Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The desert at night was unforgiving.

You kept at your pace steady, bootfalls silent on the cracked earth, scanning the dark beyond your headlamp. Sand and grit clung to the hem of your coat. The cold was setting into your bones, wrapping around the edges of a day that had been too long, too dry and too quiet.

You didn’t like the quiet.

Quiet meant there was no one to save.

And even now - after everything - some part of you still felt like you were supposed to be saving people.

Your fingers tapped absently on the edge of your medpack, checking for the familiar outlines of syringes, bandages, medgel canisters, adrenaline pens. You’d packed them the same way every time since Zurich - muscle memory was one of the few things you had left.

Once upon a time, you were a part of something. Not quite Overwatch, not officially, but close enough that you’d seen the good, the bad, and the classified. A combat medic embedded with the strike teams, always one step behind the gunfire, always stitching together the people who tore themselves apart to keep the world from falling.

Now?

You were just a name on no one’s radar, wandering from town to town, healing what you could, keeping to yourself. You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t get involved.

Until now.

You knelt beside the thin line of blood trailing across the dirt. Looked fresh. You dipped your gloved fingers into it - -still warm, dark, arterial.

You should’ve turned away. The desert can be dangerous at night and you have no idea what or who is out there. You didn’t chase people anymore. You weren’t in the business of heroics.

But training like yours doesn't forget how to follow how to follow a blood trail.

And guilt like yours doesn't sleep easy when you ignore it.

You found him slumped against a sunbaked outcropping of red rock, half-shadowed beneath the ridge. A hat - battered, wide-brimmed, and dust-covered - lay beside him. One leg was splayed at a wrong angle. Blood soaked the side of his coat, seeping slow and steady into the dirt. His chest rose in shallow, erratic breaths.

He looked liked something out of an old western - a gunslinger turned ghost, left to die in the dark.

But his pulse thumped under your fingers. Barely. Enough.

You dropped your pack beside him and pulled out your gloves. “You conscious cowboy?”

A low groan escaped him. You leaned closer.

“Eyes open,” you ordered. “Come on. Give me something.”

His eyelids fluttered, then cracked open. Bleary and his face pale.

“...You a mirage?” he rasped, voice rough with dehydration and pain. “Or just unusually pretty for a buzzard?”

You snorted. “You’re bleeding out in the middle of nowhere, and that’s your first thing you say?”

“Man’s gotta have a little fun,” he huffed.

You pulled the canister of medgel from your bag. “This’ll hurt.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Lady, I’ve had worse-”

The moment the gel hissed into the wound, he cursed loud and colorful, muscles seizing under your hands.

“Warned you,” you muttered. “Definitely a gunshot. Ribs intact. You’re lucky.”

“Don’t feel lucky,” he grunted fist digging into the dirt.

You didn’t respond. Your mind was busy cataloging vitals, field triage steps, possible complications. It was the only thing that silenced the noise in your head. The only thing that ever had.

You worked quickly, flushed the wound, sealed the worst of it, set the leg. He flinched but didnt fight you. His skin was clammy. Breathing shallow. He’d lost a lot of blood, but the bleeding was slowing. Enough for now.

He slumped against the rock, eyes fluttering again.

“Hey. Stay with me.” You tapped his face gently. “Name?”

He opened his eyes, lips twitching. “Dontcha know it?”

You froze.

You looked at him again - really looked. The beard, the battered chestplate, the prosthetic arm. The belt buckle worn down by time, the revolver laying next to him that has seen ore bloodshed than most ever will in their lifetimes.

Cole Cassidy.

You knew the name. Everyone who’d ever worked field ops did. The outlaw-turned-Overwatch-turned-god-knew-what. Some called him a vigilante. Others called him a murderer.

But tonight, he was just a man bleeding in your care.

“...You gonna shoot me?” he asked, head back eyes closed.

“Not unless you try to shoot me first.”

A small smirk forms. “Fair.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t sleep much after that.

He faded in and out while you dragged him onto your old hover-sled before it gave out and towards a cave you’d passed earlier. He groaned once - a sharp, bitten-off sound - as you eased him off the sled and onto a mat you rolled out. You worked by a small fire, keeping him warm, checking for signs of internal bleeding and infection.

You’d done this more times than you can count.

But not for someone like him.

You sat back on your heels and studied him. He looked younger asleep, different from what you’d seen from the old mission reports, though the years had clearly weighed heavy. The lines around his eyes told stories no intel ever could.

He stirred once and mumbled your name.

You hadn’t told him your name.

Your hand hovered over his chest. But he didn’t move again save for the soft rise and fall of his chest.

It was stupid to care. You didn’t know him. He was a wanted man - and you had no idea who he was running from. But you knew what it felt like to be left behind. You knew what it felt like to have your skills used, your name buried, and your humanity stripped down to what you could carry in a bag.

So maybe you weren’t keeping him alive because it was the right thing to do.

Maybe you were hoping that saving someone else might save a little of you too.

Chapter Text

The firelight flickered between the two of you, small and flickering, just enough to keep the desert night at bay. The wind tugged at the edges of the blanket you laid across him, but Cole made no move to adjust it. His form still as he slept. Though it wasn’t long before a soft groan was heard and he stirred awake. Confusion on his face, before a flicker of realization set in.

You sat opposite of him, your med kit still open beside you. You stood up to ease Cole to a sitting position slowly so as to not hurt him anymore than he already was. Waiting for a sign to grab whatever needed from your med kit.

After getting him upright you sat back down and let the silence fill the cave with the soft crackling of the fire being the only sound.

It didn’t take long for you to break the silence. “How long were you bleeding out before I found you?”

Cassidly glanced up, “Dunno. Long enough to start talkin’ to ghosts.”

“Good for you I wasn’t one.”

He gave you a faint smirk. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched. “That bullet was lodged pretty deep in your side. You shouldn’t be awake.”

‘Well,” he drawled, "I'm stubborn. Ask anybody.”

“I’d rather not,” you say, reaching for your gloves. “Lift your arm. I want to check the dressing.”

Cassidy raised an eyebrow, but obeyed with a low grunt. You peeled the gauze back gently, inspecting the wound in the firelight. No active bleeding. Good color. Swelling minimal.

“You did good work,” he said after a pause. “Fast hands.”

You kept your eyes on the wound. “Years of practice.”

‘I know,” he said quietly.

“Right. Because you know who I am?”

“I do.”

He didn’t elaborate. You waited, then sighed and applied a fresh wrap, tightening it around his ribs with practised fingers.

“You always this cryptic, or is that part of the cowboy aesthetic?”

He chuckled low in his throat. “Wouldn’t be much of a legend if I gave away all my secrets.”

“So you’re leaning into the legend thing, then?”

He smiled - not wide, but real. “Ain’t really mine to lean into. People just like stories.”

“And what are you, then?” you asked. “Story or Man?”

There was a pause.

Then, quietly: “Somewhere in between.”

You sat back, folding the bloodstained gauze into your kit. “That doesn’t sound like someone who’s proud of his past.”

“I ain’t ashamed of all of it,” he said. “Just the parts I can’t fix.”

You looked hard at him. The weariness in his shoulders wasn’t just from pain. There was weight in him. Years of it. You didn’t know the specifics, but you could feel them in the way he watched the fire more than he watched you.

Still, there was something else there. Something steady. Anchored.

You surprised yourself by saying softly, “You’re not what I expected.”

“Yeah?” He asked, not quite facing you. “What were you expectin’?”
You smirked. “I expected taller.”

He laughed - a rusty, genuine sound that caught you off guard.

But it didn't last.

The wind shifted, sudden and cold, curling smoke sideways through the firelight. Cassidy's body went still.

You noticed it, too. The air changed. The quiet got tighter. You stood looking out the cave entrance. “You hear that?”

“Yeah,” he said, already reaching for his revolver. “Engines. Low to the ground. Can’t be locals.”

You dropped into a crouch, adrenaline pushing the banter from your veins. “Deadlock?”

He shook his head once. “Maybe. Maybe worse.”

Your fingers moved fast, zipping up your med kit and slinging it over your shoulder. Cassidy tried to stand and stumbled.

You caught him under the arm without thinking, bracing him as his weight sagged into you for a second too long.

“You’re in no shape to run,” you hissed.

“And you’re in no shape to fight alone!”

You glared at him.

He gave you a painted look.

The moment stretched, sharp and quiet.

Then from far off - a glint of light swept across the horizon. Searching.

Not just passing by.

Hunting.

You exhaled. “Time to move,” you said.

Cassidy adjusted his grip on your shoulder, grimacing. "You lead, doc. I’ll shoot anything that tries to follow.”
And together, you vanished into the dark.

Chapter Text

You found a hollow in the canyon wall - a narrow cut in the rock just deep enough to vanish into. Cassidy leaned against you, one arm slung around your shoulders, breath shallow but steady. you counted at least two drones sweeping the ridge, both scanning and deliberate grids.

Whoever was out there wasn't wandering.

They were tracking.

You pulled Cassidy down beside you, knees brushing in the cramped space. “Stay still. No light. No sound.”

Cassidy nodded, his hand resting lightly on his revolver. Despite everything, he was calm like he'd been here before - hunted, bleeding, cornered - and made peace with it.

You didn't share that peace.

Your mind was racing, sorting possibilities: how many pursuers, how long until sunrise, what they’d do if they found you.

Cassidy shifted slightly. “Y’ever try breathing?”

You shot him a sideways glare. “I am breathing.”

“Not like you believe you’re gonna make it.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but a spotlight swept the canyon, skimming the edge of your hiding spot. Both of you froze. The light passed, slow, deliberate.

Then silence again.

You waited.

One minute.Two.

Then, very quietly, “Talon?”

You didn't answer right away.

“Probably,” you said finally. “They’ve been targeting old Overwatch sites. Anyone tied to command, strike teams, even medics. Doesn't matter how long it's been.”

Cassidy exhaled, jaw tight. “That’d explain the tracker they jammed in me.”

Your eyes widened. “There was a tracker?”

“I got it out before you found me,” he said quickly. “But not before they got a bead on me.”

“You led them straight to me!” You hissed.

“I didn’t plan it that way!”

“You plan?”

He looked at you.

You looked away first.

Cassidy's voice came lower this time. “They’re tryin’ to kill ghosts before they can rise again.”

You nodded grimly. “Winstons recall. They’re trying to cut it off at the knees before it can gain momentum.”

You studied the stars for a beat.

“I didn't even respond,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “ I saw the signal and ignored it.”

“Yeah?” Cassidy tilted his head. “Why?”

You hesitated.

“ I was tired,” you admitted. “ Of bleeding for a war that never stopped. Tired of patching up the same wounds. Different names. Same end. And I was tired of coming home when so many others weren't.”

Cassidy didn’t push, Just said, “I get it.:

You believed him.

You let the silence settle between you. This time, it didn't feel as sharp.

Then - static.

Faint, crackling. A garbled voice over a comms unit somewhere nearby.

You snapped alert.

Cassidy stiffened. “They’re getting closer.”

You helped him up, slinging his weight over your shoulders again. The two of you slipped from the crevice and into the canyon. The desert was vast, but you felt its edges closing in.

And somewhere, above and beyond, Talon was watching.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You'd walked for miles before the road found you.

Cassidy leaned heavy against your side the whole way, the silence broken only by his soft grunts of pain and your boots scraping sand. The stars above had blurred behind cloud cover and your nerves hadn't stopped buzzing since the last burst of static on the canyon ridge. Morning was coming and you needed a place to hide out for the remainder of the night.

You weren't sure what you were expecting - a rest stop, an old gas station, maybe a half-buried outpost from a war everyone pretended was over.

But what you found instead was a sign barely hanging on to rusted chains:

“Blue Cactus in - $25 a night, no questions .”

The windows were mostly intact. The lot was empty. A flickering red “Vacancy” light hummed above the office.

Cassidy gave you a sideways glance. “Well,” he said hoarsely, “looks like your kinda place.”

You half-llaughed. “Think we’ll be alive long enough to be charged for late checkout?”

He gave you a lopsided grin. “Optimism. I like it.”

The manager didn't ask for IDs - just cash, which you peeled off from a hidden pouch in your med bag. Room 6 smelled like dust, bleach and resignation. The heater rattled in the corner like it had a grudge. But the locks worked, and the curtains were thick.

You helped Cassidy to the bed ignoring his protests of being able to do it himself.

You moved in silence for a while - securing the window, checking the locks again, pacing like you couldn't shake the feeling something was watching.

Cassidy broke the quiet first.

“You always this jumpy?”

You looked over your shoulder. “Only when I’m being hunted.”

He winced as he adjusted his blanket. “Fair.”

You turn back to your pack and pulled out gauze, antibiotic cream, and a bottle of water. “Lift your shirt again.”

“Keep askin like that and a guy might get ideas.”

You shot him a look.

Cassidy smirked. “Sorry. Habit.”

He obeyed, and you rechecked the wound. It was holding, but barely. The walking had taken its toll.

As you cleaned the stitches, your fingers brushed against a jagged scar near his ribs. Not new. Old, half-faded.

You paused. “This from before?”

He glanced down. “Yeah. Cairo. Snipper clipped me.”

You hesitated. “Overwatch mission?”

Cassidy didn't answer right away.

“Unofficially.”

You pressed the gauze a little more firmly than necessary.

“I remember reading about that. The whole mission went sideways. Three agents lost. One listed MIA.”

He looked at you. “That file wasn’t supposed to be public.”

“I had clearance,” you said. Medic support sees more than what they should.”

Cassidy leaned his head back against the wall. “You always wanted to be on the ground?”

“No,” You said, almost surprised by how easily the answer came. “I wanted to stay out of it. Just do a couple of rounds of work. Help the wounded. Go home.”

“And then Overwatch called.”

You nodded. “And suddenly I was knee deep in collapsed buildings and fire zones, patching up operatives who didn't even know my name.”

Cassidy gave you a look. “I knew it.”

You tilted your head. “Knew what?”

“That you were more than a name in a file.” He paused. “You kept people alive when others couldn’t. Heard it enough to remember.”

You swallowed.

“Most of the time,” you said softly. “But not always.”

You didn’t elaborate. He didn’t push.

Cassidy ran a hand through his hair. “ I didn’t join for the cause. I did it cause I needed an out and they needed someone to do the dirty work. It was nice though, that what I did bought the rest of the world a few quiet nights.”

“And did it?”

He met your gaze. “Not for me.”

You nodded slowly, then reached for the water again. The heat from the radiator clicked inside in the silence, trying its best to make the room feel like something other than a pit stop on the run.

“So, Doc… what made you stay after everything began going to hell?”

You blinked, not expecting the question.

“I don't know,” you admitted. “ Maybe guilt. Maybe stubbornness. When the strike started hitting civilian zones… someone had to be there. And I already knew how to stop the bleeding.”

He watched you like he was memorizing the way you said it - not the words but the way your voice dipped with each one. Like you were patching up an old wound just by saying it out loud.

“Could’ve left it behind,” he said. “Gone dark. Most did.”

“I tried.” You gave a faint, humorless laugh. “I couldn’t do it though, couldn’t leave when so many needed help.”

Cassidy nodded and closed his eyes.

You stay like that for a while - not talking, not quite resting - until exhaustion crept in like a slow wave, pulling both of you under.

The tension hadn't disappeared, but it had softened. It was a quiet understanding in the room now. Like you were two stories on the same page.

Eventually, Cassidy shifted, letting out a long breath.

“You should sleep,” he muttered.

‘You first,” you replied, half conscious.

“You giving orders now?”

“I am the medic.”

He chuckled low in his chest. “Yes ma’am.”

You smiled faintly and turned to sit on the floor next to the bed. As your eyes started to drift shut, something flickered against the current - a brief pulse of light like a shadow passing a flashlight beam.

You set up just enough to peek through the slit.

Down the highway, barely visible in the dead quiet of the night, poverty small black drone. Not close. But not far.

It hadn’t seen you

Not yet.

You pulled the curtain back into place, heart steady now, mind already calculating.

Tomorrow, you'd have to run again.

For tonight, you sat back next to the bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to Cassidy's breathing as he slept on. The hunt was getting closer.

Chapter Text

The sun was only just beginning to rise when you stirred, blinking up at the motel ceiling. The sheets clung to you warm and comforting, and for a moment, you were disoriented - till you heard a low creak of movement.

You shot up alert and panicked until you saw him leaning against the wall peering through the curtains. He was thumbing a data pad he’d likely swiped from somewhere, his hat tilted low looking every bit the rugged cowboy he's known for.

“You’re still up?” you asked groggily, propping yourself on your elbows. “You know sleep shifts are supposed to you know in shifts.”
He tilted his head ignoring what you said and flashed a crooked smile. “You snore quieter than expected.”

Your cheeks flushed and glared at him. “You were supposed to be the one resting!”

“You needed it Doc, you’d been hauling me around all night. I’ve slept less in worse situations.” He stretched his arms up, joints popping and letting out a low groan. “Besides, someone had to keep watch.”

You get out of bed rolling your eyes, “You know I’ve had field training. I can handle a watch rotation.”

Cassidy chuckled. “I know exactly what kind of training you’ve had darlin’. You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, a question on how he knew on the tip of your lips. He cut you off before you could speak, striding over to you showing the data pad.

“No activity yet. But I spotted a drone last night. They’ll be sweeping through soon.” He pointed to a small dot on the pad. “Theres a town not too far from here where we can pass through. Grab some grub and find a good place to lay low.”

It didn’t take long to pack up. Field packs cinched, weapons holstered, any trace of you two scrubbed clean. Cassidy moved with efficient ease, but you noticed the way he checked the windows twice and his constant fidgeting with his peacekeeper.

You exited through the back - sneaking down a fire escape sliding by the wall. The early morning sun was hazy, filtering through a cloud of dust. The road wasn’t busy yet, but it was only a matter of time. Cassidy pointed to the lot to a hover bike chained to a post.

You raised an eyebrow. “You know how to hotwire one of those?”

He smirked, already moving. “I know how to hot wire a lot of things darlin’”

You blushed at the nickname being said again and shook your head.

It didn’t take long for the bike to cough to life under his touch. Though you felt a sense of guilt for taking the bike knowing the owner won’t be too happy seeing it missing. Regardless you both climbed on - you behind him, arms around his waist. He didn’t comment on the action, but you felt the slight tension in his body ease.

Then you were on the road - dust and wind peeling past you as you tore down the forgotten highway.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t until late morning that a town came into view - a little place tucked between the highway and a half-dead orchard. Quiet. Remote. Just what you needed.

Cassidy parked the bike behind a shuttered service station. “We’ll keep low. Grab food, listen in, and get back on the road before anyone notices.”

“Fine by me. I’m starving.”

“Should’ve eaten at the motel.”

“I was asleep, thanks to someone insisting on playing night sentinel.”

He only smirked as he led the way in.

You ducked into a dusty diner - one of those spots that looked old as day but comforting nevertheless. All the booths had cracked leather and neon signs showing coffee and pie were buzzing. A waitress barely looked at the two of you as you entered. Cassidy dipped his hat, and you pulled your hood lower.

The two of you slid into a booth in the far corner. The waitress from before came by dropping off two menus and asked what you’d like to drink, not sparing a glance. You both ordered your receptive drinks, she jotted down your orders and whisked away to start them up. Cassidy scanned the room with practiced eyes, while you hid your face in the menu trying to disappear into the booth.

On the counter in the diner a radio hummed softly.

“-the Recall transmission continues to be intercepted across dead zones. Winston's (a former Overwatch agent) call for all former Overwatch agents - official or otherwise - has sparked renewed interest in Talon’s bounty board. Multiple agents are presumed to be hiding.”

You and Cassidy exchange looks, unease dripping from the two of you.

“Commander Morrison remains missing. Reports of activity in Gibraltar and Route 66 remain unconfirmed. Talon operatives are believed to be sweeping where former strike teams' activity was last recorded…”

The waitress came back as the last of the radio reports said bringing your drinks and taking your food order. You stumbled to say what you wanted and Cassidy quietly muttered his order. The waitress left just as quickly as she arrived.

The two of you sat in tense silence, the report swirling in your head as you thought of what to do next. You knew being with Cassidy was dangerous for you. Although you were both wanted by Talon, Cassidy was a high ranking agent whereas you were just a medic. You were doing quite well for yourself before you found him and got wrapped up in being a hero.

As if reading your mind Cassidy cleared his throat not looking at you. “I’m sorry.”

You looked up at him surprised and confused by his apology.

“I shouldn't have gotten you involved in this. It's a dangerous time right now and I’ve made things much harder for you than need be.”

You shake your head and stare at him. Although you both were right you don’t regret what you’d done.

“You don’t need to apologize.” You start steeling your gaze on him.” I wanted to help you, I knew the risk and I couldn’t leave you out there. We’ll figure something out.”

He stares back at you eyes soft with appreciation, though there were still hints of remorse left in them. “You’re too kind darlin’. I woulda gotten away and been alright eventually.”

You huffed crossing your arms heart thumping over the usage of the nickname, “You don’t know that. Talon is hunting and there's only so much you could’ve done.”

Cassidy begins to argue but you cut him off with a pointed look, “You may be a great shot Cole, but you can’t go against one of the biggest terrorist organizations with a bullet wound and twisted leg.”

He looks away from you towards a window, his thoughts far away as he takes in what you say. You were right, he can't expect to get away from Talon hurt and he knows there's only so much Deadeye can do before he’s out of luck.

Your food arrives and as soon as the plate hits the table, you dig in like a starving animal. This brings Cassidy out of his thoughts and he watches you with mild amusement. “Remind me not to stand between you and your next meal.”

You spoke between bites. “Dont test me cowboy.”

His grin widened, beginning to dig into his own meal. You two sit in comfortable silence listening to the sound of the radio playing some country tune and the sound of cutlery scraping plates. Eventually after you two have eaten a good portion of your meal and the drinks were down to a few drops you asked the question that’s been burning at you.

“So, you gonna tell me how you know who I am?”
Cassidy leaned back in the booth, arms resting along the top edge. “Wheres the fun in that sweetheart? A man’s gotta have a few secrets.”

He shoots you a wink as you sigh in annoyance. “Oh c’mon Cole. You knew about my abilities on the field and apparently read my file. How come?” You pressed. “How do you know me and why is it that you view me as more than a file amongst others?”

Cassidy sits in silence as your questions hang in the air. You were perplexed to say the least. Sure you appreciated how he cared for your skills and saw you as a person rather than a file, but you didn’t get why. Why did Cole care? Why does he know so much? Why does the idea of him knowing who you are and what you can do make your heart flutter and your brain almost short circuit.

Before you could get a response though a reporter's voice cracked through the radio, “...unconfirmed reports suggest several former Overwatch agents have gone missing. Sources claim a man matching the description of former agent Cole Cassidy was seen near-”

He was already up. “Time to go.”

You followed without question, tossing a few credits on the table.

Making your way back to the service station you made it halfway to the bike before Cassidy paused - hand hovering over his holster.

“What is it?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer, eyes wide and head up listening.

That's when you heard it: heavy footsteps, echoing all around. The air seemed to shift, colder despite the desert heat.

A figure emerged, cloaked in black, metal mask gleaming beneath the hood. The stench of death exuberating off it. A figure of nightmares and looking at you two as if it was a predator waiting to strike for the kill.

“Run!” Cassidy growled.

You didn’t hesitate. Cassidy threw a flashbang behind you, and for a split second, the world lit up white. You heard the masked figure snarl and a black fog formed as the two of you leapt onto the bike. Cassidy kicked the engine to life.

Bullets struck the pavement behind you just as the tired screamed and you peeled out onto the main road. You turned your head seeing the figure stare after you and turn into the shadows leaving nothing but a mist of black in its wake.

Cassidy swerved around cars and debris with practiced ease, creating as much distance from the town and yourselves.

“What - who was that?!” You gasped.

“I don’t know…” He responded though something told you he wasn’t being entirely honest.

You didn’t press and just leaned into Cassidy as you flew down the road.

Cassidy's jaw clicked, “They’re tracking us.”

Your hands gripped his sides tighter. “Then we don’t stop”

He nodded once. “Then we don’t stop.”

Chapter Text

The hum of the motorcycle was the only sound between you two.
It vibrated through your hands, into your bones, a steady thrum that should’ve been reassuring but instead made you think of a pulse — too fast, too shallow. You both had left the town behind, but couldn’t shake the feeling that it was still watching you.

The road stretched ahead in a ribbon of sun-bleached asphalt, heat wavering above it. The desert swallowed everything else, the horizon shimmering and indistinct.

Cassidy hadn’t said a word since you'd pulled away. He leaned forward slightly, hat tipped low, one hand steady on the throttle. You wondered if it was concentration or habit — a gunslinger’s version of a poker face.

You caught yourself glancing over your shoulder for the third time in as many minutes.
Nothing. Just empty road. But the air felt… wrong.

A part of you wanted to believe you'd left it all behind — the mysteriously terrifying figure, the voices shouting about Overwatch in that narrow alley, the way your heart had stuttered when you heard Winston’s name. But the other part of you— the part trained to read a battlefield even when it wasn’t marked as one — knew better.

“Ya think if you stare at the horizon hard enough, it’ll change?” Cassidy’s voice was low, almost lazy, but there was something under it.

You didn’t answer right away. “Just making sure we’re not being followed.”

His mouth quirked like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. The silence that followed was heavier than before.

The two of you passed a rusted gas station, its sign clattering faintly in the wind. A radio crackled from somewhere inside — a man’s voice carrying over the hum of the bike.
“…no confirmation yet, but sources claim the gorilla scientist—”
Cassidy’s hand turned the throttle just a little, speeding you both past before you could catch more.

He didn’t have to. You'd already heard enough.

Winston’s Recall.

Your chest tightened. You thought you'd buried that part of yourself years ago — the medic who ran toward gunfire instead of away from it, who knew each strike team member’s vitals better than her own. You'd made peace with walking away. Or… maybe you'd just gotten good at pretending.

Cassidy didn’t speak for a long while after that. The desert rolled by in endless shades of ochre and bone, punctuated only by the skeletons of buildings that had lost their purpose decades ago. A wind had picked up, carrying with it the dry rattle of sand against your goggles.

You tried not to think about the words drifting from that radio, but they clung to you like grit — the gorilla scientist… Winston’s Recall…
Even just hearing his name was a splinter under your skin.

You remembered the first time you'd seen him — towering over the rest of the members in Gibraltar, adjusting his glasses with those massive hands, speaking about courage like it was something you could carry in your pocket. You believed him.

Now, the thought of going back felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. And the drop was so very far.

You crested a rise, and Cassidy finally eased off the throttle. “We’ll stop ahead,” he said, pointing to a cluster of low buildings nestled between two ridges. “Old supply depot. Been abandoned since the war, far as I know.”

You scanned the surroundings. No movement. No glint of a scope on the hills. “You sure it’s safe?”

“Nope,” he said easily. “But it’s better than ridin’ ‘til dark.”

The words until dark made your gut clench. Night meant less visibility — good for hiding, bad for sleeping.

The two of you rolled into the depot’s yard, the bike’s engine echoing faintly against cracked walls. Sunlight caught on twisted metal beams and faded hazard signs. A chain-link fence sagged in places, and a pair of fuel drums lay on their sides like fallen sentinels.

Cassidy killed the engine and listened. You did the same. The silence was deep enough to press against my ears.

He swung off the bike and tipped his hat back. “C’mon. Let’s see if we’ve got four walls and a roof somewhere in there.”

Inside, the depot smelled faintly of rust and sand. Broken shelving leaned against the walls, and the concrete floor was littered with bolts and scraps of fabric. A half-collapsed office sat in the corner.

You trailed a hand along the wall, feeling the cool of the shaded concrete. “Not exactly five stars.”

He smirked. “Stars are overrated. Just need somethin’ with a door.”

You ended up in one of the storage rooms, its door still intact. Cassidy slid a length of rebar through the handle from the inside. It wouldn’t stop someone determined, but it might buy you both a minute.

He pulled a small pack from the bike’s side compartment and tossed it onto the floor. “Food’s mostly rations. I’d offer to whip somethin’ up, but my cookin’ tends to end friendships.”

You sat down on the floor opposite him, legs crossed, and took one of the ration bars. The taste was chalky, but it gave you something to focus on besides the quiet.

After a moment, you looked up at him. “Cassidy…” you started, voice softer. “Do you think you’d ever go back? Rejoin Overwatch?”

He paused, eyes narrowing slightly beneath his hat. “You mean… take Winston up on that Recall?”

You sheepishly nodded, watching his face for any sign of what he really thought.

He sighed, a slow exhale that seemed to carry years of dust and regret. “Used to think I had an answer for that. That I’d know when the time came. But truth is... I’m not sure anymore.”“What’s holding you back?” you asked, careful.

“A lot,” he said. “The way things ended. The ghosts I’m still trying to outrun. And the men they send after us now. But… maybe there’s still something worth fighting for.”

You swallowed hard. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m brave enough to believe that.”

He gave you a faint smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess that’s why we keep running—waiting to find out.”

The question hung heavy between the two of you.

The weight of what was coming—of what you might have to face if that call is answered.

The silence stretched, filled only by the soft whisper of wind through broken windows.

“You should get some rest,” Cassidy said finally. “Tomorrow’s gonna be long.”

Rest. You weren't sure you remembered how to do that. But the weight of exhaustion eventually pressed you down, and let your eyes close — though you kept your hand near your sidearm.

Outside, the wind shifted.

Somewhere far off, carried just faintly on the air, came the crunch of boots on gravel.

Chapter Text

The desert had a way of swallowing sound, keeping it’s secrets. Wind moved through the half-collapsed depot, stirring grit across the floor, but otherwise the night was quiet. Too quiet.

I hadn’t slept. Didn’t figure I would. Not with the Recall burnin’ a hole in my head.

Overwatch.

Hadn’t heard that name in years without it tasting bitter in my mouth. Used to be home, once. A family, or close enough to pass. Then it all fell apart- arguments, betrayals, the whole damn thing goin’ up in smoke. And me? I walked away before I got burned with the rest. Thought I was smart for it. Thought I was survivin’.

Now Winston calls us back like we’re supposed to just put the band together. Like no time’s passed, like all those graves never got filled.

I don’t know if I can go back. Don’t even know if there’s anything worth goin’ back to.

But every times I look over at her- resting’ against the wall, breath slow, finally gettin’ some peace-I can’t help wonderin’.

She’s got that look in her eye when the Recall comes up. The one that says she fightin’ herself harder than she’s fightin’ anyone else. I know that fight. I’ve lived it. And truth be told, I don’t want her carryin’ it alone.

She deserves more than this. More than runnin’ from town to town, patchin’ up strangers and fugitives like me. She deserves a chance to believe in somethin’ again.

Hell, maybe I do too.

The thought sits heavy in my chest, tougher than the leather of my belt. If Overwatch could mean somethin’ again, if it could give her a reason to stop lookin’ so damn tired all the time…maybe it’s worth swallowin’ my pride.

I sigh and adjust my revolver, keepin’ my eyes on the broken window. Just in case.

Thats when I hear it. Bootsteps. Slow deliberate. Heavy enough to rattle the gravel outside.

My hand stills on the grip of the Peacekeeper. Through the slits of wood I catch sight of him-a broad shape, shoulders like stone, cloak trailing like smoke caught in the breeze.

Reaper.

Every ex-agent I’ve run into since the Recall’s been mutterin’ his name like a curse. Some say he’s a mercenary. Some say he’s a ghost. Some say he's the last thing you see before Talon puts you in the ground.

And yet…there's somethin’ about him. The way he carries himself - head tilted, stance wide, weight always forward. It couldn't be… My eyes widen and a sense of familiarity hits me square in the chest. Something too familiar.

Gabriel.

I shake my head hard, as if shaking will throw it clean out of my skull. No. Gabriel Reyes is dead. Has been for years. He was a leader, a mentor, and a friend. I buried him with the rest of Overwatch.

This thing prowlin’ the sand? That ain't him. That ain't my Gabriel. It can't be.

So I sit in the dark, teeth gritted, every nerve in me screamin’ as the cloak ripples past the depot fence. He pauses, like he can feel eyes on him, and the air grows cold. Colder than it has any right to be. The silence is thick, I can hear my own heart beating, my chest is tight and my breath ragged. I look at him and he stares right back at me. Then just like that he slips into the night.

I don't breathe until he's gone and even then I can't move for another beat.

Denial’s a funny thing. You can feel it rottin’ in your chest, but you hold onto it anyways.

I glance back at her, still asleep, her brow furrowed like even her dreams won't leave her in peace. For a second I let myself soften, lettin’ the edge in me ease down.

‘It's been too long’ I think. Since I've had a friend that's been around. I feel my heart ache at the thought. Long lost friends running, hiding, and some still trying to make a difference. I feel my lips twitching thinking of a certain sniper and sword wielding. Maybe when this is all over…

Hours dragged on. The once chilled night slowly easing into a warm dawn. The room eventually filled with painted colors of golds, browns and reds, dust filtering through the cracks. I stayed where I was, stiff and sore, watchin’ the sunlight crawl across her boots to her face.

She stirred, rubbing her eyes, hair mussed and sticking out in different directions. For a second, she looked so young it hurt. Like someone who hadn't carried too much, and was ready to take on whatever the world brought.

“Morning, doc,” I drawled, voice low.

She squinted at me, still half asleep. “You're still awake? Thought we agreed you were the one supposed to rest.”

“Didn't much take,” I admitted. “Guess I'm getting old.”

Her brow furrowed as she sat up. “Or just stubborn.”

That earned her a ghost of a grin. “Ain't those the same thing?”

She huffed but there was the faintest curve of her lips. For a moment, just a moment, it was easy to pretend we weren't sitting in a half-busted depot with a ghost prowlin' the desert.

But pretending don't change the truth.

I stood, sliding the revolver back into its holster. My joints ached from keepin’ still all night. “We can’t stay here. Not after last night.”

Her eyes sharpened at that, all traces of sleep gone. “Someone came?”

I hesitated. Too long, maybe. Then I shook my head. “Just a feelin’. Don’t like the way the desert sounded. Too quiet.”

Her stare lingered, sharp, like she wanted to press. But she didn’t. She just nodded, gathering her pack.

“Where to?” she asked.

“Anywhere that ain’t here.”

And with that, we stepped out into the early morning light. The world looked almost peaceful under the dawn, but the quiet didn’t fool me. Ghosts had long memories, and they were still out there.

And maybe one of ‘em used to be a friend I’d buried a long time ago.

Chapter Text

Sunrise bled over the desert in shades of rust and gold, turning the sand into fire. I pulled my hat down low against the glare and adjusted the saddlebag over my shoulder. Didn’t much like leaving cover behind, but stayin’ would’ve been worse.

I head to the bike and get ready to saddle up. I knew there was a town nearby and it's best to get somewhere and come up with a plan. A wave of sadness hits me with what I have in mind. It needs to be done though, these are frightening times for ex Overwatch operatives. I can't jeopardize someone's safety. Not again…

She walked a few paces behind me, quiet but steady, her pack slung across her back. Didn’t complain once, even though I could see the stiffness in her stride. She was tougher than she let on. Always had been. Though lookin’ at her now—eyes still shadowed from bad sleep, lips pressed thin—I knew “unshakable” was just a word folks used to keep themselves from worryin’. Nobody walks outta Overwatch untouched.

Just as I was about to start up, I noticed something poking out from the side under the frame. I sit on my haunches and take a look and what I see brings my blood to a boil. Wires. Cut to shit.

“Dammit” I hiss, grabbing a cigar from my pocket.

“Everything alright?”, she calls out face eyebrows creased with concern.

I take a moment to light and rip a drag letting the tobacco flow and soothe my worried thoughts.

“Cords cut. Bikes junk now. We're back to walking sweetheart.”

I look out down the horizon trying to think of how long of a walk this will take us to get there. I was so lost in thought I didn't even notice her moving next to me.

“How could that have happened?” She tried to look unafraid but I could see the worry in her eyes she tried so hard to shield.

I bite the cigar and roll it across my teeth. “I don't know.” I lied. I couldn't tell her, I shoulda said the truth but for some reason I couldn't bring myself to put that burden on her after everything she's already done.

“Well,” she sighed putting a hand on my shoulder. “ We had better get a move on cowboy”

A small chuckle escapes me as I stand up, “Better get a move on indeed, doc.”

She offers a soft smile, and starts heading down the road, me following right behind her.

It took about a mile for us to speak again, her being the one that broke it.

“You didn’t sleep.”

“Didn’t need to,” I muttered.

She shot me a look from the corner of her eye. “That’s not how sleep works, Cassidy.”

I smirked, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “Worked that way for me for years.”

She didn’t laugh, and the silence stretched again.

Truth was, she was right. I hadn’t slept, not proper, not since the Recall. Not since I heard Winston’s voice break through static and memory. It stirred things up inside me I’d rather keep buried. Old ghosts don’t take kindly to bein’ dug up.

And then there was last night.

Reaper.

I didn’t tell her. Couldn’t. How do you explain seein’ a ghost that wears the body of a man you used to follow into battle? A man you’d have bet your life on? Hell, I’m still not sure I wasn’t dreamin’. Denial sits easier than truth sometimes.

I glanced back at her, caught the way her hand flexed near the strap of her pack, like she wanted something to hold onto. The Recall was eating her up same as me. Could see it in her eyes. She wanted to believe in it. Wanted to believe Overwatch could be somethin’ again.

Me? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was if she answered that call, I’d be right there at her side. For better or worse.

The horizon shifted as we crested a dune, a town sprawlin’ out below—small, dusty, the kind of place where news traveled faster than water. We’d have to be careful.

I raised a hand, stoppin’ her before we descended. “We go in quiet,” I said. “Quick bite, keep your head down. No lingerin’, no questions.”

She arched a brow. “And if someone recognizes you?”

“Then we make damn sure they regret rememberin’.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, and just like that, some of the tightness eased between us. Only for a moment, but it was enough.

I looked back at the town. Somewhere out there, Talon was huntin’. And somewhere out there, a ghost with Gabriel’s walk was waitin’ for me to make a mistake.

But I couldn’t think about that now. Right now, all that mattered was keepin’ her alive.

Because I’d already lost too many people I cared about.

And I wasn’t about to add her to the list.

The diner smelled of fried grease and burnt coffee, but I wasn’t complainin’. A meals a meal. She sat across from me in the booth, quiet, shoulders hunched like she wasn’t sure if she belonged here.

Didn’t take a medic to know she was carryin’ too much weight.

I let the silence stretch, the radio buzzing in the corner about scattered unrest in other regions—little flashes of Winston’s Recall ripple-writin’ itself across the world. People were listenin’, some answerin’, some hidin’. Felt like we were caught between the two. My mind drifted to Blackwatch and Genji. I could only wonder where that poor bastard is at. Knowing him he's probably set to answer the recall and do some good. I look at her and steeled myself for what I was about to do. Though the longer I looked the harder it was to open my mouth.

Finally, I spoke, voice low enough it didn’t carry. “There’s a station. Few towns over, along the freight line. You get there, you can make your way anywhere. Maybe even straight to Gibraltar if you’re lookin’ to answer that call.”

Her brow furrowed. “And you?”

I stared down into my coffee, turned the mug in my hand. “Me? I’m not goin’ back. Not to Overwatch. Not after Blackwatch.”

The name sat between us heavy as a bullet. I didn’t look up right away. Didn’t want to see the question in her eyes, the one I didn’t have a neat answer for.

“Truth is,” I went on, “I already had my time with ‘em. Gave what I had, made my mistakes, and buried too many friends along the way. I don’t think I’d fit in their picture no more.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but I cut in before she could.

“But you—” I leaned forward, meeting her eyes now. “You still got it. You were a damn fine medic then, and you still are. Folks talked about you, y’know. Whole strike teams would come back in one piece ‘cause of you. Wasn’t just your hands, neither. Was the way you looked ‘em in the eye and gave ‘em somethin’ solid to hold onto. You kept people goin’ when bullets couldn’t.”

Her mouth opened, surprised, like she hadn’t expected me to know her that well. I didn’t give her the chance to press me on it.

“World needs that again. Needs *you.*” My voice softened, the words rough-edged but honest. “Don’t waste it by trailin’ some washed-up cowboy who can’t let go of ghosts. Once we get to that station… you go your way. I’ll go mine.”

I didn't want her to go, it was nice to have a friend. As good as I am at being a wandering cowboy I couldn't deny the nights of loneliness. Blackwatch may have been a mess, but it was mine. Made up of people who may not have been all good, but showed some level of care and gave me something. It felt nice having someone patch up this ol tumbleed.

Her eyes searched mine, something tight pulling at her features. She didn’t answer right away, just fiddled with the fork in her hand like it might give her something steady to hold onto. I could see the fight in her—the part that wanted to argue, and the part that knew I was right.

I sat back, gave her space. Pretended like the clatter of plates and the sizzle from the kitchen were enough to fill the silence. But inside, every word scraped me raw.

I never thought I'd see her again, it had been once. One fucking little moment. A moment I've been chasing and trying to add the next part whenever I'd be at headquarters and asking Angela questions that would get me shoo’d off. That was then though, and this is now and I won't get someone killed just because I do what I always do and fail to let go.

Before she could find her answer, the radio popped sharp with static. The people in the diner quieted, heads turning toward the speaker mounted above the counter.

“—reports of explosions on the east side of town. All citizens advised to stay indoors. Emergency services en route—”

The broadcast cut out in a burst of static. The room went still.

Then came the sound—a low, distant rumble. Not thunder. Not natural. Explosives. The kind I’d heard too many times before.

The diner stirred into chaos. Folks rose from their seats, some rushing to the windows, others to the doors. I stood slow, one hand on my revolver. Across from me, she was already pushing out of the booth, her medic’s instinct writ plain on her face.

I caught her arm just long enough to say it: “Stay close.”

I threw some change on the table and lit a cigar feeling the adrenaline kick up in me. For a moment it felt like I was thrown back to the past, another mission waiting to be handled.

We stepped out into the sunlight together. Smoke was rising from the east end of town, curling thick into the morning sky. Screams echoed down the street as people scattered.

And then, through the haze, came shadows moving in formation. Too controlled. Too practiced.

Talon.

I felt my jaw tighten as I cocked the Peacekeeper.

“Looks like we got company,” I muttered.

She adjusted the strap of her pack, eyes narrowed, steady. “Then let’s get to work.”

We moved forward, side by side, into the storm.

Chapter Text

You barely register the ringing in your ears as the next explosion shatters the glass of a nearby building followed by the sound of bullets and the diner breaking apart. Glass from the diner windows sprays across the floor like lethal confetti, the acrid tang of smoke and scorched metal filling your lungs. Your hands move before your mind catches up — shoving the nearest civilians to cover, directing terrified diners toward the alley, checking pulses with practiced speed.

Cassidy’s voice cuts through the chaos, low and sharp. “Move! Keep your heads down! Doc!”

You glance toward the street and see him draw his Peacekeeper in a single, fluid motion, eyes scanning the smoke-filled street. Bullets kick up sparks from the pavement around his boots. Foot soldiers — Talon, no doubt — are already streaming through the gaps in smoke, moving like shadows with lethal intent.

A woman collapses against a post, her arm pinned to her side hanging loosely. You rush to her and press your hands to the wound. Her pulse is weak. “Hold still… hold still…” you murmur.

Behind you, Cassidy is firing, taking down two soldiers before they realize he’s there. He drops one with a precise shot, pivoting on the balls of his boots to cover another. “Told you I was good at this,” he says, smirking over the roar of gunfire.

You can’t afford the distraction. “Less talking, more covering fire!” you snap, dragging the woman to the side with crates as coverage.
“Charming as always, doc,” he calls back, fire crackling in the distance.

Bullets zing past, and a second group advances, forcing you and a handful of civilians against the alley wall. You glance over the street and catch the motionless body of a man who didn’t make it to cover. Your chest tightens. You know there’s nothing you can do for him now. Your hands shake slightly, but you shove the feeling down. There are still people who can be saved. You push forward.

You rush with a pressure dressing to a woman with a pink dress and matching ribbon clutching her stomach. “Stay with me!” you shout. “You’re going to be okay!” You feel blood coating your hands and a cough to your face putting spots of blood on you. You don't waiver and keep your face the same. “You're going to be okay, keep your eyes open and on me! What's your name?” The woman let's out a shaky breathe “M-M-Maria” “You're gonna be okay Maria, I'm right here”

Your hands are working fast and you shoot your head up every few seconds surveying as Cassidy fires strategically reloading quickly and rolling away. “Hey! Hey! Hey! Eyes open Maria, how old are you?” Maria shakes her head, eyes fighting to stay open as she chokes out “t-t-twenty-t-two, I-I just-just turned…” You feel your heart ache and your mind is screaming to do more. You can't stay here long, people need your help and you're left with a choice you will never get over no matter how many battlefields you run into: do you stay to save her, or do you go and try to save others?

The challenges weighs heavy on you as you continue in your attempt to stabilize her. “My-my-my”... “Sh hey don't talk it's okay you're okay-” “My friend was-was h-here, I-I don't-don't see her, please find her.” You feel yourself hesitate at hearing this, not wanting to leave her. “I can't leave you here, please let me-” “N-N-NO, please! She ha-has a s-s-son, sh-she needs to-ro get ba-ack to him!” You watch her shakily reach into her pocket with a folded and scuffed picture showing Maria and another woman “This-this is her. Her name is B-B-Beatrice” she shoves the picture at you, and undoes her hair giving you the pink ribbon, the gunfire is loud and Cassidy is cursing and shouting and yet all you can focus on is Maria.

“Please…” You snap out of your daze and give her a quick nod then wrapping her as best as possible and tucking her against some crates. “I will come back for you, you're gonna make it.” She smiles as you run off looking to help others and find her poor friend.

The sniper’s glint catches your eye above a distant building. Its rifle lines up with Cassidy. You don’t even think — you shout a command across the street: “Right flank, three steps! Cover the shadow on the wall!”

Cassidy pivots mid-shot, the bullets of the sniper thudding into the wall inches from his head. Sparks fly, dust showers over him, and you see the faintest flicker of surprise in his eyes. Then he grins. “Good eye, doc!”

You grit your teeth. “I’m not here to babysit — move!”

The sniper repositions. You calculate angles fast — broken streetlight, overturned cart, the edge of a wall. “Cassidy! Behind the cart, angle left, now!” you shout, guiding him like a maestro.

He hits the mark exactly, sweeping Talon foot soldiers in the crossfire as you shift injured civilians behind new cover keeping an eye out for Beatrice. The rhythm is chaotic at first, missteps and near collisions, but gradually your movements start to mesh. Cassidy fires, you shout directions, and suddenly the street becomes a coordinated ballet of bullets and triage.

One soldier breaks cover and throws a grenade. You slam a civilian and roll to safety, eyes meeting Cassidy’s. “On me! Right side, now!” you command. He spins, blasting the soldier just as the grenade skitters across the pavement. Shrapnel scars the wall behind him.

Your heart races — every beat amplified by adrenaline, every second a calculation. Flashbacks from Strike Team missions ripple through your mind, memories of surgeries in field tents, of lives slipping through your fingers. The sight of a civilian pinned beneath debris makes your stomach churn. The thought of Maria burning in your mind. You can’t save everyone. You can’t. But you keep moving, because someone still can be saved.

The sniper lines up again. Cassidy ducks instinctively, then freezes as you shout, “Move! Pivot! Too exposed!” You see him adjust instantly, taking cover behind a crate just as the shot slams into the metal beside him. He fires, taking the sniper off the edge of the roof in one clean, devastating shot.

For a fraction of a second, the two of you lock eyes. The street is chaos, smoke, dust, and screams, but in that moment, there’s clarity — instinctive, unspoken. The two of you are in sync. Your commands flow naturally; his movements echo yours. The synergy doesn’t feel planned — it just works.

You realize then that this is what it could be: fast, efficient, deadly when necessary, protective when needed. A team, forged under fire.

The remaining Talon soldiers press harder, but your coordination with Cassidy holds the line. You throw medkits to civilians behind crates, pressing bandages to shrapnel wounds while shouting rapid orders. Cassidy’s sarcasm occasionally cuts through: “Still doing the hero thing, doc?”

“Always,” you bark back, “and keep your head down while I save everyone!”

Minutes stretch into eternity. Smoke lifts. Foot soldiers fall one by one; the sniper is gone. The street lies in ruin, scattered bodies, overturned carts, shattered glass, and injured civilians. You kneel, taking a moment to check pulses, noting who survived and who didn't. From the side you see a shadow of a slumped body against the crates with dried blood coming from a pink dress. You let out a shaky breathe and feel tears hit the back of your eyes. ‘Not here’ you think, ‘Not yet’. You look for Beatrice in the sea of debris and people. By some stroke of luck you see a woman just like in the picture with dust and scrapes nursing her leg.

“BEATRICE!” You shout. The woman looks up hope lighting up her face and then confusion when she sees you. You jog over panting and feeling winded but still being strong knowing the jobs not done. “Are you Beatrice?” “Yes…” she responds with worry, lacing her tone. “Did Maria send you? Where is she? Is she alive?” You take a deep breath and reach into your pocket pulling out the pink ribbon. “I'm sorry…” The two of you remain in silence as your words crash over her. “Oh God…” She says, tears streaming down her face, shakily reaching for the ribbon “No, nor my Maria…” You swallow thickly, “She-she said, you had a son and that…that you needed to be found and make it home.” Beatrice looks up at you tear stained and confused, “A son? I don't have a son, why would she-” A fresh wave of sobs wracks her body as the realization sets in for both of you “Maria you idiot…” Beatrice sobs and holds the ribbon close to her heart as you're left standing feeling guilt, rage and sadness crash repeatedly

You whisper another apology to Beatrice and turn looking to try and help anybody else who needs it.
You catch your reflection in a shard of broken glass — sweat, soot, blood smudged across your face. A child you helped earlier looks at you, tears streaked on her cheeks. You choke down the tightening in your chest. You couldn’t save everyone, but the ones alive depend on you. You push forward, bandaging, moving, scanning. You cannot stop.

Cassidy leans against a wall, wiping soot from his brow, a grin on his face. “Not bad for a first day in hell.”

You shake your head, exhausted. “First day? Feels like a lifetime.”

A voice cuts through the settling dust, calm, precise, and chilling:

“Fascinating. Such efficient responses under pressure. You might almost pass for competent professionals. How… delightful.”

Your stomach drops. Cassidy stiffens beside you. The voice is clinical, analytical, almost enjoying the data you’ve provided through your survival. This is no congratulation — it’s an observation. A test.

You grip your medkit tighter. The calm is temporary. The streets are quiet for now, but you know the war isn’t over. Cassidy is beside you, silent, alert, but you can feel the weight of what’s coming.