*SEVENTY SIX

                    sometimes he wonders if they can ever take a break, ever just STOP. its a fleeting thought, never last longer then a second and he feels guilty ever having it. all he has to do is look outside and the reality hits him like a brick. people are suffering, dying, and it’s now their job to help them, to save them.                      but sometimes he WANTS to go back to those army days, when he first met gabe and nothing was this intense and pressuring. yet all it takes is a loud noise, a bang he isn’t expecting and he’s reminded of every damn reason why those days are gone and need to stay gone. war isn’t something to wish for or want. it’s horrific. there’s too many losses and never enough gained. no one is satisfied until the flags are drawn and a fake peace sets in until the next radical movement.                     but then he sees gabe and maybe this is okay. maybe just being them, holding their titles proudly is fine. maybe this is the best days and he’ll look back at them longingly and feel guilty that he ever wanted otherwise. “ you’re late; nice of you to join us sleeping beauty. ”

                    there are countless laws talon has broken over the years, and each member seemed to have taken upon themselves to hold the record. could he say that doomfist was winning? not for sure, but he certainly had to be close. yet the soldier couldn’t badmouth him in the SLIGHTEST. everything he once fought to prevent in the world became apart of his daily routine. how many buildings had he broken into for weapons, ammo, supplies. how many had he hurt in his one man war against the world.                    that gauntlet had been on display for so long, something for the children of the world to see. relics of battle to them, far more to their owners. so it was strange seeing it, how it shone, giving this IDEA of immense power. nothing more then an over sized toy in the eyes of the elder. “ what are you looking at? ” ridiculous of him to ask, and yet he wanted this interaction. he wanted to gauge doomfist’s mental strength, of if he ever knew how to hold back or struck first.

                   if he couldn’t figure out what man stood before him, then he was an idiot. those movements, the choice of weapon; it wasn’t every day a wannabe ninja appeared. how long had it been since that training room, watching their newest recruit fight the man who was becoming more machine then human. would he remember him? the strike commander who watched on, passing comment to the doctors, WANTING improvements, needing soldiers.                      enough of morrison’s memories. they held him back, made him hesitate. they could wait to be remembered, when the truth was out, when he was satisfied. “ you here to stop me? you’ll end up like all the others. ” injured? dead? he didn’t know. he shot before anyone had the chance to ready themselves. sure, sometimes that old heroic attitude returned and he PROTECTED, but those moments were rare. those who tried to stop him didn’t need protection, or rather, they needed from him, not by.