This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

The plan started out fine. Find Talon branch. Destroy Talon branch.

76 had gotten a little past the "find" part of the plan when it all went to shit. Destroy had started out strong. Then a stray bullet cracked his visor and everything started going south. The visor malfunctioned, leaving him cripplingly blind in the dark, thermal and night-vision gone for crucial seconds. And his sight had never recovered from the blast thirty years ago. Fighting a gang of punks nearly blind while not trying to kill them was a bitch. A couple had already got a few lucky punches in his ribs. He ducked behind a crate as bullets ripped through the wood where he'd been standing seconds ago. The jets of air slashed at his jacket as splinters rained across his face.

Fuck. He was getting too old for drawn out firefights.

He waited for the lull of reloading and stepped around the corner. His visor flared bright red, marking five targets in a fraction of a second. He snapped his rifle up. Five times he pulled the trigger. Five targets blinked out. He ducked behind cover again, waiting to see if there was answering gunfire.

It was quiet as death. Crap. He only shot them in the chest. They didn't make punks like they used to. He leaned around the corner, doing a quick sweep. The visor flickered dangerously.

"Damn!"

It gave him the all clear on thermal, but something was moving. Impossible. No heat signature but movement? Talon didn't use mechs. The visor went out.

"Fuck." He pulled a new clip out of his hip pocket. Last one. "Shit." Had to make it count. Maybe it was nothing.

A breeze whispered by his cover, slow, methodical. No natural breeze moved like that. Not a nothing then. 76 rammed the clip home. His cracked visor blinked back on, the red-tinted world he'd come to know wavered, clouded by static. But static couldn't explain the tail of black smoke winding closer to him, zig-zagging with unnatural speed. He shot it. The black spit apart around the bullet and rushed by his legs. Not. Natural. He whirled around, rifle up. The visor flickered. Not now! There was a ghost of a silhouette against the shadows. He fired. The visor blacked out.

Low chuckling filled the air. There was a harsh, mechanical tinge to it, much like 76's own voice. Someone in a mask like him.

"Not a bad shot," came the low voice. "But not good enough."

With his vision gone, 76's hearing improved. There was the faintest whisper of metal against leather. Gun! He dropped and spun around the corner a fraction of a second before duel blasts tore through the air. Burning pain in a dozen places ripped through his right shoulder and bicep. Fuck! Shot guns!

Distance. He needed distance. And eyes god damn it! He took a chance. Slinging the rifle back into its holster on his back, he lunged across what felt like an open gap, hands outstretched and grasping. He nearly crashed into another crate. With finely honed reflexes that hadn't betrayed him like his eyes, he hauled himself up and over the top. Another shotgun blast ripped by him as he rolled away. Fuck this guy was fast! Too fast.

"Hide and seek?" the eerie voice mocked. "Aren't you a little old for games?"

76 dropped to the floor. His knees ached from the impact. The buckshot in his arm burned with vengeful fury. He pushed the pain aside and tapped the visor, trying to reboot. Darkness. Fuck! He unslung the rifle, putting his back to the crate and feeling his way along. His finger's sensitivity increased, feeling changes in air pressure, leading around another corner and behind a new hiding place. He was lost in a maze, low on ammo, nearly blind, with a fresh gunman after him. His day could've been better.

There was a noise somewhere behind him, a soft scrape of boot on floor. Had to keep his distance. He slipped around a corner, pressing his back to it. The rifle was shit up close unless he was using it for blunt force impacts. If his visor would only—a swish of cloth made him hold his breath. That had come from in front of him. Two attackers? No way could one move so fast to get in front of him.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," whispered the mask-concealed voice again, way too close for comfort.

76 slipped an empty cartridge out of his pocket, hoped he'd memorized the terrain right, and chucked it into the blackness. He nearly snarled in pain as the shot gun wound burned. For several agonizing seconds it was silent. Then, several dozen yards away there was a sudden clang where the cartridge hit the floor.

Material snapped, fluttering in a rapid breeze. Shit that had been right on top of him! How could he not hear someone so damn close? He waited for a breathless second and then doubled back the way he came away from the noise, taking a new route through the maze of shipping crates. His visor clicked. The damn thing had better start working and fast! The red world appeared once more, muted, with a large, bare crack down the center. Better than nothing. With surer steps, he worked his way through the maze. This target was too good for one clip. Somehow, with all 76's enhancements, he'd failed to hear the other's approach until he was nearly cornered. And even with his sight back, 76 was at a serious disadvantage. He was wounded and out gunned. The best course of action would be escape, research who the fuck this guy was and go at him again when the advantage wasn't in his favor.

His entry point wasn't too far away. If he could slip out in the dark and—

"Clever," the voice said, "but if you think you can hide in shadows, I am darkness. You cannot escape from me."

Fuck it was a crazy one on top of being a pain in the ass. He leaned forward, checking around the corner. Nothing on thermal. Still? What the hell? Why wasn't this guy's body heat showing up? He moved without a sound behind a crate with its doors open for extra cover. Stealthily, he moved across the gap to the other side. He checked around the next corner. His visor warned of movement. He saw it, a streak of mist, slithering through the air like a snake toward him. He put the rifle on his back again and lept up. His fingers grabbed the rim of the crate. With an effort, he soundlessly hauled himself up.

The smoke passed by, winding down into darkness. Too close. 76 went the opposite direction, stealing across the top of the crate, careful to keep his boots quiet. This wasn't some Talon street punk. This was a professional. And he was good.

A speck of dim light appeared beside the crack in his visor. His entry point. It was still a distance away. Jumping would make too much noise. He did a movement sweep. The visor flickered dangerously, but reported nothing close by. Now or never. He came to the end of his elevated path and carefully let himself down. He strained his ears. No sounds. No boot scrap or material flapping. He didn't like it. Not knowing where the guy was unsettled him. Better to have an enemy in his sights then the other way around. Creeping forward, he wove through a tangle of smashed debris. There was a large, open stretch from his cover to the entry point. He'd have to run for it. Shit. Everything had gone to hell.

One last sweep for movement and he bolted. He was halfway across the gap in a few strides. He was going to make— something bashed into him, throwing him sideways. Two powerful arms encircled his chest, cold, metal claws piercing through his thick jacket down into flesh. Entangled, they hit the ground and rolled. 76's back exploded with pain. Snarling, he squeezed off a shot. In the burst of light, he managed to get a glimpse of his target. Black on black, his poor eyesight couldn't make out much more than a powerful frame straddling him, face shrouded with a cowl. What he could see clearly was a stark-white mask like the skull of an animal, with empty sockets for eyes. The light vanished and he was left grappling with a ghost of an image in the visor.

Clawed fingers grabbed his wrist and wrenched. With a strangled shout, 76 lost his grip on the rifle. It clattered to the ground and out of sight. Fuck! He kicked his leg out and back, catching the target in the back of the head with the end of his steel-toed boot. The masked man grunted, caught off guard. 76 rammed his free palm forward, under the mask into a stone-like chin. The man's head snapped back and he snarled, letting go of 76's wrist. Damn! That should have broken his neck! Who was this guy? He reached up with both hands, grabbed the target by the neckline of his Kevlar body suit and pulled him down as he brought his head up. His forehead smashed against the mask and sent pain ringing through his skull like a gong. Shit that hurt!

The masked man teetered. 76 rolled him before the head-butt wore off. Shredded shoulder shrieking in protest, he reversed their positions, slamming the man's head down on the concrete floor. One hand squeezed the target's throat while the other made sure he had a good grip on target's dominant hand.

"Who the hell are you?" he barked.

The masked man laughed. "Not bad. I haven't had a fight like this in years."

76 cracked the man's skull on the ground again. "Answer me!"

More laugher. Then, the man's body... changed. 76 felt it shift under him, turning lighter, unstable. Under his hands, the body turned into mist.

"What the fuck!" 76 dropped to the ground as the body under him evaporated into air. Thick, black mist circled around him like a cyclone. Holy shit was the smoke the man's body?

He got his answer when the mist gathered and the masked figure appeared out of it. He reached into the blackness of his long coat and extracted two enormous shotguns. Someone must be compensating. 76 lunged away. Twin blasts decimated the concrete he'd vacated. He rolled over his lost rifle, grabbed it and came up in a kneel, firing off two shots into the chest. Or they would have been chest shots. The man turned to mist again and the bullets zipped right through him. Fuck.

On his feet again, he broke for the door. The smoke clearly couldn't attack him and with distance, the shotguns were useless. Two steps from the door the masked man exploded out of the dark in front of him. 76 lowered his shoulder, braced to ram. He connected with the man, hard. For a second, he thought he'd barrel right through him. Then the solid body against his shoulder gave way and a clawed hand lashed out, grabbed his back and swung him around with the force of his own charge. As he was swung, 76 planted a foot on the ground to give him a stable footing, ducked under the grasping arm with all the grace of a dancer, grabbed it and twisted. But the masked man was ready. He turned with him, the arm rotating hopelessly out of 76's reach. They ended mask to mask, centimeters away.

Two counters perfectly executed.

God damn.

No one but another super solider was that fast. That perfect.

"Who are you?" the masked man whispered in their mutual pause.

"I asked first." 76 threw a right hook, catching the mask in the cheek and sent the man staggering.

Fuck that hurt! What was that thing made of? A metal fist slammed into his ribs, right in his bruised side. 76 reeled, gasping. Another blow rattled his other side before he caught his balance. Sidestepping the next left hook, he slipped in under the masked man's guard and delivered one punch to the solar plexus and another to the sternum. There was strangled gasp from the skull mask and then claws dug into the back of his neck and pulled him down.

76 make an X with his arms and blocked the knee aimed at his face. The heavy metal boot sent pain rolling down his arms. The knee came back up, fast as lightning. He deflected the kick, and punched just behind the kneecap. The masked man crumpled to his good knee. 76 swung at the mask again but the man rolled, lashing out a leg and sweeping 76's out from under him. 76 somersaulted through the fall, springing up just in time to duck under the roundhouse kick to the head. He battled back with a flurry of feints and jabs aimed at weak joints. All of them were blocked. He blocked everything the other threw at him. The haymakers, the uppercuts. Despite the stakes, 76 found the fight... invigorating. All the other super soldiers were dead or retired. No one in Talon had given him a fight this good.

He leaned out of the way of a fast roundhouse as his own reverse grapple was deftly avoided. Former Overwatch agent? No way. No Overwatch agent ever turned into smoke. But how was he this strong, this fast?

A clawed fist appeared out of darkness while he had been thinking and caught him in the temple. The visor made a crunching sound and 76 stumbled into complete darkness. Shit. This was bad.

Blows came fast and furious. Without his eyes, all 76 could do was take the blows, blocking when he got lucky and heard one coming. The masked man was merciless. He beat 76's bruised ribs until they broke. He coughed blood into the mask as he fell to his knees.

In a haze, he heard the shot guns unholster. He rolled away a second before they exploded. Razor sharp flecks of cement showered his face. Red hot pain ripped up his right leg. He hadn't been fast enough. Shit he couldn't feel his leg!

A steel boot connected with his face and sent him rolling. Bits of visor glass dug into his face. Fuck he hoped it didn't completely blind him. Not that he'd be living long enough to find out. Coughing, he nearly choked on the blood backing up in the mask. It dribbled down his neck and chest, no doubt making him a sad looking sight. He put his arms under his shoulders and pushed himself up. If he was gonna die today, he was going to face it head on.

Claws grabbed him by the throat, lifted him up and flung him against a wall. His claw lacerated back burned like hellfire. He slumped forward but an icy barrel pressed under his chin, forcing his head back. It was bigger than any shotgun had a right to be. Oh yeah, this guy was compensating hard. If 76's sensitive ears weren't mistaken, his attacker was wheezing. There was at least the satisfaction that he gave the asshat a good workout. Well, at least he was taken out by pro and not a lucky shot by some two-bit hustler.

"Any last words?" the man in the mask asked.

"Suck my cock," he snapped.

There was a pause, and then a soft chuckle. "I bet you'd like that."

God damn right he would! 76 knew Gabe would forgive him. After all, it'd been thirty years. Getting laid one last time before he died would have been ideal. And maybe death wouldn't be so bad. Gabe was waiting on the other side.

The clawed finger caressed the trigger, 76 heard his end coming. Part of the visor glass fell away, tinkling to the floor. He kept his eyes open, staring into the sockets of the mask he could barely see. Still the trigger didn't pull.

"What are you waiting for?" 76 snapped. His voice was gravely and harsh to his own ears, but with the visor broken, it was his own. If he was going to fucking die he didn't want it dragged out.

The masked man said nothing, the shot gun didn't waver. A clawed hand grabbed the mask. Jack kicked off the wall with his good leg, barreling into the man.

Something cold and heavy bashed into his head. 76 saw a blast of white light and felt himself hit the floor like a bag of rocks.