#justicerainsfromablog

A calloused finger fidgeted with the button up's neckline, pulled feebly at the silk tie that felt more like a hang man's noose than anything else. It probably said something about Jack Morrison that he felt more at ease in his worn leather jacket and tactical gear than he did in this simple suit ensemble.

To his defense, this 'simple' suit ensemble was coupled with dull green contacts, layers of make up to coat his facial scars and temporary hair dye to seal away his stress earned grays... Morrison felt a mite justified at his own displeasure.

"Good evening, Mister..."

But he couldn't have infiltrated this decadent affair otherwise.

"Hayes," his hand fell away from the pesky tie as he offered it in greeting. It paired rather well with the seemingly honest smile that split across Jack's face.

"But my father was Mister Hayes" The man gave a rather strong grip as they shook, but Morrison tacked on an extra squeeze before he pulled away. "Please, call me George! And you're Alexander Cass if I'm not mistaken?"

The man in question seemed to puff up proudly, "why yes, I am."

“Really?” That prompted a smirk. “I don’t always watch cooking shows. Do you cook? Or is that just one coincidence too many?” 

@justicerainsfromablog

It was cold. So cold. She was used to warmer temperatures, so she knew she would be uncomfortable, but… This was not what she was expecting.

She shivered and pulled her coat tighter. A few more minutes and she’d be inside. Or at least, she thought so. The was no telling whether or not this base would still be up, much less strong enough to still be used as shelter. But whatever. A lead was a lead, no matter how obscure.

She had been looking through her collection of stolen items again. There was a picture or two, three medals with the names of people on the list of the fallen soldiers, a dirty and beaten rag doll stained with what she hoped wasn’t blood… It wasn’t pretty. This box was full of objects that made her think she did the right thing in speaking up against Overwatch.

Then there was her other box. It made her feel guilty; she rarely looked in it. There was a newspaper clipping with a smiling child who had been rescued, an interview with an angel woman, a document explaining the final stages in the battle to fight the Omnics… She was confused as to why she kept it if it just made her feel bad. Maybe she was still searching for the truth.

As she was packing it away, a piece of paper caught her eye. It was a map. Upon closer inspection, she realized that it listed all the Overwatch bases. She saw one up north in Canada, one that she didn’t know about before.

One that she didn’t know about? How was that possible? She started to do some research, but couldn’t find anything. She just had to know what was up.

Angela laughed and rubbed the back of her neck.

“I’m so sorry.

Fareeha, I’m so sorry.”

Angela had been visiting one of the newer bases when it happened. She had been helping them organize, set up the med bay, process new recruits- the usual. So many strange things had become the usual, including mourning. A war was no place for a soft heart.

She never thought she’d be mourning Ana Amari. If anyone would survive this war, it’d be Ana; at least, that’s what everyone thought. The person Angela always admired for her strength, her will to survive against the odds.

Angela looked very much alarmed after hearing those words.

She’d wandered away from the gala she’d been attending, only to stumble across a- a group of thieves! And what was she supposed to do, fend them off? In this dress?

A confused look for her daughter, and one of concern,

“Why, would I hate you? I could never.”

She’s hurt that she would think that, but then again she’d not always been the most supportive of her ideas on where she wanted to go. She had thought she had shown love and support once she realized she couldn’t change her daughters mind - but perhaps not.