The Black Hand of Justice

"Come on, move your asses! He's getting away!"

"We need help over here!"

"This whole place is gonna blow!"

"I don't wanna die like this!"

"Rico, help us!"

"HELP US!"

A young, dark skinned man with a messy mop of hair sat at a table in a small room. A dim light hung overhead as he stared at his arms—two , black, metal appendages forged from carbon nanotubes laid over an intricate network of cables and titanium framework—which were bound together by thick, magnetic handcuffs. The man wore only a black, turtleneck shirt with black cargo pants, and a belt with a buckle in the shape of a curious white mask with a black cross on it inside of a black and red circle. His eyes were closed in deep thought, the screams echoing in his mind…

The door suddenly opened and two tall men walked in, one after the other. The first had blonde hair that seemed to almost shine, even in the dimness of the room's lighting. His square jaw lowered as he frowned down upon the younger man sitting at the table. The man who walked in behind was of a darker complexion with facial hair and scars marking his features, and a black ski cap on his head. His expression was more difficult to read, but even without opening his eyes, the younger man could sense his disquiet. The scarred man looked at the blonde man, who opened his mouth to speak.

"Agent Verde," the man began. "You have some explaining to-" he was cut off as a loud bang resounded behind him. He turned around and saw the man with the ski cap holding a smoking shotgun aimed out of the door.

"Missed one," the ski-capped man shrugged as the blond man frowned at him as well.

Turning back to the so-called 'Agent Verde', the blond man resumed speaking.

"I sent you out here to do one simple thing. Now the entire Austrailian Omnic settlement has been destroyed, along with an entire Overwatch facility!"

"To be fair Jack, the job was to remove the ALF as a threat," the ski-capped man interjected.

"Shut up, Reyes!" the blonde man, named Jack, said sharply, still looking at Agent Verde. "Do you have any idea how many people just died because of your protégé?!"

"Twelve-thousand-five-hundred-and-forty-one," Agent Verde said, finally opening his eyes, which glowed green, evidencing their artificial nature.

"Do you think this is funny?!" Jack said, his anger rising.

"I think that you're forgetting objectivity," Agent Verde said, looking up and narrowing his eyes.

"Mind your tone, soldier. Don't forget who you're speaking to," said the ski-capped man, Reyes.

"Am I expected to apologize for doing my job? The job you trained me to do?" Agent Verde said, indignantly.

Jack slammed a fist down onto the table. "Give us one fucking reason why we shouldn't fucking leave you here to rot!"

"If I needed to do that, I doubt you'd have come all this way," Agent Verde sneered. When Jack continued to frown, Agent Verde's expression flattened. "Fine," he deadpanned. "You want a reason? I'll give you one," he said, sitting up straighter.

"Because justice…requires sacrifice."

5 years later…

The midday sun beat down upon a dusty, ruined city in the Australian outback. Dilapidated buildings lined the cracked and eroded streets with rusted and broken down cars all over the place, as smog filled the air. One might consider it unlikely to find people living among such ruin. However, to the people of Australia, it was merely a reality they had gotten used to ever since their Omnium, a manufacturing plant for the production of androids known as Omnics, was destroyed by the Australian Liberation Front. Now, much of the country had been transformed into an irradiated wasteland, devoid of the former beauty it once held.

The ruined city no longer bore name, having been all but destroyed by the cataclysm years ago, and its current inhabitants no longer feeling the site worthy one. The only place of note in the city was a bar known as the "Dead End". Inside, the city's inhabitants drank away the worries of the day, out of the blazing Australian heat.

However, the quiet bustle of the town was soon disrupted but the low rumble of diesel engines on the wind. Heads turned in the street towards the source of noise. Soon, a convoy of vehicles rolled into sight. However, these were no ordinary vehicles. The people turned and ran inside of the closest buildings they could find, hoping that they were not spotted beforehand, as the convoy moved closer. The curious procession was made up of various rigs cobbled together from all manner of junk and scrap. It filled the air with even more smoke and dust than was already present. The group hooted and hollered as they went, their triumphant cries audible even over the roar of their engines.

The great host parked on the street in front of the bar. The leader, a tall, thin man in a dusty, black, leather, studded biker jacket and a shaved head with painted, white skin kicked open the bar's doors. Black engine grease was smeared across his face in a manner resembling war paint. The conversation that had filled the bar moments before fell silent as heads turned towards the door. The pale man grinned a toothy grin, revealing a mouth full of yellow teeth.

"Don't mind me, good people," the man said with a thick accent. "On second thought, DO mind. After all, my mates and I have had quite a ride through the desert! Now if I was the proprietor of this fine establishment, I would set out your finest tables for the personal fighting force of our noble Queen!" Feelings of anxiety passed through the entire crowd. The pale man grew impatient. "I SAID, bring out your finest tables…NOW!" he roared, the grin on his face replaced by a vicious snarl.

The bar patrons tripped over themselves to empty tables for the man. His grin returned as he bowed in mock gratitude as his gang filed in behind him. "That's more like it! This humble servant of the Queen of Junkertown thanks you for your hospitality!" A multitude of similarly dressed men and women swarmed into the bar, pushing people aside and taking seats, food, and drink where they pleased. The majority of the bar's patrons stood huddled against the walls, too afraid to speak against them…
_

It was around this time that a tall, lean, dark-skinned figure strode into town. He was dressed entirely in black, which was strange, considering the weather. However, he did not appear to show any signs of discomfort. He wore a tattered, brown mantle over his body to cover himself from sun. Over his eyes, he wore a pair of black lenses that shielded from the harsh glare of the sun. He moved slowly, fatigue weighing him down, as he approached the entrance to the Dead End, completely oblivious to the junker vehicles parked outside. He stumbled through the door towards the bar, ignoring the heads that turned his way, and sat down on the one stool that was empty. The bartender regarded him with apprehension as she cleaned a beer mug. The man in black dropped some money down on the bar.

"Lemonade. Ice cold," he said, breathing heavily.

"Uh, look stranger…" the bartender began.

"What? Do I not have enough money?" the man asked.

"No, that's not-"

"Oh, you don't serve lemonade here, is that it? I know, it's a strange request for a bar…"

"Look stranger, I don't think you wanna be here-"

"Look, I'll take whatever you got, just please don't leave me hanging here!" the man in black pleaded.

"You listen to the lady, man," one of the patrons leaned over and whispered. "This ain't exactly a good time to be here."

"What do you mean? Why?" the man in black asked…before being picked up from behind and tossed over the bar. The bartender yelped in surprise as he struck the liquor shelf, crushing several bottles and sending yet more falling to the floor, where they shattered upon impact, covering the man in spilled booze and bits of broken glass.

The man in black groaned as a pale man with engine grease streaked across his face cackled wildly. His cronies followed suit, filling the bar with uproarious mirth. "Because you're in my seat, that's why!"

"Come on Decimus, you didn't have to do that!" the bartender said angrily, kneeling down to check on the man in black.

"You're right, I didn't…but it's a lot more fun, isn't it lads?" the pale man, Decimus, said, as his gang laughed their approval. "Some people just don't have any manners."

"He just got in here, he didn't know that seat was taken. He didn't mean anything by it," the patron who tried to warn the man in black spoke up.

"Yeah…I'm real sorry about that," the man in black said, as he picked himself off the floor. "I just came in for a drink. I don't want any trouble."

"Oh, it's a drink you want, is it?" Decimus asked. "Bartender, what did this one order?"

"L-Lemonade," she answered nervously. Decimus snapped his fingers, and a large, muscular man stood up and walker behind the bar, picking a bottle of hard lemonade off of what was left of the shelf.

"Oh thanks, but I don't really drink the hard stuff-" the man in black started before being smashed over the head with the bottle. He crumpled to the floor almost immediately.

"THERE'S your fucking drink, mate!" Decimus laughed raucously. He looked down and saw the man in black on the floor, grasping the back of his head and wincing in pain. "Oi, you're still conscious? I'll give ya credit, you're tougher than ya look, mate!" he said. Then, he caught a glimpse of the man's arm. His musclebound goon did, as well.

"Oi, Decimus! Check it out, mate. It's a bloody cybrid!"

"Ah, shit…" the man in black swore under his breath as he stood back up. As he did, his tattered mantle fell off, revealing his two arms, constructed from carbon nanotube plating…

"Look, clearly I've made a huge mistake. I already said I don't want any trouble. I'll just-"

"Yeah, you made a mistake alright. And that mistake was thinking someone like you could walk in here and expect to walk out alive! Isn't that right, Kramer?"

"Fucking hanzer," the muscled goon, Kramer, responded affirmatively.

"Hey, leave him alone! He didn't do anything to you!" the bar patron said as he stood up from his stool.

"You wanna defend this cybrid fuck? Then we'll scrap you right along with him!" Decimus snarled as he pulled out a gun, pointed it at the patron, and pulled the trigger.

But the bullet never found its mark, because faster than anyone could blink, the man in black snatched it out of the air before it could hit the patron, who recoiled in equal parts amazement and relief.

"Threaten me if you want," the man in black said, his tone losing all pretense of meekness, " but don't threaten innocent people in front of me."

"Ha! Looks like we got ourselves a hero here, lads! Problem is, the outback ain't no place for no heroes!"

As if on cue, Decimus' gang members began to rise from their seats, drawing knives, guns, pipes and chains. The man in black looked around and mentally cursed, knowing that he didn't want to start such a dangerous fight when there were still so many innocent bystanders inside of the bar. However, he didn't have much time to consider his options as Kramer grabbed another liquor bottle off of the shelf and attempted to bash his head in again. But this time, the man in black was prepared, dodging to one side without even looking and spinning around with a kick that sent Kramer flying back into the liquor shelf, destroying more bottles. The bartender threw her hands up in dismay as Kramer fell to the floor, unconscious.

Three more men rushed forward. The first swung at the man in black with a large metal pipe. The man in black blocked it with his left arm while grabbing one of the other men with his right and throwing him into his attacker, knocking the both into a table, breaking it. The third man ran up behind the man in black and stabbed him in the right shoulder blade. The man in black winced, then spun around and knocked his assailant out cold with a backhanded fist. Two women with matching purple mohawks flipped their table and pulled out chains, which they twirled menacingly. The man in black looked between the two of them, trying to figure out who to target first, but before he could, the two women whipped the chains at him, lassoing them around his wrists. The man in black smirked as grabbed onto the chains, and with a mighty pull, yanked the twins off their feet and swung them into several of their friends. Several more gang members entered the fray, bearing all manner of improvised weapons. The man in black simply beckoned his adversaries with a 'come at me' gesture. The gangsters roared as they rushed toward him…