#zaryanova

“For anyone just tuning in, annyeong! I’m D.Va, with me is a special guest, a new friend of mine. This is Watson!” Hana announced, a wide smile on her face as a new flood of comments appeared at the side of the holographic computer screen. ‘Watson’ appeared to be the preferred household name used to address you now, even if most people knew your real name.

Sitting with Hana to play games wasn’t a challenge by any means, and you had promised her yesterday that you would join her before training with Soldier: 76 in the early hours of the morning. Turns out, she was incredibly popular online, so much so that, according to several comments that she gushed over, many viewers set alarms and reminders so that they could tune in live to see what she was up to.

The sheer concept of not only having such a heavy online following whilst still maintaining her position in the military was astounding on its own. What had completely blown you away was when she announced that she was able to earn a living off the internet – you hadn’t thought it was possible.

You looked over the bright screen, controller sitting more comfortable in your hands than it had in your previous gaming endeavours. The comment thread rolling quickly as Hana spoke to the commenters, answering questions while you guided the go-kart in the race you were participating in. The broadcast bringing live and, mostly positive feedback. You turned the playable characters vehicle, driving around a narrow bend in the race, hitting what looked like a blue, mutant fish head. The kart spinning for a few seconds as AI controlled karts zipped past before you could continue with the race.

You didn’t have much skill in terms of video games by any means, but neither Hana, nor her viewers seemed to mind as you played. As far as you knew anyway, you weren’t reading the comments, Hana monitoring them as you played.

“Watson, Samx19 wants to know if you like playing ‘ Blizz-kart Racer’, they also want you to know that it’s ‘refreshing to watch a player improve as they play .’” Hana relayed to you.

“Uh – it’s a go-kart game?” You started, eyebrows furrowing, “It kind of reminds me of ‘ Pole Position ’ to be honest with you. Only, the controls are different and you’re able to throw things at other racers.”

You heard Hana giggle as you entered your final lap of the map. “No one knows what that game even is .”

Her comment had a small smile tug at your lips, of course they wouldn’t know; it was a 1980’s arcade game.

“I think someone just searched it up – hold on a second guys.” She brought up the link from one of the comments, a picture and short description of the game popping up.

“Woah! That’s so vintage !” She looked at the screen, reading over some more comments. “OxTrot-63 wants you to know they think it’s cool you managed to play the game, Watson. Apparently, it’s not available online anymore. Oh! And they love your accent.”

“That’s just someone being nice. I used to play all kinds of ‘vintage’ games as a kid.” You shrugged, overtaking one of the go-karts. “I was as bad at them then as I am now actually.”

“Aw, come on! You’re really good at this game.”

“For a ‘noob’.” You told her, finishing what most others would probably already think.

“You’re improving!” She declared, almost defensive over your progress. Her gaze flicked down to the comments. “Everyone here agrees with me – some are even sending you donations!”

You listened as she rattled off increasingly strange usernames, thanking the viewers for sending in donations, her glowing smile met with enthusiasm. Your own smile, albeit small, spreading over your face. You came third.

“It’s great that they’re supporting you, D.Va. I’m glad I found some time to come and hang out with you.” You turned to her, the winning character animation appearing over the screen. Her eyes filled with joy as she looked at your points.

“GG!” She shouted, her smile turning to a grin as she looked at you. “You’re doing really well!”

“It’s alright.” You shrugged, looking at the time.

You had been streaming with Hana for around two hours, and you were running late for training with Soldier: 76. He’d no doubt make you suffer for that, yet, you didn’t find yourself caring if he’d up the intensity. It was a problem for future [Y/N] to sort out. You stood up from your chair, stretching, your arms popping at the elbow and shoulder joints.

“Well, not that I don’t love coming by and playing games, but I gotta go before I lose my extra life to the commander.” You looked to the camera, showing both Hana and you in the shot. You waved at the camera, and therefore, the viewers as you heard giggling.

“Sure thing! Make sure you meet up with us for dinner though, okay?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll see you this arvo.” You smiled at her.  

Slapping your hands together and bumping your fists, you went on your way. Hana taking the stream over again, the controller in her hands. You picked up your boots on your way out of her bedroom door. Headed for the training hall. Your steps light as you set yourself into a jog, not wanting to be any later than you already were. Your pace only slowed when you encountered McCree in the hall, your pace and sock-clad feet not going unnoticed by the cowboy.

“Where’re you goin’ in such a hurry, darlin’?” He called as you approached him.

“Training hall.” You smiled up at him, noticing the shift in his demeanour when you did so. “My arse is grass if I’m late!”

“Weren’t you shot two days ago?” He asks, eyebrows furrowing, your smile widening.

“Yeah! But I didn’t die – so I’m getting back into it.” He seemed a little worried by that, taking your arm to stop you in the middle of the hall. The smell of fresh gunpowder adding to his regular scent.

“You were shot and yer still going back, after one day of rest?”

“That’s right.” You pulled up your shirt. “Look, I’ve just got a gauze pad sittin’ there now. It’s really nothin’ to worry about.”

“Nothin’ t’worry about?” he looked down at the white patch attached to your abdomen. “How the hell did ya achieve that?”

“There’s way too much science involved for me to even begin to understand, cowboy.” You took your arm from his grasp, shrugging as you pointed down the hall. “I’d hate to leave you confused – actually, that’s a lie, I’d love to – but I’ve got somewhere I gotta be.”

You lightly slapped his shoulder before continuing you way down the hall, hearing him yell ‘Good luck’ after you as you turned a corner, going past the firing range. A small smile resting on your features, it had been a good morning so far.

You were at the training hall moments later, the idea of being put through another day of rigorous training not bothering you as much as it previously had. The training was nothing if not efficient. It had increased your stamina so much already, coupled with your strength training under Zaryanova, you were confident that you had been improving steadily.

Walking in, you saw two figures standing in the middle of the hall, only 76 being familiar to you. You sat down on the ground to put your boots on, inspecting the unfamiliar person. They wore a hood, long jacket coming down to rest at their ankles. The shoes they wore forming to their feet in a way that suggested they were sturdy. The ends of their pants coming down, looking as though they had been fitted under their knees. A visor rested over their face, the appearance starkly contrasting the one 76 wore.

“Jeez, is it bring your mask to work day?” You mumbled as you pulled the laces to your boots, making sure they were tight, yet comfortable. The pair approached you.

“This is Shrike.” Your commander announced as you laced up your boot and stood. “There’s been a change in today's regime. It’s time you learned what you’re dealing with.”

You looked between them, holding your hand out for Shrike to take, their hand holding yours in a firm handshake. Both were taller than you, it made you feel small. You straightened your shoulders.

“People call me Watson.” You introduced, letting go of their hand.

“You have much to learn.” They – she – said. “This way.”

You nodded and followed the pair, out of the training hall, towards the lower floors of the complex – the one underground. Your eyebrows furrowed, what was it they supposedly had to ‘teach’ you? Was it something to do with who you encountered a few days ago? If so, why were they important – were they a threat to the peace?

You followed them down the stairs and to a door that looked like a heavy vault entrance. Soldier: 76 entered a long code, one that you wouldn’t have been able to memorise if you tried. The door opened with the low sound of air compressors pushing the door open. You looked inside as the pair in front of you walked inside. There were files upon files, news-papers, and many of them having a big red ‘ CLASSIFIED ’ stamped on them. The last six decades must’ve been busy, you noted. A table sat in the middle, it was square and had a pair of chairs sitting at it across from each other. A holographic screen booting up at one end of the room.

“Take a seat.” 76 told you, gesturing to the chairs at the table. He was already sorting through some news articles.

You walked over and sat down in the closest chair, your knee bouncing as soon as you were seated. It was unnerving, the way the mood seemed to change, it felt heavy now, something was amiss.

“So, you had something you wanted me to know?” It was more a statement than a question, but you didn’t want the room to fall silent when you could be getting whatever you were supposed to be taking note of out of the way.

“It was suggested that you be informed of what you’ve missed.” He stated, pushing a pile of news articles your way. “In case your situation… becomes permanent.”

Your eyebrows drew together as you looked at him. Permanent? They really thought that there was no way home then, huh? You looked down at the articles in front of you, considering it intel you’d probably need either way. No matter the odds, you needed to stick to the end goal – getting home.

‘Omnica Corp Leading Tech in Positive New Direction ’

‘New Prototype to Be Released: OmniRobot’

‘Omnium to be released 2026’

Your eyebrows furrowed as you read over the headlines. The articles weren’t of much help either, they weren’t making a whole lot of sense.

“What’s… Omnica Crop?” You pick up the article in front of you, looking at the paper.

“A corporation focused on developing Omnics.” Shrike explained, your gaze turning to her. “They specialized in many kinds of weapons and domestic technologies.”

You nodded and scanned the article, it seemed as though the Omnica Corporation was, in part, responsible for the golden age of technology. Technologies of all kinds were developed in a rush to make the world better, more convenient to live in. Each company mentioned as shareholders, or in a way connected to the company seemed to be a part of developing it.

“So…” You sighed, eyebrows furrowing, leaning your chin against your hand. “There’s another race for new tech that went on, and this was part of it?”

“That’s right.” She said, pointing to the other articles. “Technology over the last century has been rapid in its’ development, but far more accelerated over the last forty or so years.”

“So… it’s the ‘ Back to the Future’ I was expecting back in 2017 then?”

The pair looked at each other, and in that moment, you felt much older.

“Heh… Reference for another time I guess… Anyway, we have the new tech race. What else do I need to know?”

Soldier: 76 collected the news articles into a pile, placing them down the table to make space as he brought up some information on the holographic screen. It was yet another article, but it had more pictures, and even some video reports. The title read ‘ Horizon Lunar Colony.’

“Are… Are we on the moon? – uh – humanity I mean.” You clarified, taking in both the name, and the first few pictures.

“No. The colony’s run by Gorillas and apes now.” 76 was the one to answer your question this time, breaking from his stoic silence. Your eyebrows furrowed as you read over the article.

“Was it just to live on the moon? What happened to mars?” Your gaze flicked up to them.

“Mars was too expensive to transport materials.” Shrike tells you, gesturing to the screen. “Athena, show file X7GS-5 on the Horizon Lunar Colony.”

“ Yes, Shrike. ” Athena’s voice came through the holographic screen, photographs appearing of the base. The first few you looked at were the construction, and the scientists. You looked over them as the images lowered in frequency, time stamps becoming further apart.

“And, you said it’s run by gorillas? Like… Winston?”

“He was part of the experiment, yes.” Your eyes widened as you looked at her.

“Winston was on the moon ? Part of all of that?” Shrike nods and looks at the photograph of two apes looking at a security camera.

“He has been through much.” She sighs, the only hint to it being the rise and fall of her shoulders. “He arrived back on earth just before things became… complicated.”

“Complicated?” Your gaze flicked between them as you grew confused. “What do you mean?”

“ The Horizon Lunar Colony focused on: Space exploration, and habitation of interplanetary spaces. The Colony focused its efforts on genetic modification as part of its secondary objectives. ” Athena informed. “ In 2064, Specimen 28 arrived on earth as the only subject non-adversely affected by the therapy provided by staff. ”

You mulled over the information, processing the fact that it was only about twelve years ago that Winston had come back from practically a lifetime on the moon. He certainly didn’t seem like he had spent time up there with his aggressive brothers. Maybe he got passed it, spending a decade back on earth. With the experience he had it was almost a miracle that he didn’t end up stuck with the rest of them on the moon.

“Okay – so let me get this straight… Winston was on the moon, and The Omnica Company… Sorry, Omnica corporation were making robots, no, Omnics . Yeah?” Your eyes scanned between the two masked individuals, both of which were agreeing with the facts you simplified.

Your eyes fell to the gap. These were articles, yes, but there was about forty years-worth of history between them. You glanced at the article about Omnium, which turned out to be just another name for the manufacturing of the Omnics under complete artificial intelligence.

“What happened in the middle here? With the Omnium plants. I mean, I’m kind of expecting I-Robot .” You lean back as you watch the pair glance between each other, a tension growing in the air. You could almost cut it with a knife, as the usual lightness common to your home country gave way to your sense of being completely serious. You quirked an eyebrow. “What? What happened?”

“The Omnic Crisis…” Shrike started, in what you could tell was her filling in 76’s role as informant. “It was an unpredictable event.”

A manila folder was dropped in front of you, the large red ink glaring at you as your fingers traced the side to untangle string from around it. You opened it, a hint of curiosity taking root within you. The contents of the folder were thick, the time stamp revealing that the crisis started around thirty years into your future.

“If I had to take a crack at it, I’d say the government but…” You placed your hand on the stack of information in front of you, index finger keeping your place in the centre of a paragraph. “How’d it start?”

“The omnium plants were shut down.” Shrike informed you, her voice calm. “They were decommissioned from the corporation-“

“But what does that have to do with the Crisis?” Shrike held up her hand, effectively telling you to shut up .

“The plants reactivated, self-sustaining code launching a Omnic legion of militarised robots. Slaughtering thousands. Both military and civilian.”

Your eyes widened as you stared at Shrike, technology that had the ability to not only turn itself back up, but launch military operations was simply unheard of. You assumed it was on a global scale, meaning that homes, even whole cities were possibly lost. You looked at Shrike, setting your shoulders, you wanted to hear more.

“How did you combat this? I mean, it’s obvious you won, to some extent at least.”

“ The Omnic Crisis was an event that no single country was equipped to fight. No one military could permanently shut down a single omnium. The adaptability of robots, once celebrated by humanity, had become a tactical nightmare. Fought by piloted Mechs, the countries of the world looked to professional gamers such as Hana ‘D.Va’ Song, Craig ‘Link’ Smith, and Sara ‘M.Use’ Velden. Their unparalleled reflexes allowed them to pilot the mechs and help turn the tide.” Athena’s voice came from the monitor at the end of the short room.

“Hold on. All I’m hearing is that the future is one big movie reference. I mean, come on-” You looked between them, gesturing to the monitor, “- piloted mechs? What is this? Pacific Rim ?”

Again, they shared a look.

“Watson,” Shrike started, “I understand this is a lot to take in, but the history of the world isn’t a joke, or a reference to a film.”

“Oh, no, of course it’s hilarious. It’s the biggest joke on the planet.” You chided looking at the images Athena was showing on the monitor. You saw the Overwatch logo, people looking on in fear of what you assumed were one of the many omnics. Feeling the stares of the two around you, and sensing that your smart mouth would get you into trouble, you decided to change the topic.

“So, Overwatch was created during the crisis. What happened?”

“Overwatch as it was before,” Soldier: 76 spoke, voice holding hints of frustration, “was supposed to bring hope and a time of peace. The Omnic Crisis slaughtered millions, and they blamed us for trying to help.”

You watched as more images appeared on the screen, articles even of overwatch being considered a hoax, hiding information, even corrupt. It made you rather upset, knowing their side of the story and that of course the public was willing to jump the gun without context. Hell, they had their own Captain America and they wanted to tear him down?

“And you were shut down? For a while. I mean, you’re running now, spread a bit thin maybe for what should be the talk of just about every city.” You looked to Shrike, and then to Soldier, they had grown quiet.

“Alright, so you survived the backlash then?”

Shrike placed her hand on your shoulder. “Overwatch was shut down. But the work here is good.”

“So-” you gestured to the monitor, “-this is all that’s left? All anyone knows? That the… Strike Commander died, and overwatch is just… Finished?”

You watch as she shakes her head. So, Overwatch was illegal, only due to the United Nations, acting as much like an absolute tool as you remembered it being. Your gaze turned back to the screen. Countries had populations thinned, if not destroyed, from Korea, to Russia, hell, even the United States.

An uncomfortable chill ran down your spine like an iron nail scraping against a corrugated fence. There was only one country you hadn’t heard or read during the conversation. Your eyes flick to your commander. He was an honest and blunt man, you could trust him to tell you exactly what happened. Right?

“Sir, in all of this… Where’s Australia?”

You never knew your home to walk away from a war if your allies were part of it. If the Crisis really had affected the entire globe, where the hell did you stand in all of it? Your expression changed from mere curiosity to an amalgamated form of worry and frustration as your commander sighed, the only indication being his shoulders rising and falling. You felt Shrike squeeze your shoulder, the gesture supposed to be reassuring.

“Watson, Australia survived the Crisis, they were a significant help in turning the tides, being resourceful as they are.” Shrike started, turning your attention to her.

You nodded along, your eyebrows furrowing, of course your country would get involved. They wouldn’t just stand out of something, be it their business or not. There was a but in there somewhere though, and you were afraid that it could be worse than you thought.

“After the war, your government gifted the omnium plant and a significant amount of land to the Omnics. Soon enough… The Australian Liberation Front formed, and war hit your country in its own way.”

“No.” You found yourself shaking your head, a disbelieving, yet frustrated smile stretching across your face. “Australia hasn’t had a war physically hit their shores since the Darwin bombings.”

“Watson, in your time, maybe that was true. But now, your country started its own battle.” You feel her hand move to your arm, her head tilted in a way that no doubt meant she was looking at you in sympathy, pity even. You cast your eyes downwards.

“…what happened?” You were hesitant to ask, but you needed to know. There needed to be a chance that your home was still safe. Still alive and running.

“The rebel group sabotaged the omnium’s fusion core… It exploded. Australia is a wasteland, the people there call themselves Junkers , Watson. As far as I know, you’re probably the only one left who calls themselves an Australian.”

Bullshit. It had to be. It wasn’t gone. It couldn’t be… could it?

Your home… A wasteland. You watched them as your hands clenched. They wouldn’t – couldn’t – be that stupid, could they? Were they really that selfish, over some land? Was it that unliveable that they couldn’t be called Australian anymore? You shouldn’t have asked. You didn’t want to be the only one left. Didn’t want to believe it. Australia, just… gone. Replaced with a post-apocalyptic knock-off that was barely worth mentioning.

You wanted to disappear. Didn’t want the pair of eyes you felt on you now as your fingers dug into your palms, pushing against your thighs and arms trembling in anger. The people in your country were so stupid . How could they make a decision like that? Ruin so many lives? Parasites the lot of them. If what you were being told was true, then your sister had no hope of being alive. There was no way you could go home and see your childhood house if you couldn’t get back to 2017.

There was no way you could hear a kookaburra laugh before a storm, nor would you find cicada shells at the end of the summer. New generations wouldn’t experience what it was like to have to sprint across boiling concrete because they forgot shoes. They couldn’t just sit in their backyard with a campfire to bring them light near a tent used as anything from a castle or even a spaceship. There would be no running across the footpath covered in leaves to hear them crunch ing under their feet.

You were the only one left. The only Australian to know what it was like to experience the beauty and dangers of Australia without the fear of becoming radiated – the only one to be called an Australian with any ounce of pride . You were the only one.

And you hated it.

You couldn’t be the only one left. Not like this. Not with everything so blatantly stripped away, with everything suddenly crashing around you. There was so much left of home you hadn’t gotten the chance to see. That you had promised Maris you would see when you got home.

It was all their fault. It was the fault of the idiots down in Australia, the monumentally stupid decision that you made to join the army. The decision you made to go into the room with that giant piece of junk that someone would have had the gall to call science.

Your throat felt painfully tight, vision blurring. You couldn’t blame them. Not really. You probably would’ve done the same thing to protect your country. Coming out of a war immediately followed by handing those who still looked like the enemy not only land, but the very infrastructure that helped start the war? It wasn’t fair to blame them. It wasn’t. But you couldn’t help being angry. Couldn’t help wanting to throw the stupidly brave idiots through the closest wall.

You leant your head against the desk, taking a breath that trembled through you. Breathing out sounded like a pathetic whimper, and really, it was. More tears welled up in your eyes as you felt a pair of arms wrap around your shoulders. One of your hands came up to cover your mouth, you couldn’t stop. The tears were falling from your eyes, your shoulders were shaking. You didn’t want to cry in front of them. Didn’t want to be anything but a good soldier standing in line with the rest of them.

But you couldn’t. Your body wouldn’t stop shaking. You weren’t in control – you weren’t able to stop. Everything felt like it was crashing down around you without settling. A sob broke through and jolted your shoulders. It felt like you were choking on the dust of your memories with the realization that there wasn’t a soul that could truly know what you were talking about, not really.

You understood, you really did. You understood why they did it. You understood why people in the halls gave you sympathetic looks when you mentioned home or even spoke to people who hadn’t heard you speak before. What you didn’t understand was why is hurt . It hurt so much. Your heart hurt, aching, constricting with each beat. It felt broken. You felt broken.

Another sob broke through you, the person, Shrike, pulling you to her chest, one hand stroking your head with what you could only describe asa mother’s touch. Of course it was Shrike, your commander probably didn’t know how to cope with any emotion other than anger or calm. He didn’t seem to hold any sympathy towards you either. It was better than pity.

Soldier: 76 excused himself from the room when you started sobbing, the effort of trying to hold yourself together and ultimately failing burned into his mind like a brand. It was haunting . To see someone who had held it together for the last two months with only a relatively small outburst was startlingly impressive.

He couldn’t shake the way you imploded, shoulders hunching as you had bent forward to lean against the table, hair falling around your face. The way you shook with anger and refused to accept what was supposed to be your future instead of world history. In a word, he would only describe it as shattering. Clinging onto the idea that everything was fine, up until the last moment when you broke.

It made him wonder about the way you held yourself, standing almost at perfect attention all the time, pushing yourself past the point even he thought you were supposed to break. If your determined gaze when you sparred with him on the mat, the one-liners and apparent humour you displayed even if you couldn’t keep yourself upright, hell, even your smile.

It rivalled the damn sun when you were in the company of the younger agents sharing and creating memories and all he could think of now, was if it was all a façade. If you would even grow to like it here or if it was a front put on until you could go back.

The sound of your despair fell upon his ears again. He could feel your sorrow vicariously through the sound of the emotion you seemed to have no control over anymore. The sound of your broken sobs and barely coherent cries of ‘ it’s not fair! ’ affecting him more than he liked. He turned on his heels, walking down the hall, not one to dwell on emotions, nor wanting his own memories to rise to the surface. He didn’t find comfort in the way they set on his shoulders, nor the way it made swallowing harder, and so he refused to acknowledge them.

It wasn’t until he found himself at the top of the first flight of stairs that he found a pang of guilt settling against him for being an accomplice of your grief. Ungracefully tossing you the history of the world unflinchingly, and not a word as to why, leaving the explanation to both Ana and Athena. He was guilty of giving you no sympathy in the harshness of the world that he lived through, bringing to you like a ton of bricks when you took the operation of Overwatch with such understanding.

The challenges you saw and the revolts that Athena had shown you in images from the press left you not with a glorifying awe, nor anger towards the actions of his younger self. Your eyes held all the understanding that he had wished for from the public years ago. A patient understanding that knew overwatch as a group of people doing their best, one that left him with a guilty conscience as he didn’t allow you a shred of the same attitude that you so willingly passed onto them.

It surprised him. How was it that a young person from the past could show such understanding towards something you hadn’t lived through? Something you could have faced if you hadn’t wound up here? It was more than they – he – deserved.

-

You felt a headache sitting behind your eyes, face only having just calmed down from crying earlier. You were sure you looked less than presentable, but at this point you really didn’t care. A numbness growing over you, no amount of denying it was going to make it any less true. You had to accept the fact that you couldn’t go back home, not like it was.  

‘ There are many tests of life, ya Danaaya. I know there is pain now. It will pass. ’ Shrike had told you when you were calm enough to listen to her. You got the feeling that at some point, she was a mother. It was comforting to have that kind of touch, gentle and reassuring even this facility that was all too often leaving you with bad news.

You walked into the mess hall, figuring that you’d at least greet Hana and the others like you promised her that morning. When they say you, a chorus of loud, and enthusiastic greetings were sent your way. You sat across from Hana and Lúcio.

“Hey cara ,” Lúcio said as you sat down, his eyebrows drawing together, “tough day?”

“Something like that.” You said, a small smile on you face, as much as you could manage. You could be fine. You had to be.

“Was it because you were late this morning?” Hana chimes in, not giving you a chance to respond to her first question. “Let me guess, more laps? Bigger weights?”

A smirk crosses her face as Lúcio joins in. “Another jab at the Commander?”

“How ‘bout-a unwanted history lesson?” You sighed, folding your arms and laying your head against them on the table.

“Codswallop! That’s got to be against the rules. Isn’t it?” Tracer asked as she sat next to you, two plates in hand, one of which she places next to your head.

“By the looks of it… I ain’t goin’ home any time soon guys.” You could feel the sympathy that radiated off of the three kids around you as you closed your eyes. Not wanting to deal with this.

“Of course you’ll get home, love. If Winston was able to fix my jam, then I’m sure you’ve got it made.” The hopeful tone of her voice didn’t make you feel any better.

“If you say so.” You brought your head up, Hana placing a hand on your arms.

“In the meantime, you can play games with me! You’ve still got a lot to learn Watson!” Hana grinned at you, her tone cheerful and full of determination. You shrugged.

“Guess so.”

“Hey, don’t forget, Parceira, even if you don’t get home as soon as you want to, you still got us!” Lúcio’s tone caught your attention, it was more sombre, you looked at him. He had a small smile on his face, eyebrows upturned in a way that you guessed was supposed to be sympathetic. You nodded as the trio around you smiled.

“I suppose I do.”

“Trust us love. There’s a lot of people here who care about you,” Tracers arm snaked around your shoulders, squeezing you into a gentle side hug. “You don’t have to be in a rush all the time, you know.”

“Lena does enough of that on her own!” Hana smiles at you as a weak smile graces your face. That much was certainly true.

“You’ll get home.” Lúcio jumps in. “We know you will.”

“You just have to patient.” Lena rubbed your arm, squeezing your shoulder as she brought her arm from around you.

You nodded, your smile only a tad wider than when the conversation started. But it was enough to curb some of the worry these young people had for you. The conversation slowly filtering back to Hana’s stream, Lena’s organised visit to see a special friend of hers. Even Lúcio had news, his new album was due to come out in a few months.

On the other hand, you didn’t have much of an appetite, preferring to listen to the idle chatter until you were too tired to really stand it. The mindlessness of it leaving your mind wondering to the wreckage that was supposed to be your home. With the lack of interest in both food, and social interaction, you excused yourself with the promise of seeing them again tomorrow. Their conversation clearly not finished yet.

You left the mess hall, choosing to head to your room. The halls were quiet, your bootsteps tapping against the floor to fill the silence. You turned down the hall, steps faltering when you saw the window as the end of it. The sun was setting, not quite red. In fact, it was a dusty pink that spread across the sky. You turned your gaze, not finding it in you to watch the sunset. You couldn’t do it, not after what you found out today, too mentally and emotionally exhausted to find solace in watching it.

You walked to your bedroom, the goal of showering and falling into bed weighing into your mind. The prospect itself rather attractive as you stepped into your room, wanting to be left - -

“What do you think you’re doing?” A familiar, rough voice called out.

Your gaze snapped up from the floor. You had made quite the mistake, this wasn’t your room at all. It was your commanders’ . Your cheeks burned , embarrassment creeping into the mix of exhausting emotions. Soldier: 76 wasn’t wearing his leather Jacket, a short black shirt clung to his torso, un tucked and resting over the top of a pair of dark track pants. They sat low on his hips, towel in his hand signifying that he had probably come out of the shower very recently.

He was practically naked as he stood there, his arms folded over his wide chest, red of his visor glaring at you in anger.

“I - - I’m sorry Sir. I just - - I thought – ” You stammered.

“No, you didn’t think . Did your parents not teach you any manners?”

“N-no, Sir – I mean – of course they did, Sir.” God you were flustered. Stop staring . “But – they’re - - I’m terribly sorry I didn’t – ”

“Just stop. ” He raised a hand, running it through his hair. He looked tired, posture slouched as he sighed. “Just… stop talking .”

You shut your mouth, biting it in an attempt not to embarrass yourself further. A shallow grave was looking good right about now. Was he going to make you run laps? Scrub the training centre from top to bottom again? Work your arse off until you couldn’t stand? Maybe he’d have you hang from the high bar until your arms dislocated.

“Listen, kid.” He said, voice rough, tired, and not as hostile as it was before as you tried to keep your eyes directly on his visor instead of the environment around you. “Go get yourself some sleep, a decent six hours would do you good. Sort yourself out and report for training in the morning.”

“Uh – yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” You nodded, stepping back, awkwardly retreating from the dragons’ den and bumping into the door. “Sorry – sorry.”

You closed the door behind you, wiping your hands on your pants as you looked around the hall. Your door was directly across the hall from his. You weren’t sure if you should be delighted because you didn’t have far to retreat to or mortified because your room was a mere few meters away. If you had’ve turned left instead of right, you could’ve avoided interacting with the higher ranked man.

Did you want to avoid him? You weren’t sure. With everything so rapidly changing all the time, he was the only constant. The only unchanging factor. He was the same stick-up-the-arse man you were tackled by when you first arrived months ago. It really only made sense that you would cling to an unchanging factor, was it really all this that lead you pathetically clinging onto the unchanging nature of a C.O.? Where was it you stood with him anyway?

You placed your hand to your side. It was true that the bullet wound hadn’t needed stitches, but it remained badly bruised. It was even tender now. The image of Soldier: 76 carrying you, taking you from the battle field crossed your mind. He was such a strong man, a wall of muscle that lifted you with so much ease. You must’ve looked pathetic, losing so much blood and getting yourself shot like that.

No.

You had to move forward. Push from that and make sure it didn’t happen again, especially not to someone else. You had to stop thinking about the people who ranked higher than you as anything but that. Higher ranked officers. Hell, your rank was a trivial piece of history now. You were a cadet now. You didn’t want to confuse duty with the petty emotions of a highly intricate situation. No matter how physically attractive anyone around you was, that was no excuse for relying on them for anything.

You had to focus on your primary objective. Getting home.

You walked to the small dresser, taking from it a standard issue tank top and trackie dacks. All of your clothes fit in the top drawer, having nothing but the clothes you arrived with and a few sets of clothes from the resident angel and medic, Doctor Zeigler.

You walked into the bathroom and showered, the water as hot as you could stand it, part of you hoping you could scrub away the memories of the day. You washed your hair and body before stepping out and drying off. After dressing you made a beeline for the bed, climbing down onto the floor next to the bed that still felt too soft for you to get a full night’s sleep on. You hoped that you could get a few hours, as suggested by your commander.

You couldn’t sleep. A storm had rolled in about an hour ago, the sound of thunder and lightning flashing didn’t bother you. In fact, the electrical storm was closely tied with fond memories of running out in the rain only to get drenched on a hot summer’s night. You could feel the buzz of electricity across your skin like a subtle high. Your bare footsteps padding along the dim halls. Your hair sitting messily on your shoulders, band on your wrist in case you needed to tie it back. Your destination targeted outside, so you could go run in the rain, get your feet dirty in the muddy grass. The scent of rain to fill your lungs.

Feel like you were at home, if only for a moment.

You made your way outside, carefully shutting the door behind you, standing under an awning as the rain pelted down in fat droplets on the ground, and metal shelter above you. You took a deep breath through your nose, the scent of dirt, grass, and dense cool air filled your senses. The sound of the rain on the awning was like a tin roof. It brought a tearful grin on your face. You loved that sound.

Leaning down and rolling the ends of your sweatpants up, you listened to the rain. It splashed up to just under your knees when you stood, the cool air causing goose bumps to appear over your legs. But you figured that your pants wouldn’t get too dirty from the mud as you looked out into the dark, only being able to see as your eyes became accustomed to it. Your line of sight was about twenty meters around. You bounced on the balls of your face and your grin spread into an energy that shot through your very bones. Your feet pushed you forward as you bounded out from under the awning, splashing against the wet grass. Dirt came up from the ground, sticking to your feet, legs, and the bottoms of your pants.

Left. In. Right. Left. Out. You breathed as you ran, rain drenching you with the sheer amount that was coming down from the sky. The world became smaller as you were only able to see the dim lighting from the facility, rather than the silhouette of it. The feeling of freedom ran over you as your solid legs pushed you forwards. The grin on your face only widening as you let out a shout, thunder rumbling to meet you as you slowed to a jog.

You shouted again. It felt fantastic.

Your mind ran to a faraway place, the sound of childish laughter, the owners face springing to your mind as you imagined being far away from the future. Into the past with your little sister, at home. You could see her laughing beside you, her hair wet and sticking to her face and a million other directions. You could spend a million years in that memory, running through the rain with your sister, laughing and playing, even singing your favourite tunes badly.

You tried, the only one coming to mind was the jukebox classic that she’d screech at too early hours of the day. Joan Jett. The rest of the world fell away as you danced in the rain, kicking up waves of water, dirt, loose grass and water covering you as you lost yourself in the memory of your younger self dancing with your little sister under heavy rain in the front yard.

It would’ve no doubt looked ridiculous as you ran around, dancing as if she were here with you now, singing, admittedly more on-key than you would’ve a lifetime ago. Enjoying the chilling rain soaking you through, almost to your bones, clothes drenched and heavy. Not a care in the damn world.

You didn’t care. For now, you were home.

-

You woke up in a different environment than you had fallen asleep. A soft, but firm surface beneath you as you sat up. A different set of clothes on you, hair still wet, meaning last night wasn’t a dream. Opening your eyes and yawning, you looked around to find that you were on your bed, rather than beside it, in your room and not outside. The rain was still falling outside, though not to the degree it had been last night. What time was it? And, more importantly, who brought you back to your room?

Your guess was McCree, although Tracer was just as likely to bring you inside. There was light outside, so it was morning. Looking at the clock, you found that it was about ten. Commander 76 was going to eat you for lunch. Probably.

You got up, showering quickly and getting dressed in yet another pair of trackies, and a loose shirt. You made sure to make the bed before you left the room, running down the hall, boots and socks in hand. You figured that you’d slip them on in the training hall, no more time to waste. Maybe the commander would go easy on you today – not that you really expected him to, but it was worth a shot. On your way, you jogged towards Lena, a smile on her face.

“Good morning, love!” She called.

“G’mornin’ Tracer.” You greeted, coming to a stop as you reached her. “You wouldn’t by chance, have found me outside last night, would you?”

“No, I haven’t seen you since dinner yesterday.” She said, brows furrowing as she looked at you. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“It’s nothin’ really.” You shook your head, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m runnin’ a bit late, on the highway to hell so to speak. But I’ll swing by later. Alright mate?”

“Of course. I’ll see you and the others later!” her smile lit up the halls as you continued your jog down towards the training centre. Maybe it was McCree who put you to bed then? Unless someone woke you and you just don’t remember.

You ran into the training centre, dropping onto the floor by the sparring area to throw on both your socks and boots. Soldier: 76 was across the way, doing a set of chin-ups with controlled ease. It wouldn’t be wise to interrupt. You yanked the laces in your boots, from the base of the interwoven strings, up through to the top until they were as tight as you could get them without being uncomfortable.

As you tucked the ends of your pants into the tops of your boots, you heard him drop from the bar, landing on the floor with a small grunt. He turned to see you getting up, patting down your shirt.

“Cadet.” He said, acknowledging your presence in the room. The word stung. “You’re late.”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded, arms by your side as you stood straight, at attention. “I don’t mean to make you hot under the collar, sir. I woke up late.”

“How would…” You heard him mumble, clearly confused. You swore you saw his ears turn somewhat red as he shook his head. You released your mistake, yet again.

“I – I mean angry, sir.” You explained, cheeks heating up as the American version of the slang rushed into your mind. The future still had slang differences, and it seemed you would have to be a little more careful about your turn of phrase.

You noticed that you were using more slang terms. Even ones that you might not have used if you were back home. Maybe you were just trying to bring more of home with you here in the future. But someone had to be a True blue… right?