#(open;)

   The old credentials still worked, much to his surprise and later irritation. He could’ve had the codes tortured out of him before his death! The fact that he hadn’t was irrelevant -- it’s what he would’ve done. No IFF, no drones, nothing -- just a long-dead man speeding through the choppy Spanish waters.

   Ideally, Overwatch had formed a cabal at this watchpoint, but more pragmatically, Gérard could just wire up the old AI to something resembling usefulness and set her to keep an eye open. Hard to say, though. Not even a token force keeping vagrancy from taking over Gibraltar. That was evidence enough for Gérard, but noticing fresh parts for the desalination pumps as he docked the speedboat proved it. 

   To the meeting room. Ah. There were the faces he remembered. Wasting no time, Gérard invited himself in, setting down a manilla envelope thick with papers. Holding a hand up for silence, he inserted a USB into the projector, changing it to a slideshow of surveillance photos juxtaposed against hand-written documentations.

   There was only so much public display that Gérard can take. He didn’t really enjoy being in the public eye -- it was much more natural for him to pull strings, move with rolled heels, than have awards pinned to his chest by the president of France. So after making nice, sharing a toast with the gala’s patrons, he’d slipped away to a veranda, allowed himself to slough off the public face like a particularly unpleasant albatross. 

   Hearing the door open, the agent felt himself ache for a pistol -- never let your guard down -- but all he had was his martini glass. Toasting it behind him, Gérard called out: 

The difference was this: Gerard did not die as expected. He was Overwatch’s primary account lead on Talon, after all -- there was no way that he wouldn’t have known of their burgeoning reprogramming system. So while Gerard mourned the death of innocence for his beloved wife, and wanted nothing more than to believe it was false, he made precautions. The only-partially reprogrammed Amelie was not well-trained in detecting feigned-death medications. 

He underestimated her. Nobody won. The medications feigned death, yes, but put him in a coma. When Gerard woke again, Overwatch was crumbling, and his Chou-fleur was no more. Gerard was forced to go to ground. Conducting singular guerrilla warfare against Talon, the aged field agent -- trained well in point-defense and mitigating attacks thanks to a nano-trophy system -- would occasionally find himself among strange bedfellows in achieving his ends. 

Assault Rifle, alt fire grenade with low cooldown, ‘nades slow in AOE. Lower mobility than S:76. Trophy system automatically diverts attacks. Slow walls.