Overwatch
Chapter 1The sun boiled the sky above the far horizon. A layer of blue shimmered, mirage-like, in every direction. Golden sand melted beneath their feet. And in his arms she was dying.
He could not let her die. He would not let her die.
And yet there was nothing he could do. There was no life – no sane life – for a hundred miles. She would die here, blood leaking from cold corpse on the hot sand, like so many before. And in a few hours, perhaps a few days, he would die too. They were only human, after all. They were out of time.
'I love you,' he said, hoping she could hear. The hope was in vain. Her eyes were fluttering, and beneath the lids only the whites of her eyes could be seen. Her pupils, like her heart and soul, were rolling up toward the heavens, eagerly awaiting the last few minutes on Earth.
'You shouldn't have died like this,' he told her. 'I should never have let this happen. I know if you were here you would tell me I didn't let this happen, but we both know that's not true. If I had been better, if I had been smarter, I…' He blinked back tears. 'I could have saved you.'
Her body began to convulse. The death throes took her by the shoulders, shaking her, a violent attempt at life that ultimately led to death. Her heart rate thundered, he could feel it through her blood-soaked shirt, but in a few moments it would stop completely. It was only a matter of…
A wave of dust and sand battered him and he slid back, abandoning his grip on the woman for just long enough to shield his eyes. When he looked up it was in complete shock. Standing before him, silhouetted by the blinding sun, were two tall figures wreathed in curling, coiling smoke. A masked figure he attributed as male, and a stunning blonde woman in combat gear. He did not understand how they had appeared there, but he did not care.
'Finish the job.' He said, bowing his head. 'I am ready to die with honour, as is my partner.'
The sun glared down at them in shame.
'Now is not your time.' A voice said.
At first he did not know where the voice had come from – it was deep, raspy, masculine, and a little sinister. He had not seen a mouth move, nor had he heard the words in a physical sense. They had never passed his ears, and he could not be sure if they had been spoken aloud or not. It was as if they had been spoken directly into his mind, reverberating in the space within his skull, never bothering to pass through the air as all other noise must.
'Not my time to do what?' he asked. No answer was forthcoming.
When he looked up again the blonde woman was crouched over his partner, her hands gently probing the blood-soaked torso.
'How long?' She asked.
He shrugged. 'An hour?'
The woman nodded, pointing a stave-like weapon downwards, head first. It glowed in a brilliant golden light, and that light seemed to pass between the staff and the dying girl. It was soft, yet powerful, and it washed over. The blood was pushed away, the dying girl's breathing slowed, and the convulsions stopped. He held his breath, not daring to hope, not daring to pray, for almost a full minute, until…
The woman gasped air, as if she had been drowning rather than standing still in a desert devoid of water. And then she stepped back, the glow fading, her work done.
'The girl will live.' The woman said, taking another deep breath, and resting on the staff.
'Thank you,' he replied. And though he had not consumed a drop of water in almost three days he felt the moisture of tears reach his eyes. A smile split his normally grim features, and he allowed the tears to flow. 'Thank you.' He said again.
The blonde woman's name was Mercy. He found that out later, while they were sharing the last of the dry biscuits. He had wanted to offer her water, but there had been none to offer. Thankfully the masked stranger, who had not introduced himself, had a water pouch which he handed over. They all had a taste before passing it to the girl who should have been dead, but would now live, and was just awake enough to bring the pouch to her lips and drink.
'I'm Mike,' he said. 'This is Tracy.'
Mercy smiled warmly. 'I call my partner Reaper. If he has another name I am not aware of it.'
Reaper said nothing. Mike took the opportunity to examine them more closely. Mercy was wearing a white combat uniform, layered above a tight-fitting black leather outfit, and had her blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. A few loose strands escaped, giving her an appropriately bedraggled look. She was striking and formidable. One of heaven's warriors here on Earth.
Reaper was something else entirely. The mask that covered his face was more than just inexpressive, it was deathly, resembling a skull picked clean of flesh and muscle. It was almost impossible to see anything more of him. His black fatigues draped from the tip of his hood-covered head and down to the soles of his feet. A belt of ammunition with two large, formidable looking pistols were the only glint of silver in an otherwise grimly dark uniform. Though it may have been Mike's imagination, he was fairly sure he could still see smoke curling from the Reaper's shoulders.
'What brings you two out here?' Mercy asked.
'A search for life.' Mike replied. 'I was living with Tracy in her home, not far from here, when…' He gestured vaguely. 'All this happened.'
Mercy nodded. 'You were lucky to live so long.'
Though Mike wanted to tell her that luck had nothing to do with it, he kept those thoughts to himself. He did not want to give anything away. These two strangers may still be enemies. Instead, he said, 'Yes, we were. And Tracy would be dead now if not for you.'
Mercy shrugged her shoulders, the pauldrons bounced. 'I would have done it for any living human.'
'Any sane living human.' Mike corrected. Mercy agreed. 'Anyway, enough about us,' he continued, 'what about you two? What are you doing out here? More importantly, what are you doing out here dressed like that?'
'Where I come from this is the norm.' Mercy replied, smiling. 'I cannot speak for Reaper.'
'No one can.' Reaper responded. As before, his voice seemed to echo omnipresently in Mike's head, never leaving any physical source, never passing through his ears. It just was.
'Well, whatever the case, I'm grateful…' Mike began to thank the pair, but he was cut off by the sound of engines. The three of them immediately took to their feet, leaving Tracy on the ground, still half-asleep.
'They're back…' Mike hissed, furious at himself for not finding safer ground. 'We should not be here. I cannot ask the two of you to stay.'
Mercy gripped her staff in both hands, but Mike became suddenly aware of the pistol at her hip. She was a formidable figure.
'You do not need to.' She replied, teeth gritted.
That was all the time they had to prepare. Over the low mound of sand a dozen machines on treaded tyres shot toward them, guns blazing, tearing ribbons through the air. The sun reflected like daggers of light from their steel hides. Mike got to one knee and unsheathed the sword he carried with him. He wished he still had bullets for his gun. This would have to do.
It was Mercy who met the full force of the mechanic marauders. She lunged, staff outstretched, and a machine impaled itself against the weapon. She then swung it away, so that the clunky form collided with one of its fellows and both crumbled to the sand in a pile of gears and circuits. Lacking the time to raise her weapon with both hands she instead drew the pistol from her hip, raised it with straightened arm, and fired three times into the head of a third robot warrior. It skidded to a stop as its processing centre was blasted.
Reaper, standing behind Mercy, waited until the enemies were almost upon him before retaliating. He had armed himself with both pistols, and from what Mike could see they were something like shotguns, spraying shrapnel at a short distance. Right, left, right, left, he fired and fired again as the robots approached, and one after the other fell until the scrap metal carcasses of four monsters lay around him.
Mike stood in front of Tracy, prepared to defend her with his dying breath. Seven of the foes had already been felled, but five had slipped through, and were even now bearing down on him. He stabbed the sword into the ground and pulled his stolen shuriken stars from the pouch on his waist. He threw one set, then the other, and two robots crashed to a halt before reaching him. The final three gunned their engines and spread out to attack from three angles.
He retried the blade from the sand and dashed forward, cutting down the first of his enemies in a lightning blow. The second approached from his left. He ducked, allowing a trail of bullets to pass overhead, and then spun in a broad circle, cutting the metallic monster into two. He turned, but he was too late. The third – and final – had already reached Tracy and was leaning over her, automatic machine guns trained downwards…
Tracy rolled to one side, raised the twin pistols she always carried with her, and fired both. The robot standing above her was shot to pieces, sparks flying, and it threatened to fall on top of her…
Tracy dodged it.
Mike was not sure how, because he had not seen her move, but she must have rolled aside. At any rate when the robot crashed to the sand she was not beneath it, and that was all that mattered. He rushed to her side.
'Tracy!' he exclaimed, 'I'm so damned glad you're alive!'
She smiled weakly, eyes still fluttering, though perhaps this time from the sun that hung in the air above. 'So am I,' she admitted, 'even though I have no fucking idea why I am.'
'For that,' Mike said, 'you can ask our new friends.'
'I would prefer you didn't,' Mercy said. 'At least, not right now. There are more robots incoming. More dangerous ones, that will not be taken down so easily. We should keep moving. Do you know anywhere safe nearby?'
Mike looked around. He could see them, not so far away, approaching over the sandy ridges. Dark shapes moving fast on a bright horizon.
'I do,' he replied hesitantly, 'but we'll need your help to get there. It's heavily guarded, an ex-government facility, and they say that trapped inside is the soul of humanity's last warrior.'
Mercy exchanged a glance with Reaper. It looked as if she knew something, or suspected something, but if she did she did not make it known. After a moment of silence, in which Mike wondered if Reaper's echoing voice had visited Mercy's inner-mind, she turned back to Mike, who was now holding Tracy in his arms in a way that suggested he had never expected to hold her again.
'Very well,' Mercy said, 'lead the way.'