move, rip, repeat

chapter one - you really shouldn't sneeze

The Chinese climatologist, the only to survive from their Antarctic watchpoint incident was also tending to her weapon. She, however, seemed to be a nervous wreck, mumbling things under her breath. From the parts that were more audible, it was easy to pick up that she was speaking in Mandarin.

Vishkar's poster girl, a master of what they called hardlight, was attempting to clean what little of herself she could. Her pristine weapon was set beside her as she patted down her uniform, which was covered in dust. The ends were ripped and Genji could see frustration pooling off of her.

Taking a step back from the group, it was obvious to see that there would be no room for friendliness, expect perhaps from Mei-Ling Zhou, so he did not question the silence. But they were missing one more, only known to Zenyatta and himself. Surveying the debris, he could only assume that the man had long since fled, no longer trusting the invitation.

Movement caught his eye and for a second, he believed that maybe he had thought wrong.

Regrettably, the American saying that 'old habits die hard' held true to this situation. Instead he found something different. Much, much different. There was a body pinned under some of the rock and rubble. Dead?

His assumption was proved incorrect as the body started to cough. Not skipping a beat, he rolled his shuriken back into his arm and jumped down. As he began to shift the first piece of concrete off the body, he examined them. An older teenager, no weapons, and odd civilian clothing. A female. What were they doing by an abandoned Overwatch warehouse?

-

Do you know what the best kind of morning is like? No? Let me describe it for you. First, you have to wake up with a pounding headache, the kind that makes you want to puke and then pass out. Second, you have to have a shit ton of tubes and wiring sticking in you. Like a lot, a lot. To the point where you lost count at forty-five.Third, you need to add in a mix of 'I don't know where I am'.

And, oh gosh, you can't forget to add in a dash of 'what the fuck happened to me' and 'did I get hit by a truck' soreness! All of this, makes for a charming morning.

Actually, you know what's even better? Waking up with all of that and then immediately start to get interrogated. Or at least there was an attempt.

"We can't just interrogate a patient who is barely conscious! Especially to the extent that she has been injured. She should not even be awake!"

"Ziegler, this child was found underneath the rubble of an Overwatch warehouse where we were gathering people who were responding to the recall. Not only that, the place was hundreds of clicks away from the nearest patch of civilization!"

Yup. Best morning in the world. He had such great luck, didn't he? His eyes shifted back and forth between the two arguing figures who had apparently forgotten he was still very much awake. One stood in a labcoat, platinum blonde hair tied in a high ponytail. She had some kind of Germanic accent, but it didn't quite match. Her hands were wrapped tightly around a clipboard which she jabbed at every once in awhile as if to prove a point.

The other was an older man, white hair blending in with the white wall directly behind him. He had a blue visor, fitted with red glass, reflecting some light and covering the near entirety of his face. It was impossible to predict his emotions, but his voice sounded annoyed and rough. Emil had a feeling that his voice held that edge all the time. There was also underlying accent that sounded from the south of the Great US of A. Oklahoma?

W-Wait hold on, back up to their earlier words. The doc had misgendered him, then said something about severe injuries? Enough to keep him knocked out a long longer than apparently he had slept. He sure felt like it. Then Ziegler? He recognized the name, but couldn't place it. It tickled the back of his brain, but to no avail.