bad at names.

That is quite true but have you ever heard @torbjornspeaks when he’s really upset and/or intoxicated? Be thankful you don’t speak Swedish.

Torbjörn puts us all to shame with his swearing. Watch out if he ever smashes his thumb with his hammer. Gets real ugly.

The role of Lynx Seventeen has been claimed! Interact and follow them at @seventeenspeaks !!

OVERWATCHSPEAKS IS RECRUITING!

We just about have a full roster and are looking for some new members to come and join the fun! We operate on Tumblr as well as Discord. We’re a year and a half strong, tight-knit, and always happy to see new faces. We are a casual and fun group, so come say hi!

open roles: - Tracer - Mei - Doomfist - Baptiste

                               ★   masterlist - rules - apply - staff     ★

I don’t know why there was nobody drawing this…So I had to do it myself…

That oscars dress was stunning. Thank you Mr. Porter.

If the sources were correct, this was the next location. Some long left Overwatch base that creaked with every rush of wind, the upkeep that had been withheld so long ago gone as mother nature reclaimed the structure. Some of the rooms had yielded to vine and brush, others remained intact. Each step brought forth a billow of dust, rising from the floor and dancing in the air. The nanites disturbed the peace, rattling the leaves and bringing up settled dirt.

Reaper was patient, waiting for as long as he needed at the location. He took his time to explore the old Strike Commander’s office, claws flicking through file after file of classified information and old pictures of the group. It brought a pang to his heart that he quickly supressed. No, he couldnt like them. He couldnt trust them. Not then, not now, not ever. His hands shook.

They were so kind, and then they treated him the way they did. Limited him, infantilized him. He could never accept help in fear of being called crazy, so the delusions only worsened. Zurich rolled around, and then nobody came digging him out. He spent a week sandwiched between rubble until he was finally rescued by Talon. Overwatch never came. What heroes they were.

Bitter, that’s the only thing he could feel as he swiped through. Smoke came out in quick puffs from under the beak of his mask, and the looming feeling of panic crept over his shoulders. To him, it was a curling black mass that surrounded his chest and hands. A common hallucination of his.

And so, he waited to capture the old man. Finally bring him to an end.

[ @soldier76speaks ]

[cut for space]

The flinch. Morrison was scared. Good. Reaper grinned behind the mask, sick and twisted and more smoke curling around them. The gun twitched in his hand.

“You expect me to watch you like I used to? Hoping you’ll say something to me?” Gabe felt the burn of sad in his throat, digging the gun into Morrisons chin. “Maybe hoping you’ll finally hop off your throne for one second?” The promotion had driven them apart, from how busy Jack was to how distraught Gabe was, it drove a wedge between them. They never saw each other outside of work and sleep after long enough. “You’re selfish. Continuing to smile and laugh and live while I suffered. But work comes first, right?” His head tilted again, face leaning in more. It was hard to ignore the sadness in his eyes.

Gabriel grunted at the simple response, hesitating. He didnt say anything for a long moment, the smoke still swirling around them and settling on Jack’s shoulders. If he had a heart, it’d be hammering. And then he lowered the gun, took a few steps back, and yanked out the drive. The images vanished, leaving the collage of old family photos and dates long forgotten on the screen.

“That’s always how it was with you.” Gabriel shut off the screen, keeping an eye on Jack and swallowing down his distress. He sighed deeply, before puffing out a small chuckle. “Always the fucking boyscout.” Reaper turned back to Jack, lapsing back into silence.

Jack’s blood boiled as Gabriel spoke about him sitting on his “throne”. Jack never thought of himself as above Gabe; he never even wanted the damned “more esteemed” position in the first place. Gabe was always the better leader, the better tactician. He hated when Gabriel tried to accuse him of thinking so highly of himself, accuse him of thinking that he was greater than his friends. Nothing could’ve been farther from the truth.

Gabe struck another cord when he called Jack selfish, when he claimed Jack had been happy while Gabriel suffered. Bullshit. “Work never came first: protecting you all did,” he muttered through his gritted teeth. “Doing my job kept you safe. Doing my job was how I made sure it would all be okay for us.” Of course, that didn’t work out well for him, did it? He hadn’t kept anyone safe. He’d done his job, maybe not so well—but the best he knew how—and still lost everything.

“You think you’re the only one here who’s suffered?” he asked, his voice rising. The other man had already taken his gun away by now, and instead of drawing his own weapon for self-defense like he should have, Jack foolishly pushed his luck even more. “You think I’ve been living it up? I’ve just been thriving and laughing and doing fucking amazing this whole time!” His voice grew shakier towards the end, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to even it out. “You think I’m happy like this? You think I’m glad I have to chug a bottle of whiskey just to try and stop hearing you—stop seeing you in my sleep?” His tone wasn’t even bitter at this point, it was just tired and strained.

“You think it’s easy knowing it’s all your fault that your partner is dead? It’s your fault, and you don’t even have the guts to join him!” He spat the words out like they burned to keep in his mouth. Jack knew he’d said too much, knew he’d let himself go too far. Why was he even admitting this kind of weakness to someone who could still kill him on the spot? Stupidity? Maybe. Poor self-preservation? Probably.

He listened, listened without biting back or arguing. The explanation tested his delusion, pushed at it and beckoned at it. There was no way Jack could care, no way that he still cared. That was… impossible. Jack pushed at his delusions more.

Reaper remained quiet, trying to process everything. Glares bored into his back, making everything more and more difficult. He opened his mouth, shutting it a second later. What the hell was he supposed to think? Gabriel took a few tentative steps forward, pausing just a few inches from Jack. Why the hell couldnt he speak?

“How am I supposed to believe you? After everything you’ve put me through? How am I supposed to believe you arent just fucking with me like you did before?” Harsh, cold. Reaper was still trapped in this world where everyone was out to get him, watching his every move. It scared him, it scared him so much. And yet he was left to suffer. Because of himself or others was unclear.

“Or maybe I’m just a delusional piece of shit.” He caved in, one hand going to grip onto the back of his neck. “I would be lying if I said I could tell the difference between reality and my own head. I’m pretty sure I’ve been having a psychotic episode for a decade now.” He was scared, scared to fall apart in front of Jack. What if he’d be ridiculed again? For being so harsh, snapping at anyone that even looked at him wrong. He couldnt control himself, and that was the scariest part. “I dont even know if I’m hallucinating you up right now. God help my dumb ass.” A laugh escaped him.

The silence was almost deafening after Jack spoke, waiting for something, anything from the man across for him. Gabe took a few steps forward, but he seemed to almost hesitate as he did so. He stopped just inches from Jack, and Jack remained still despite wishing he could just reach out and touch him. Just to make sure he was there, make sure it was really him.

When Gabriel finally broke the silence, Jack couldn’t answer. He didn’t know how. How could he convince him he was genuine? How could he show that he wasn’t fucking with him, he wasn’t being deceitful, that he was /real/ altogether? “You’re not a dumb ass,” he said rather defensively, as if Gabriel deprecating on himself offended him.

“I don’t know how to prove anything to you,” he admitted. “Just…” His voice trailed off as his hands begrudgingly moved towards his face, fingers clumsily unlatching the mask covering his features. If anything, Gabriel could always read his face. He somehow could sense whatever he was feeling or thinking just be looking at him back in the day. Jack’s chest tightened as he finally removed the mask; it left him feeling naked and exposed. The act hurt a little more considering how much he didn’t want Gabriel to see what had really become of the man he used to know. Jack’s eyes were much more sunken with dark circles and bags now lining the bottom of his eyelids. His cheeks were hollowed, a clear sign that the super soldier was considerably thinner now than in his glory days. His skin was pale, no longer maintaining the healthy glow he used to have, especially in the summers. Staying inside and under a mask all the time didn’t exactly give him much of a tan. It only made him look more sickly. And of course, who could ignore the deep gauges that now cut straight across his features, a constant jagged reminder for Jack of all his failures.

“You’re just gonna have to trust me.”

When the visor was removed, Gabriel had to hold back a sob. He missed Jack, how beautiful he always was no matter what. He was still just as beautiful. Anger bubbled up in his stomach and ran over him like a wave at the statement, Gabe instantly whipping around and storming off to the other side of the room. He yanked down his hood and latched onto his mask, whipping it at the wall and watching it crack, before vanishing into smoke. Long hair settled over his shoulders, gray and brown and clean. His cheek was torn open, revealing rows of fangs. It didnt seem to bother him. And yet he hadnt aged a day, even if his beard was patchy and his skin was grayed.

“Fucking fuck, Jack,” he growled out, stomping over. His voice was somewhat back to normal, except for a constant growl in his tone. Gabes face was wiped with anger, teeth bared and eyes full of tears. “I hate you,” he spat, latching onto him all of a sudden. Unpredictable, unstable, untreated. Claws dug into skin as Gabe squeezed him close, face burying into his chest. “I want to fucking rip you apart, I fucking hate everything. Fuck.” He didnt mean half the things he was saying, fueled only by his emotions that were scattered everywhere. “Stupid, stupid, stupid Jack.”

They stayed like that for a while, Reaper hanging off of him and refusing to let go. For once the world was giving him something good, he’d try and take it. If Jack tested him even one more time, he’d never trust the man again. It was thin ice until Gabe could think clearly again. But right now he felt safer than ever, even with all of his stupid delusions.

The floor fell out from under Jack as soon as he saw Gabriel’s face again. Alright, maybe not literally, but Jack could’ve sworn the room was spinning with how fast his mind was reeling. It was him. It was really him. Not only him, but exactly how Jack left him. While time had clearly taken its affect on Jack’s features, Gabriel lay untouched, as if time had forgotten about him entirely. His skin was a grayer tone, and a gash now dug into his cheek, allowing a few teeth to peak through, but that was Gabe. His Gabe. He never thought he’d actually get to see that face again.

Jack was left speechless, not even a single coherent thought managing to form in his mind. He just stood there in a frozen shock until all of a sudden he was pulled into a tight embrace by Gabriel. His Gabriel. Alive. There. Jack slowly wrapped his arms around him, too, in a half-dazed sort of way. He didn’t hear much of Gabe’s swearing, and even if he did, he didn’t mind or really process it. Everything felt like the static on an old television set. Without even registering what he was doing, Jack brought a hand up and ran a long lock of Gabriel’s hair through his fingers.

“You grew your hair out,” he said, such a seemingly unimportant detail, in a small, far off voice.

And he lost it. Tears poured down his face and already began staining his cheeks a deep crimson. He buried his face into Gabe’s shoulder, and his chest began hitching with choked sobs. It didn’t matter to him anymore about saving face—Gabriel Reyes was alive. Nothing else in the whole world mattered. He could hear Gabe’s emotional shouts, now, his cursing and calling Jack stupid and how much he hated him. Jack just nodded, head still buried into the fabric of Gabe’s coat, and used one hand to clutch onto the side of Gabe’s neck. The other man’s skin was cooler than it should’ve been—far icier than Jack’s, who constantly radiated heat—but it was him. And all Jack wanted was to hold onto him and make sure he was real, that he wasn’t going to disappear from his grasp at any moment.

If the sources were correct, this was the next location. Some long left Overwatch base that creaked with every rush of wind, the upkeep that had been withheld so long ago gone as mother nature reclaimed the structure. Some of the rooms had yielded to vine and brush, others remained intact. Each step brought forth a billow of dust, rising from the floor and dancing in the air. The nanites disturbed the peace, rattling the leaves and bringing up settled dirt.

Reaper was patient, waiting for as long as he needed at the location. He took his time to explore the old Strike Commander’s office, claws flicking through file after file of classified information and old pictures of the group. It brought a pang to his heart that he quickly supressed. No, he couldnt like them. He couldnt trust them. Not then, not now, not ever. His hands shook.

They were so kind, and then they treated him the way they did. Limited him, infantilized him. He could never accept help in fear of being called crazy, so the delusions only worsened. Zurich rolled around, and then nobody came digging him out. He spent a week sandwiched between rubble until he was finally rescued by Talon. Overwatch never came. What heroes they were.

Bitter, that’s the only thing he could feel as he swiped through. Smoke came out in quick puffs from under the beak of his mask, and the looming feeling of panic crept over his shoulders. To him, it was a curling black mass that surrounded his chest and hands. A common hallucination of his.

And so, he waited to capture the old man. Finally bring him to an end.

[ @soldier76speaks ]

[cut for space]

The flinch. Morrison was scared. Good. Reaper grinned behind the mask, sick and twisted and more smoke curling around them. The gun twitched in his hand.

“You expect me to watch you like I used to? Hoping you’ll say something to me?” Gabe felt the burn of sad in his throat, digging the gun into Morrisons chin. “Maybe hoping you’ll finally hop off your throne for one second?” The promotion had driven them apart, from how busy Jack was to how distraught Gabe was, it drove a wedge between them. They never saw each other outside of work and sleep after long enough. “You’re selfish. Continuing to smile and laugh and live while I suffered. But work comes first, right?” His head tilted again, face leaning in more. It was hard to ignore the sadness in his eyes.

Gabriel grunted at the simple response, hesitating. He didnt say anything for a long moment, the smoke still swirling around them and settling on Jack’s shoulders. If he had a heart, it’d be hammering. And then he lowered the gun, took a few steps back, and yanked out the drive. The images vanished, leaving the collage of old family photos and dates long forgotten on the screen.

“That’s always how it was with you.” Gabriel shut off the screen, keeping an eye on Jack and swallowing down his distress. He sighed deeply, before puffing out a small chuckle. “Always the fucking boyscout.” Reaper turned back to Jack, lapsing back into silence.

Jack’s blood boiled as Gabriel spoke about him sitting on his “throne”. Jack never thought of himself as above Gabe; he never even wanted the damned “more esteemed” position in the first place. Gabe was always the better leader, the better tactician. He hated when Gabriel tried to accuse him of thinking so highly of himself, accuse him of thinking that he was greater than his friends. Nothing could’ve been farther from the truth.

Gabe struck another cord when he called Jack selfish, when he claimed Jack had been happy while Gabriel suffered. Bullshit. “Work never came first: protecting you all did,” he muttered through his gritted teeth. “Doing my job kept you safe. Doing my job was how I made sure it would all be okay for us.” Of course, that didn’t work out well for him, did it? He hadn’t kept anyone safe. He’d done his job, maybe not so well—but the best he knew how—and still lost everything.

“You think you’re the only one here who’s suffered?” he asked, his voice rising. The other man had already taken his gun away by now, and instead of drawing his own weapon for self-defense like he should have, Jack foolishly pushed his luck even more. “You think I’ve been living it up? I’ve just been thriving and laughing and doing fucking amazing this whole time!” His voice grew shakier towards the end, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to even it out. “You think I’m happy like this? You think I’m glad I have to chug a bottle of whiskey just to try and stop hearing you—stop seeing you in my sleep?” His tone wasn’t even bitter at this point, it was just tired and strained.

“You think it’s easy knowing it’s all your fault that your partner is dead? It’s your fault, and you don’t even have the guts to join him!” He spat the words out like they burned to keep in his mouth. Jack knew he’d said too much, knew he’d let himself go too far. Why was he even admitting this kind of weakness to someone who could still kill him on the spot? Stupidity? Maybe. Poor self-preservation? Probably.

He listened, listened without biting back or arguing. The explanation tested his delusion, pushed at it and beckoned at it. There was no way Jack could care, no way that he still cared. That was… impossible. Jack pushed at his delusions more.

Reaper remained quiet, trying to process everything. Glares bored into his back, making everything more and more difficult. He opened his mouth, shutting it a second later. What the hell was he supposed to think? Gabriel took a few tentative steps forward, pausing just a few inches from Jack. Why the hell couldnt he speak?

“How am I supposed to believe you? After everything you’ve put me through? How am I supposed to believe you arent just fucking with me like you did before?” Harsh, cold. Reaper was still trapped in this world where everyone was out to get him, watching his every move. It scared him, it scared him so much. And yet he was left to suffer. Because of himself or others was unclear.

“Or maybe I’m just a delusional piece of shit.” He caved in, one hand going to grip onto the back of his neck. “I would be lying if I said I could tell the difference between reality and my own head. I’m pretty sure I’ve been having a psychotic episode for a decade now.” He was scared, scared to fall apart in front of Jack. What if he’d be ridiculed again? For being so harsh, snapping at anyone that even looked at him wrong. He couldnt control himself, and that was the scariest part. “I dont even know if I’m hallucinating you up right now. God help my dumb ass.” A laugh escaped him.

The silence was almost deafening after Jack spoke, waiting for something, anything from the man across for him. Gabe took a few steps forward, but he seemed to almost hesitate as he did so. He stopped just inches from Jack, and Jack remained still despite wishing he could just reach out and touch him. Just to make sure he was there, make sure it was really him.

When Gabriel finally broke the silence, Jack couldn’t answer. He didn’t know how. How could he convince him he was genuine? How could he show that he wasn’t fucking with him, he wasn’t being deceitful, that he was /real/ altogether? “You’re not a dumb ass,” he said rather defensively, as if Gabriel deprecating on himself offended him.

“I don’t know how to prove anything to you,” he admitted. “Just...” His voice trailed off as his hands begrudgingly moved towards his face, fingers clumsily unlatching the mask covering his features. If anything, Gabriel could always read his face. He somehow could sense whatever he was feeling or thinking just be looking at him back in the day. Jack’s chest tightened as he finally removed the mask; it left him feeling naked and exposed. The act hurt a little more considering how much he didn’t want Gabriel to see what had really become of the man he used to know. Jack’s eyes were much more sunken with dark circles and bags now lining the bottom of his eyelids. His cheeks were hollowed, a clear sign that the super soldier was considerably thinner now than in his glory days. His skin was pale, no longer maintaining the healthy glow he used to have, especially in the summers. Staying inside and under a mask all the time didn’t exactly give him much of a tan. It only made him look more sickly. And of course, who could ignore the deep gauges that now cut straight across his features, a constant jagged reminder for Jack of all his failures.

“You’re just gonna have to trust me.”

“S T O R M  R I S I N G” ⚡ ↳ : オーバーウォッチ OVERWATCH

If the sources were correct, this was the next location. Some long left Overwatch base that creaked with every rush of wind, the upkeep that had been withheld so long ago gone as mother nature reclaimed the structure. Some of the rooms had yielded to vine and brush, others remained intact. Each step brought forth a billow of dust, rising from the floor and dancing in the air. The nanites disturbed the peace, rattling the leaves and bringing up settled dirt.

Reaper was patient, waiting for as long as he needed at the location. He took his time to explore the old Strike Commander’s office, claws flicking through file after file of classified information and old pictures of the group. It brought a pang to his heart that he quickly supressed. No, he couldnt like them. He couldnt trust them. Not then, not now, not ever. His hands shook.

They were so kind, and then they treated him the way they did. Limited him, infantilized him. He could never accept help in fear of being called crazy, so the delusions only worsened. Zurich rolled around, and then nobody came digging him out. He spent a week sandwiched between rubble until he was finally rescued by Talon. Overwatch never came. What heroes they were.

Bitter, that’s the only thing he could feel as he swiped through. Smoke came out in quick puffs from under the beak of his mask, and the looming feeling of panic crept over his shoulders. To him, it was a curling black mass that surrounded his chest and hands. A common hallucination of his.

And so, he waited to capture the old man. Finally bring him to an end.

[ @soldier76speaks ]

[cut for space]

The flinch. Morrison was scared. Good. Reaper grinned behind the mask, sick and twisted and more smoke curling around them. The gun twitched in his hand.

“You expect me to watch you like I used to? Hoping you’ll say something to me?” Gabe felt the burn of sad in his throat, digging the gun into Morrisons chin. “Maybe hoping you’ll finally hop off your throne for one second?” The promotion had driven them apart, from how busy Jack was to how distraught Gabe was, it drove a wedge between them. They never saw each other outside of work and sleep after long enough. “You’re selfish. Continuing to smile and laugh and live while I suffered. But work comes first, right?” His head tilted again, face leaning in more. It was hard to ignore the sadness in his eyes.

Gabriel grunted at the simple response, hesitating. He didnt say anything for a long moment, the smoke still swirling around them and settling on Jack’s shoulders. If he had a heart, it’d be hammering. And then he lowered the gun, took a few steps back, and yanked out the drive. The images vanished, leaving the collage of old family photos and dates long forgotten on the screen.

“That’s always how it was with you.” Gabriel shut off the screen, keeping an eye on Jack and swallowing down his distress. He sighed deeply, before puffing out a small chuckle. “Always the fucking boyscout.” Reaper turned back to Jack, lapsing back into silence.

Jack’s blood boiled as Gabriel spoke about him sitting on his “throne”. Jack never thought of himself as above Gabe; he never even wanted the damned “more esteemed” position in the first place. Gabe was always the better leader, the better tactician. He hated when Gabriel tried to accuse him of thinking so highly of himself, accuse him of thinking that he was greater than his friends. Nothing could’ve been farther from the truth.

Gabe struck another cord when he called Jack selfish, when he claimed Jack had been happy while Gabriel suffered. Bullshit. “Work never came first: protecting you all did,” he muttered through his gritted teeth. “Doing my job kept you safe. Doing my job was how I made sure it would all be okay for us.” Of course, that didn’t work out well for him, did it? He hadn’t kept anyone safe. He’d done his job, maybe not so well—but the best he knew how—and still lost everything.

“You think you’re the only one here who’s suffered?” he asked, his voice rising. The other man had already taken his gun away by now, and instead of drawing his own weapon for self-defense like he should have, Jack foolishly pushed his luck even more. “You think I’ve been living it up? I’ve just been thriving and laughing and doing fucking amazing this whole time!” His voice grew shakier towards the end, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to even it out. “You think I’m happy like this? You think I’m glad I have to chug a bottle of whiskey just to try and stop hearing you—stop seeing you in my sleep?” His tone wasn’t even bitter at this point, it was just tired and strained.

“You think it’s easy knowing it’s all your fault that your partner is dead? It’s your fault, and you don’t even have the guts to join him!” He spat the words out like they burned to keep in his mouth. Jack knew he’d said too much, knew he’d let himself go too far. Why was he even admitting this kind of weakness to someone who could still kill him on the spot? Stupidity? Maybe. Poor self-preservation? Probably.

If the sources were correct, this was the next location. Some long left Overwatch base that creaked with every rush of wind, the upkeep that had been withheld so long ago gone as mother nature reclaimed the structure. Some of the rooms had yielded to vine and brush, others remained intact. Each step brought forth a billow of dust, rising from the floor and dancing in the air. The nanites disturbed the peace, rattling the leaves and bringing up settled dirt.

Reaper was patient, waiting for as long as he needed at the location. He took his time to explore the old Strike Commander’s office, claws flicking through file after file of classified information and old pictures of the group. It brought a pang to his heart that he quickly supressed. No, he couldnt like them. He couldnt trust them. Not then, not now, not ever. His hands shook.

They were so kind, and then they treated him the way they did. Limited him, infantilized him. He could never accept help in fear of being called crazy, so the delusions only worsened. Zurich rolled around, and then nobody came digging him out. He spent a week sandwiched between rubble until he was finally rescued by Talon. Overwatch never came. What heroes they were.

Bitter, that’s the only thing he could feel as he swiped through. Smoke came out in quick puffs from under the beak of his mask, and the looming feeling of panic crept over his shoulders. To him, it was a curling black mass that surrounded his chest and hands. A common hallucination of his.

And so, he waited to capture the old man. Finally bring him to an end.

[ @soldier76speaks ]

Jack crept into the decrepit base, boots crunching withered leaves that had blown their way into the rundown building. His mind already began to flood with memories of better days, thoughts drifting off to a time where he was stationed at this place with his friends and family… He quickly shook his head and dismissed them. Supplies, that’s all he was here for. Get in, get out.

He strode through the place confidently, as he already knew what each room’s purpose was and what it held like the back of his hand. Ammunition and medical supplies. That’s really all he needed this time. He knew the medical offices were down the hall to the right, and he should have gone straight there. He knew it. He knew Ana would scold him for lingering around too long. Get in, get out. That was the plan. But as his eyes drifted towards a door on the left, he couldn’t help himself from shuffling towards it. The name plate on the wall had fallen, crooked and skewed, so that it was only held up by one screw, but it still read his name across the front: “Strike Commander Morrison”. Well, his old name, that is. He ran a thumb across it before sighing and shaking his head. Stupid. There was no reason to go in there. No reason to see his old things. No reason to thumb through old files and photos of everything he’d lost. He already knew nothing of value was in there for him. Nothing but sentimental crap that would only leave him feeling worse than he already did.

He sighed and reluctantly opened the door, cursing himself in his head for wasting time and acting stupid. For what? Just to relive any shred of the glory days he had left? He rolled his eyes and cast his gaze down to the floor as he swung it open and stepped inside. Upon casually glancing back up though, the man froze in shock as he found himself no longer alone in his old office. Now, he was face to face with a figure clothed in a long black cloak already occupying the room. And in that moment, Jack became all too aware of how comfortable he’d made himself in such a familiar environment, not keeping his guard up, not recognizing the large footprints disturbing the dust outside the room, not sensing another presence in the building.

Fuck.

The moment steps echoed in the dark, disturbed the silence, the monitor changed from old memories to important information. The data stick hooked to the side of the machine was interchanged from his personal one to a Talon issued one. A gun formed in his hand, the cool metal familiar against claws. He pointed it to the door, red eyes trained onto it. The computer was left unattended, the holoscreens on the side of old pictures of the two of them forgotten. A shame if Jack were to spot them, no?

“Jack,” he growled, not making a single move even as the door opened. He gripped the gun tighter to hide his shaking, though it was still obvious in the hurried puffs of smoke. He kept his voice steady, not showing any damn weakness. That would be foolish. Idiotic. It was clear to some when Gabriel was feeling too much, how harsh edged his voice grew and how sensitive he’d suddenly become. “And how’s the little boyscout today? Should’ve never let your guard down. Truly, an idiot. I’m surprised they ever made you Strike Commander.” Toxic, that’s the only way you could describe his words. Reaper laughed, taking a few steps forward as he continued to lament, until the gun was just barely brushing the soldiers forehead.

“You truly do make me sick. You always have. Maybe now you regret leaving me to die, huh? When you’re finally about to meet your demise?” The wraith cocked his head to the side, expression hidden behind that haunting mask, eyes, unblinking, pinned onto Jack’s own.

The blackness slid up his arms and settled onto Jack. He squeezed his eyes shut a few times to get rid of the hallucination. It never worked.

Jack swallowed hard when he heard his name growled back at him from the dark figure, eyes locking with a heavy loaded shotgun aimed point blank at his face.

“Gabe,” he grumbled back, keeping his voice steady and cold as best he could. Gabriel’s words stung as he spat them out, probably because Jack had thought the very same things about himself frequently—but that was besides the point. Before he could even rebuttal, Jack found the cold kiss of the gun’s barrel against his forehead, and he couldn’t help the slight lurch in his stomach or the way his heartbeat quickened and began to pound in his ears. But he simply set his jaw tighter and stared back at the man’s cold, emotionless mask, trying to imagine the features he knew were behind it.

Something struck a nerve when the Reaper spoke of leaving him to die. It wasn’t the statement that Jack made the man sick and always had, no it was the implication that only now did he feel any sort of regret or remorse for what happened to them, for what happened to Gabe. “You don’t know anything about how I feel,” he said, scowling and practically spitting as the words came out.

Despite knowing that neither of them could see each other’s stare through their masks, Jack still looked away instinctively in almost shame. As he did so though, something accidentally caught his eye from across the room: photos. Holoscreens displaying images of the two of them from long ago rested on his old desk and Jack’s chest tightened at just the sight of them. An anger bubbled up inside him, as if he felt Gabriel had pulled up the photos just to mock him in some way. “Why are you here?” he asked bitterly, sounding far too much like an interrogator for someone with a gun to their head.

How funny that the man holding the gun was panicking. The old pictures really set him off, and he could swear he could still catch streaks of gold in between the silver locks. Maybe he was just seeing things again. Fear ran over him like another wave, and it took a lot to not buckle down instantly. Instead he grew more tense, teeth gritted together firmly. His face was etched with anger and terror, gun shifting again. The trigger clicked as it was almost pulled. It would be so easy, and yet he didnt. Gabriel was torn between tearing him apart and begging for him back. Monster.

“I dont, dont I? By the way you act, though, I can for sure guess you dont give a shit.” A few steps forward and they were almost touching, the gun shifting under his jaw and the bright red dots staring up. Their height difference was almost comical. It was easier to see the hurried puffs of smoke now that they were close. Uou could almost smell it in the air. Like ash and death.

“I needed information for Talon, simple as that. And why are you here, Soldier?” The name was hissed almost mockingly, laughter making his shoulders shake. Gabriel wanted to pull him into a tight embrace, but he couldnt. No. That was in the past. Jack didnt care, he never cared.

So why did Reaper still care?

Jack hated that stupid mask on Gabriel’s face. He hated that he couldn’t read his expression. Any bits of silence hung in the air, thick and smothering, like a wet blanket. Jack used to be so good at decipherimg whatever the man was thinking just by looking at his expression, and it ate at him that he couldn’t now. The soldier noticeably flinched as he heard a click from the trigger, immediately growing furious at himself for letting any hint of fear show through his facade once the shot never came. Stupid. Idiot.

Nothing made him more upset than when Gabe suddenly accused him of not giving a shit. Jack Morrison, not giving a shit. The thought was almost comical it was so wrong. Gabe clearly didn’t understand anything of what he’d been going through, and that made him actually sadder more than anything. They used to be so close. How could Gabriel think he just didn’t care? How could he be so wrong? “Don’t give a shit, huh?” Jack laughed, believe it or not, let out a slight chuckle, at the irony of it all. “Then I guess I was right: you really don’t know fucking anything.” As soon as he said it, the other man shifted forward, forcing the gun under Jack’s jaw, and causing even the sad, ironic smile to fall from his face.

Now that they were so close, the smoke billowing off the man was almost suffocating. Jack began to cough, trying not to choke, and still keeping his chin upturned slightly as the shotgun pressed into him. He wondered if the man was always surrounded by so many clouds of smoke. Or maybe it only got worse at times like these. “Supplies,” he mumbled out through gritted teeth. “I came for supplies. That’s it.”

oh to wrap bandages around and put disinfectant on another man’s wounds as i catch his tender gaze and lovingly call him an idiot and tell him to be more careful

If the sources were correct, this was the next location. Some long left Overwatch base that creaked with every rush of wind, the upkeep that had been withheld so long ago gone as mother nature reclaimed the structure. Some of the rooms had yielded to vine and brush, others remained intact. Each step brought forth a billow of dust, rising from the floor and dancing in the air. The nanites disturbed the peace, rattling the leaves and bringing up settled dirt.

Reaper was patient, waiting for as long as he needed at the location. He took his time to explore the old Strike Commander’s office, claws flicking through file after file of classified information and old pictures of the group. It brought a pang to his heart that he quickly supressed. No, he couldnt like them. He couldnt trust them. Not then, not now, not ever. His hands shook.

They were so kind, and then they treated him the way they did. Limited him, infantilized him. He could never accept help in fear of being called crazy, so the delusions only worsened. Zurich rolled around, and then nobody came digging him out. He spent a week sandwiched between rubble until he was finally rescued by Talon. Overwatch never came. What heroes they were.

Bitter, that’s the only thing he could feel as he swiped through. Smoke came out in quick puffs from under the beak of his mask, and the looming feeling of panic crept over his shoulders. To him, it was a curling black mass that surrounded his chest and hands. A common hallucination of his.

And so, he waited to capture the old man. Finally bring him to an end.

[ @soldier76speaks ]

Jack crept into the decrepit base, boots crunching withered leaves that had blown their way into the rundown building. His mind already began to flood with memories of better days, thoughts drifting off to a time where he was stationed at this place with his friends and family… He quickly shook his head and dismissed them. Supplies, that’s all he was here for. Get in, get out.

He strode through the place confidently, as he already knew what each room’s purpose was and what it held like the back of his hand. Ammunition and medical supplies. That’s really all he needed this time. He knew the medical offices were down the hall to the right, and he should have gone straight there. He knew it. He knew Ana would scold him for lingering around too long. Get in, get out. That was the plan. But as his eyes drifted towards a door on the left, he couldn’t help himself from shuffling towards it. The name plate on the wall had fallen, crooked and skewed, so that it was only held up by one screw, but it still read his name across the front: “Strike Commander Morrison”. Well, his old name, that is. He ran a thumb across it before sighing and shaking his head. Stupid. There was no reason to go in there. No reason to see his old things. No reason to thumb through old files and photos of everything he’d lost. He already knew nothing of value was in there for him. Nothing but sentimental crap that would only leave him feeling worse than he already did.

He sighed and reluctantly opened the door, cursing himself in his head for wasting time and acting stupid. For what? Just to relive any shred of the glory days he had left? He rolled his eyes and cast his gaze down to the floor as he swung it open and stepped inside. Upon casually glancing back up though, the man froze in shock as he found himself no longer alone in his old office. Now, he was face to face with a figure clothed in a long black cloak already occupying the room. And in that moment, Jack became all too aware of how comfortable he’d made himself in such a familiar environment, not keeping his guard up, not recognizing the large footprints disturbing the dust outside the room, not sensing another presence in the building.

Fuck.

The moment steps echoed in the dark, disturbed the silence, the monitor changed from old memories to important information. The data stick hooked to the side of the machine was interchanged from his personal one to a Talon issued one. A gun formed in his hand, the cool metal familiar against claws. He pointed it to the door, red eyes trained onto it. The computer was left unattended, the holoscreens on the side of old pictures of the two of them forgotten. A shame if Jack were to spot them, no?

“Jack,” he growled, not making a single move even as the door opened. He gripped the gun tighter to hide his shaking, though it was still obvious in the hurried puffs of smoke. He kept his voice steady, not showing any damn weakness. That would be foolish. Idiotic. It was clear to some when Gabriel was feeling too much, how harsh edged his voice grew and how sensitive he’d suddenly become. “And how’s the little boyscout today? Should’ve never let your guard down. Truly, an idiot. I’m surprised they ever made you Strike Commander.” Toxic, that’s the only way you could describe his words. Reaper laughed, taking a few steps forward as he continued to lament, until the gun was just barely brushing the soldiers forehead.

“You truly do make me sick. You always have. Maybe now you regret leaving me to die, huh? When you’re finally about to meet your demise?” The wraith cocked his head to the side, expression hidden behind that haunting mask, eyes, unblinking, pinned onto Jack’s own.

The blackness slid up his arms and settled onto Jack. He squeezed his eyes shut a few times to get rid of the hallucination. It never worked.

Jack swallowed hard when he heard his name growled back at him from the dark figure, eyes locking with a heavy loaded shotgun aimed point blank at his face.

“Gabe,” he grumbled back, keeping his voice steady and cold as best he could. Gabriel’s words stung as he spat them out, probably because Jack had thought the very same things about himself frequently—but that was besides the point. Before he could even rebuttal, Jack found the cold kiss of the gun’s barrel against his forehead, and he couldn’t help the slight lurch in his stomach or the way his heartbeat quickened and began to pound in his ears. But he simply set his jaw tighter and stared back at the man’s cold, emotionless mask, trying to imagine the features he knew were behind it.

Something struck a nerve when the Reaper spoke of leaving him to die. It wasn’t the statement that Jack made the man sick and always had, no it was the implication that only now did he feel any sort of regret or remorse for what happened to them, for what happened to Gabe. “You don’t know anything about how I feel,” he said, scowling and practically spitting as the words came out.

Despite knowing that neither of them could see each other’s stare through their masks, Jack still looked away instinctively in almost shame. As he did so though, something accidentally caught his eye from across the room: photos. Holoscreens displaying images of the two of them from long ago rested on his old desk and Jack’s chest tightened at just the sight of them. An anger bubbled up inside him, as if he felt Gabriel had pulled up the photos just to mock him in some way. “Why are you here?” he asked bitterly, sounding far too much like an interrogator for someone with a gun to their head.