I do not own Overwatch.

If I did, bullshit plot devices would not be used to overcome teleportation and super speed abilities.

It's always bugged me when someone has a character like Tracer, or the Flash, and they make them lose for no good reason. In the little episode about Widowmaker, at the end, Tracer was slammed into the wall and her tech vest damaged. That should never have happened. She had the ability, and the experience, to simply zip away from the assassin and easily chase after her from another vantage point. She wouldn't have been able to rewind herself because the timer on that wouldn't have charged back up, but she should have very easily overcome Widowmaker.

In The Flash live action series, season one, Barry Allen lost a fist fight. Allow me to rephrase that. The Flash, the Scarlet Speedster, capable of moving so quickly that the world looks like it's in freeze frame, lost a fist fight with a borderline human, whose only ability was making clones. Bullshit.

This will have none of that. Will there be bullshit? Hell yes, this is a self insert of an idealized version of myself. More bullshit than a cow farm. Will it have the needless nerfing of abilities to advance the plot? Fuck no.

Please Enjoy.

Chapter One: Codename Falcon

June 4th, 2016

"I'm telling you, man, bullshit," I said into my headset, "The Flash should never lose a fistfight with a borderline human. I don't care how many clones he has." I pressed a series of buttons on the game controller I was using. I sighed with disappointment a few seconds later as my avatar was shot dead by the enemy team.

"Yeah, but it made the episode last longer, right? It would have been boring if they ended it like that, wouldn't it?" the man on the other end of the microphone asked.

"No, that is just an excuse for bad writing. They could have had him encounter that cloning lame-ass in the beginning, take him out as easy as you blink, then had it segue into a worse, or less easily dispatched, villain. Or a thousand other things, really. What happened was a mockery to good writing," I huffed, scratching the base of my ponytail, "Aside from that, and one or two other stupidities, it's a really good series and I totally recommend that you watch it, simply to see a person moving that fast in live action."

"After such rousing support, how can I resist?" came the sarcastic response.

"Hey, I can't help it. I'm an analyzer. And I can guarantee you, if I had half as useful an ability as super speed, I wouldn't be taken down so easily," I said.

"If you say so," my friend said and I could hear the uncaring shrug.

I yawned, covering my mouth with a hand, "Listen, I'm gonna sign off. I work tomorrow."

"Kay, see ya later," he said. I quickly turned off the system and headed to the kitchen for a snack.

The door to my apartment blew inward with the force of three armed men tackling it. I would know, because that's what happened. I barely had any time to think about it before six laser sights had me targeted, and I was hit with, I'm going to assume, tranquilizer darts and my consciousness quickly began to fade. Unlike in movies, where it might take a long time for a person's faculties to leave them, giving them plenty of clues about who took them, I only had those few seconds of sensation to take anything away from the whole ordeal.

U.S. Army.

My final thought as I sank into the blackness was, 'Wow, there must be something really special about me for them to do this.'

April 16th, 2047

"General Stanley Devlin, you stand accused of grotesque human experimentation, kidnapping, conspiracy, dissension, and various other traitorous acts," a reporter pushed a microphone into a fifty something general's face, "Do you have any response to this? Any kind of rationale for the heinous acts seen so far?"

General Devlin was a man of less than imposing stature. He came to his full height when he was sixteen at five foot five. His hair was kept in a tight buzzcut and he kept his face smooth and hairless. That said, he still looked like a man who had, could and would kill for his nation, among other things.

"It's a forgone conclusion, you know," the man almost growled, "I'm guilty. I know when the ballot is out. My time is up. You want to know why I did it?"

The reporter, one among many that had come to see the man exit the UN building where he had gone to have the hearing over his indiscretions, was almost, almost, stunned to silence. The others were whispering and muttering in a quiet cacophony, eagerly waiting for more.

That moment of loud whispers was cut short when the General went forward with his explanation.

"None of these people were of any use to America- hell, the world- before I got my hands on them. Not a single one of these citizens would have mattered if I hadn't made them matter. Do you honestly think that you would have cared this much if any of the mongrels had actually been killed by petty crime, or gang violence?" he paused, "I didn't think so. So, give me all your hate, treat me like the worst devil you've ever heard of. I knew what I was doing when I took over Project Prometheus. I stole wood for my stolen fire. Now, get the hell outta my way, I've got a date with a firing squad."

The man pushed roughly through the crowd, the perpetual frown on his face.

Most of the reporters acted quickly, recording his rough exit and writing down his exact words.

One reporter in particular turned towards the camera behind her, mic in hand, "You heard it here, Janet," she spoke to the anchor back in the newsroom, "General Devlin obviously feels no remorse for his actions. We can only hold out hope that some of the test subjects are found alive. With one hundred and fourteen dead already, the chances are slim. Back to you."

November 14th, 2091

"What are we looking at?" A man that looked like a Clint Eastwood impersonator asked a gorilla in power armor.

"Two years ago, General Stanley Devlin died in his sleep of old age. He advocated his own death sentence, but nothing came of it. A few months before he died, he mentioned something to a fellow inmate about a weapon stash in the Catskills. Word has it, Talon has a line on where it is. So do I. Prewar technologies can be… volatile. We need to get in there and destroy those weapons before Talon can get half a hand on them," the ape adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"What's the bad news?" a man in a high tech mask with a red visor and a leather jacket with the number seventy six on the back asked.

"Devlin was in prison for overseeing a project that conducted human experimentation, among other things," the ape, Winston, said, "Over the course of thirteen years, this Project Prometheus kidnapped many low profile targets, making it look like they were the victims of minor crimes gone wrong. There were one hundred forty four discovered, all dead. Documents were discovered, though, that imply that nine survived. I will not burden you with the pictures of the failures."

"So, what? Are those guys down there?"asked a british woman in a leather flight jacket, orange bodysuit and a piece of chest armor that had a blue glowing center and what looked like a holographic readout.

"That is a distinct possibility. I'm not going to sugar coat this. The things you might see down there could be horrifying. War… war is a product of science used for violence. This will be the reverse of that, and I can guarantee you that it can be worse than anything you've ever seen before," Winston sighed, "I want you all to be ready for anything."

"Consider us warned," the Eastwood look alike, McCree, said.

"Let's get this over with," Soldier Seventy Six agreed.

With that, the back of the aircar they were riding in opened the bay door and one by one, the agents of Overwatch leapt out, deploying their own methods for surviving the fall into the forest below.

The world roared around me. There were garbling words and castrophonous hissing. I don't know if my head was throbbing in time to an alarm, or my pulse. My arms and legs felt like they were carrying lead weights that were tied to helium balloons.

My world was a bubble of sound and discomfort. My eyes… I couldn't feel my eyes. I tried to open them, to blink, to do anything, but nothing was happening.

I… I wasn't blind. That would imply that there was a piece of me, my eyes, that wasn't working properly. If the sensation I was getting in this confusing little fragment of the world was right, I didn't even have eyes any more. You can't use what you don't have.

"Nuh," I gasped, realizing that It was cold, I leaned forward, and almost screamed as I felt things attached to my back rip out, warm liquid quickly traveling down my back from six points of hot pain.

That was not my focus. My body fell forward, my face hit something cold and hard and smooth. I felt the shifting of my nose as it broke and blood undoubtedly pouring down my face. That was not my focus.

My hands, my weightlessly heavy hands, moved to my face, slowly approaching the place where my eyes had been.

I don't know what would be more horrifying. Finding empty pits, pools of nothingness where my eyes had been, or scabs, burns, patches of scarred skin that would stand out as marks of whatever had happened to me.

I chickened out. I couldn't do it. I… I didn't want to know.

I wanted out. I needed out.

"He-uch!" I coughed, the cold air seeming to freeze the words in my throat, but I wouldn't stop, "Hel-uch! He-uch!" I slowly took a deep breath, letting the freezing air warm in my lungs before I used it this time, "HELP!" I accentuated this cry with pounding my fist into the wall of my prison. I hoped it was a door. It rang with the sound of flesh on metal.

I hit it again and again, screaming for help.

I stopped when the world rumbled again.

My mind stopped compartmentalizing and I remembered things that I had noticed right away. There were alarms blaring and the world outside of my half frozen bubble was all aflutter with the sounds of movement and combat.

I strained my ears, listening for what was going on.

I remembered how I came to be here. U.S, Army. They broke into my home and took me. Why? Why did they take my eyes? Why did they put me in this cold room?

"Help," I said through clenched teeth to stave off stuttering from my shivers, "Let me out…"

I had to be louder. I knew I had to be louder. I had to be patient. The points of hot pain on my back were spreading. It was slowly getting warmer. Not quickly enough. I had to breathe slowly and shout loudly.

"Let me out!" the next thing I know I'm stumbling into the much warmer air of the area outside of my cell, the wall falling down with a hiss. I heard glass shatter and felt some digging into my hands and stomach and chest.

"This one?" a vaguely french voice asked. It sounded like a woman.

A hand, clad in leather and metal, grabbed me by the chin and roughly lifted my head. I felt hot air on my face and can assume that someone was looking closely at my face.

"No," a new voice rumbled, sounding like it was right in my ear.

I heard that overdone, Hollywood style, cocking of a gun, then the second voice spoke again.

"No," I heard rustling fabric, "Leave him. He will slow down those fools."

I'm not sure what I head next. I think it might have been something like a clothesline thrumming, and a rustle of wind and motion.

I tried to stand, coming to my knees, when I heard, felt, heavy thumping footsteps. I angled my face in the direction of the sound. By the time I did, some humongous, grunting beast had passed me by so swiftly that I couldn't even believe it. It seemed like, one moment, it was twenty feet away, the next it was twenty feet behind me.

It was pointless to turn my head to look, but it was habit, none the less.

I almost turned to follow him when I heard a deep voice from behind me, startling me.

"Hey, are you alright?" it was almost a growl, like the person speaking had lungs too powerful for normal human speech.

"I…" my breath hitched, as everything began to weigh in. I had been kidnapped by the military. They had mutilated me, frozen me. My nose and back were throbbing in time with my heart beat and it was only getting faster. Glass was in my hands and chest and stomach. Someone had almost killed me.

"I can't see," I think I said that. I'm not sure. It might have been dreaming.

But I know I heard a digitized voice saying something about vitals spiking before I lost consciousness again. Maybe this time I wouldn't wake up in a pod used for freezing people.

"What did they do to him?" the british woman, Tracer, asked. It had been seventy two hours since the raid on the hidden base in the Catskills. Talon had practically met them at the door. It had turned into a run and gun battle, like most of their fights, honestly.

They weren't even fully sure that they had come out the other side of that battle as the victors. Reaper and Widowmaker had been off grid for a full two minutes and eighteen seconds. Who knows what they could have done in that time.

"A lot," Winston sighed, rubbing his face, "His eyes were removed, obviously, but they replaced them with these sockets, open ended connectors for something else, most likely cameras," he gestured absently at a screen that was going over the data they had managed to salvage, "That was just the start. His bones were replaced. The ones in his limbs, at least. They replaced them with an ultralight, carbon fiber and metal composite. His blood is half formed of nanites that increase his rate of healing by a generous degree. His lungs are completely synthetic, so are his airways. His legs have built in shock absorbers. His arms have increased mobility. His throat has armor plating around the carotid arteries.

"And then there's this," the ape roughly pressed a knuckle into the holographic display of the man's body, right over a device that was fused to the front of his ribcage. It was very slightly reminiscent of the chronal accelerator that Tracer was wearing, but smaller and less refined. It also had nothing to do with quantum physics.

"What is it?" Tracer asked, resisting the urge to spin around in the office chair she was sitting in, "Kinda looks like mine, don't it?"

"It does, and I can guess," Winston grunted and opened a jar of peanut butter then peeled a banana, "This one, Falcon, was going to be a scout. They wanted someone who could literally step through space to anywhere he could see. But," the ape growled from a series of things, "but they didn't do anything with it. They took him, ripped him apart, put him back together, then just put him on ice. They didn't even finish the ocular implants. It doesn't make sense. This guy doesn't even have any kind of training with his abilities. Why go through all this work to just shelve it for forty years."

"Well, I'm sure you'll figure it out, luv," the woman patted him on the arm, giving him a smile for assurance, "It's just a matter of time, right?"

"Yes, but, until then, we should also continue trying to find out anything else about the others that Talon collected. Has Soldier Seventy Six reported in yet?" Winston asked.

"Not in the last thirty six hours," the voice of Winston's AI, Athena, said, "I attempted contact twelve hours ago, but he told me to be quiet and call back tomorrow."

"Son of a...," the ape moved around to another terminal, "Athena, put that new rocket launcher on the back burner. He obviously doesn't want it that badly."

"Done."

When you live in darkness, light is like water. Just a small mote, a single radiant drop, can mean the world to you. You know it's there. You know you need it, you know it's there.

You just don't know where to find it.

I had resigned myself to darkness, blindness, by the time I woke up for the second time. I didn't know where I was, but it was warm. I could feel the bandages on my hands and chest and stomach. I could hear the beeping of the ECG machine.

"Well," I said to myself, placing my arms behind my head and staring at nothing with no eyes, "This sucks."

"Oh," a feminine voice sounded, "You are awake," it sounded Russian, or maybe German, "I will turn on your eyes."

"What?" I turned my head in her direction, confused by that.

There was the sound of buzzing, gears whirring quickly and an audible click.

And then…

I could see.

Chapter End.