The interior of the stealth chopper were completely silent. Despite the heavy metal blades whirring above, and the strong bitter wind howling outside, it was silent. Neither of the men said a word. It felt as if if either of them let out even one sound the chopper would suddenly be plucked out of the sky and fall to the ground below.

The two men inside the chopper sat still. One, the pilot, wore a black mask and matching black suit, and had a rifle slung over his shoulder.

The other was an infamous figure, as intimidating as he was elusive. Some, most notably his targets, even doubted his existence.

There would be no such targets today.

The man raised his hand, and pulled down a holographic screen from the roof of the vehicle. A quick glance over a few screens confirmed that those targets had reacted as planned. He let out a grunt, breaking the two's unspoken rite.

Reaper rolled his head to his right shoulder, then to his left. This was a long time coming. Time to finish what he started oh to long ago.

"Code red: Attack on base. Chopper on north-east mountainside."

The pager cut to static as McCree ended his transmission. The three had just seen the chopper not too long ago, and after D. Va ran a few tests, it seemed that their was no risk in using the radio. Now all that was left to do was wait for an answer.

They didn't have to wait long, as Winston answered almost immediately.

"Status?" His gruff voice answered back, almost mechanically from his hours of pouring over protocol. McCree sometimes thought that Winston ran through the protocol before he even realized he was speaking.

D .Va and Lucio allotted to let McCree finish the radio call. "It's Talon. Stealth chopper. Knocked out our signals."

They could hear Winston grumble through the radio, immediately calling the image of his face furrowed in thought to their mind. "Strange. This... isn't adding up. The radio's should be out, unless... Unless they bugged us. Are you sure-"

Winston was interrupted by perhaps the only person they didn't expect.

"You don't have worry about that, thanks to me."

"What, Sombra? Is that you? What the... what happened? Don't you hate us right now?" D .Va jumped into the conversation.

She chuckled though the phone. "I still do, a little."

Winston chuckled. "Well, welcome back. We apologize for, well, Tracer apologizes for what she did." Winston said through the intercom.

"Yeah, don't blame that shit on me." McCree said with a snicker. He rolled his head from one side to the other. "Anyway, we need to get serious. What's our plan?"

"I, being the genius I am, hacked into the Talon ship and replaced their sonar with a programmed set of instructions. They'll think we're all in the house."

"Perfect." Winston responded. A short paused followed, filled with Winston's distinct grumbles, the same he always used when formulating a plan of action. Then, a high pitch beep rang throughout the radio network. "Overwatch, new mission. Sombra has rejoined, and Talon is attacking. Sombra has managed to hack their sonar. Everyone, relocate to the north-east mountain side. I'll send the exact location to all of you. Get here soon. We have an ambush to plan."

D. Va breathed in, then out. Her palms were clammy with sweat, so she let go of her mech's controls breifly to readjust her hold on the joysticks. This was no different than the thousand of other times she had gone on a mission, but it never stopped getting to her. Just how terrifyingly real it was. It still seemed insane how quickly she had gone from long drawn out nights in her darkened apartment, eyes glued to the flourescent screen to huge crowds roaring for her in ferverent anticipation.

And now this.

D .Va closed her eyes. Still, this was good. She had friends here. Great friends. She never thought she actually would have met one of her favorite musicians in real life. She let out a short snort. Or a genetically engineered gorilla. Or McCree. Why did he think that cowboy getup was a good idea?

She only had time to briefly contemplate how many times se had had this dialogue with herself before an unmistakable static sound filled her ear.

"Ready D. Va?" Lucio's voice said through the radio. He always helped her keep her cool under the pressure.

"Ready."

D. Va almost robotically jerked the joysticks together and flew out from behind the bluff. Her eyes quickly picked out the black chopper against the white background, and flipped a green switch on her left side. A green hologram appeared in front of her, and the chopper began to fulitly return fire against her. D. Va breaced for impact as she neared the chopper.

Once her mech and the chopper smashed into each other, D. Va lost most of her awareness. the only thing she could pick out as she tumbled toward the ground was the wooshing of rockets.

"Mother! Hurry up, we can't distract the pilot forever!" Pharah yelled trhough the intercom. The other woman didn't respond.

D. Va's heart started to beat in her chest. What's going on? It shouldn't take Ana this long to find a clear shot. She found her bearings again, and started to fire at thce chopper, her bullets barely scratching its ludicrously tough exterior.

"Girls! Get out of there!" Ana suddenly yelled through the intercom.

"Ana, what the hell's going on?" D. Va yelled frantically. "Why can't you shoot the pilot?"

"There is no pilot." The other woman responded. D. Va froze in her seat. It was a red herring.

D. Va's trance was broken by Pharah's cries for help. She jerked into action, and scanned the other woman's situation. She was hovering only a few feet from the floor, and the chopper's guns were whirring up. D. Va flipped the small grees switch, and let out a sigh of relief as the bullets desintegrated with a satisfying fizzle.

Unfotunately, she knew her power would run out before the chopper's bullets did. She sat still, watching the power bar deplete, until she knew she didn't have a choice. With a flick of her wrists, the mech sprung to action and threw itself in front of the other woman.

As bullets clattered against the glass of her mech, it suddenly dawned on D. Va that she had made herself a human shield. "Somebody please do something!"

Her panicked cry turned into panicked breathing as the fortitude of the glass steadily dropped. With little to of time remaining before D .Va became a splotch of blood, she jammed the boosters and kicked herself out of the mech. Luckily, it remianed on a steady course and took on the brunt of the chopper's onslaught.

The mech crashed into the blades of the chopper, making an unbearible screeching sound as the solid steel was torn apart. The chopper started to spin down, but suddenly D .va couldn't foucus on that. Suddenly the cold snow seemed far too warm, and her heavy head far too light. She barely had time to notice the blood dripping from her sides before the pain stabbed into her.

D .Va went fuzzy after that. There was a great deal of screaming and commotion, but only two things were clear in her mind. One was Lucio telling her that she was going to be fine, then yelling that they needed to get her back to the base.

The other was an explosion.

Reaper's body reformed from immaterial, now inside Overwatch's latest hideout. He knew no one was expecting him. They were to preocuppied with the "stealth chopper" outside. Morons.

His boots pushed against the floor, propelling him forward silently. Reaper always noticed that, how even when solid he didn't quite feel like a real thing. Somehow, it was a strangely comforting thought.

He knew this base like the back of his hand, which was unsurprising. He memorized the designs of all the bases back in Blackwatch. All their twists turns and corridors. All their weaknesses.

He knew that someone had to man the defense turrets. They were programmed not to shoot wothout command, as a sign that Overwatch wanted to e peaceful, so that any nation clould approach them at any time. He had told them it was a stupid idea. But they didn't listen. Just like they didn't listen about everything. He was jsut paranoid, after all. Always looking over his shoulder for sings of danger, of catastorphe. It's not like that could ever happen.

It's not like your worst enemies could disguise themselves as your greatest allies, or even thinkn they were. That someone you tossed aside long ago would ever come back with a vengence, not like Reaper had a reason to be looking over his shoulder. They all would have done the same thing, if they had seen what he had.

But its not like that mattered. All that mattered now was the mission. talon owned him, without them, he would shrivel away and die.

He wasn't Gabriel Reyes anymore. He was Reaper.

Reaper ran his hand down an all to familiar strip of wall, just etween the conference room and the dorms. It was a the exact center of the facility, equal distance from every location, from the bays to the labs. He pressed the exact right spot, invisible to anyone that wasn;t looking for it, as they had trained to a thousand times before. A small latch opened, and he typed in the code.

7. 3. 5. 1. 2. His hands raced over all twenty digits. The self-destruct code. Only to be used if enemies were far to deep into Overwatch to be taken care of any other way.

How perfect.

The latch snapped shut, and Reaper turned to walk the way he had already come. Unfortunately, no one was inside. They had all went out to fight the other chopper, the fake. Reaper was steaming when he found out, that his perfect vengence had been thwarted by chance, but it's not like it mattered. With no rescources other than what they could fit on their backs, and no funding from the UN, Overwatch would be powerless. All they could do was watch while all they had worked for burned.

Just like he did. Just like he was going to do. Reaper had known hat for a while, so he had told the escape man to wait untilo after the blast. Reaper wanted to see it destroyed.

So seconds before the bases fuses lit up, as red ligths and sirens filled the halls, he transformed. The feeling was sureal. Being a shadow was one thing, to be one second and the not the next was, interesting, but this time it was different. He could feel the force of the explosion hit him, and he knew that he should be ripped limb from limb, torn to little bloody chunks, but he simply wasn't. He could feel the heat around him, inside him, but Reaper did not burn. He was a ghost, a phantasm.

And just as sudden ly as it started, it stopped. Of course it did, though. It was an explosion. that was how explosions worked. But he couldn't help but feel, disappointed. But if life had proved anything to him, it wa that it was full of dissappointments. And misery. And death.

He could have listed more, but he heard someone behind heim. He didn't have to turn to know who it was. So as he returned to the land of the living, he growled the man's name.

"Morrison."

"Reyes."

Neither said a word after that. Neither shot at or tried to hurt the other. Both knew the damage had been done. Not just today, but a long time ago. So they waited, for nothing in particular, until a helicopter's blades broke the silence. Reaper laughed. Or, grunted may be more acurate.

Reaper turned around. "I'm not Reyes anymore."

Morrison laughed a bitter laugh, then removed his visor, revealing his scarred, useless eyes. "And I'm not Morrison anymore." Theyboth knew this was the last straw. Neither of them were the men that had founded Overwatch. Each had lost to much to think that way anymore, to have grand dreams of saving the world.

Reaper closed his own eyes, thinking over both their ruined lives and discarded identities, of all they had lost in their own eternal wars, and fell backwards over the cliff's edge. And as he fell through the blades and ceiling and onto the floor, he wished, just for a second, that he would never have to open them again.

Tracer sat and twiddled her thumbs, literally. She wasn't sure why she even tried, it's not like it helped calm her down. She had wanted to help Hana, but didn't know anything about medicine or how to treat bulletwounds. She had wanted to help Morrison go investigate the base, but he had slipped off on his own sometime during all the commotion over Hana.

Speak of the devil.

"It was Reyes." Morrison said. "He got away." He sat down, as if that could answer any question they were going to ask him. Not like they could have gotten any more out of him, though.

Tracer breathed out a heavy sigh, and dipped her head before her ears picked up on someone from behind.

"Hana's going to be okay, if you're wondering." Sombra said.

Tracer nearly fell out of her seat. And by nearly, I mean did. "Y-you!" Tracer exclaimed.

"Me!" Sombra agreed enthusiatsically. Her chipper demeanour faded quickly, however. "I suppose your wondering why I came to talk to you?"

Tracer didn't answer. Sombra sighed.

"Well, I never liked to beat around the bush." Sombra continued. "So I wanted to talk to you about your, feelings for me."

Tracer mocked a laugh. "You know what I wanna talk about? ANYTHING ELSE!"

Sombra chuckled. "I don't blame you, but, but this is important. You know it is." Tracer nodded slowly, avoiding eye contact rather delibrately, and Sombra continued.

"I've been thinking about it a bit, and I don't think that you love me, you love the idea of me, what I represent to you. But that's not who I am. If we were ever going to get together, you'd have to move past idolizing me because of what you saw in the Slipstream and learn about who I actually am." Sombra paused and turned to Tracer. "Do, do you understand?"

Tracer looked down, cheeks reddening. "Yeah. I do."

The pair sat in awkward silence after that, neither looking at anything in particular, or really interested in anything for that matter.

"So, what are going to do now?" Sombra asked. "Do any of you have a plan?"

Tracer let out a laugh, relieved to finally have the tension broken. "Nope! None at all!" She laughed even harder when she saw the look on Sombra's face. "Welcome back to Overwatch, Sombra!" Tracer wrapped Sombra up in a tight hug, and Sombra chuckled.

Some part of Tracer was sad. Sad to hear Sombra talk about them being together in hypotheticals, to feel like she was loosing her without ever really having her. But mostly she was just happy to have Sombra around, as another member of the crazy family of misfits and freaks that was Overwatch.

Author's Note: Me? Procrastinate? Never!

Serioulsy though, sorry this chapter took so long to get out. Life happened, and long story short, I missed a week of school because of the flu and now have a PS4 at my own house. My PSN's PumpkinSwift8433, and while I don't have internet access often, I can play Overwatch occassionally and would love to play with you guys. Just message me that you a Brewing Tempests follower/reader and I'll go ahead and add you.

Even though lots of big events like what I did mention have been keeping me a little too busy to write, more than anything it was lack of inspiration. I promise I won't orphan this fic without some simblance of a conclusion, but updates may be anly once every few weeks, not the back to back madness that was this fic's early lifespan. (Seriously, how did I do that?) I'm thankful for all your love and support, see ya later.