Chapter Text
"The doctors and the nurses they adore me so, but it's really quite alarming 'cause I'm such an awful fuck"-
Blood, My Chemical Romance
They'd been here for an hour now. It was surprising the man's screams hadn't drawn any attention. Or the gunshots. Those usually led to unwanted attention too. It seemed luck was in the air that day. Well, for one of them - not for the man curled in on himself in a pool of blood, sweat and tears on what had been old greying carpet before he'd had a visit from the person these days known as Reaper.
Reaper put his shotgun up to the man's left big toe.
"I'm going to ask you one more time before this gets messier. Who set the-"
His phone rang, cutting into his question and the sound of whimpering in the dingy tenth story flat. He snarled, pulling his phone out and taking the call with a pointed look at the man on the floor.
"Yes?" he asked. He knew who it was - this phone took calls from one organisation only. It was bad timing that they'd called him in the middle of an unauthorised interrogation of one of their staff but you didn't leave these people to go to voicemail. It's not like the man on the floor would tell, he'd be dead not long after the call ended. If not sooner.
"We've got a job you'll want to come off vacation for," said the voice on the other end of the line. Now that was interesting. He took a few weeks every couple of months where he made it clear he wasn't taking jobs. It was widely known he'd shot the last person who offered him a job during that time. It had nothing to do with the disruption and everything to do with the job itself, but it usually kept him left alone for a time where he could pursue the work his regular employers wouldn't approve of.
"What is it?" he asked, watching the man on the floor struggle to sit, eyes wildly darting between all the potential exits.
"We got a tip off that an old Overwatch facility might still be active. We suspect there are Overwatch operatives squatting there. You go, and get what you want and bring back what we want. You'll get your usual rate." He watched the man on the floor try to crawl towards the door and he took out his knife, silently walking over. The blade went down through the man's foot and into the floor, tearing through tendons and bone and making the man scream.
"Where?"
"Gibraltar," the voice said, not affected at all by the noise which must have been audible on the other end.
"Ill be in Spain in 12 hours," he replied, and ended the call.
He looked around the flat, blood splattered across the walls and floor. With the ex-Overwatch Talon operative haphazardly secured to the floor he grabbed the man's datapad and easily logged in, searching through the files. There. Everything being meticulously organised in folders and labelled made his search easy. A quick glance through the opened document told him the file name wasn't a misdirection and he copied the file over to his own device.
"Anything else you'd like to say?" he asked, pointing his shotguns at the man's head.
"Please don-" the man begged.
"Sorry, I give second chances, beg someone who might," he said, and shot.
- - -
He hated planes. They had been tedious but bearable when he was alive, but now...? Seven hours of having to hold form and not suck the life out of any other passengers was hell. He'd never attempted to wraith form across an entire ocean however and now didn't seem like the time to try. Potentially drowning while your body kept regenerating and you couldn't die sounded worse than the plane.
Gabriel had always known there were things worse than death, but it took dying to realise just how many things were worse than death. He dreaded to think what would happen if Talon ever realised he'd been working against them for the last six years. He'd seen what they did to Amelie and he'd seen their labs. He didn't want to be on the operating table, as much as he was sure Talon's higher-ups fantasised about getting him there. Unfortunately that meant there was now a fire blazing in an apartment block in Manhattan - fire was still the best way to get rid of evidence, especially evidence found on dead bodies Talon would go looking for.
He stabbed his fork into the pasta the hostess had brought around for the in-flight meal, some sort of boring cheese filled ravioli in tomato sauce which desperately needed some pepper. He was glad he'd turned down the carrot cake. Food wasn't his main energy source these days, but it would help for a while. He hoped they sent another incompetent strike team with him to Gibraltar so he could... urgh... eat the way that kept the nanobots keeping him together running.
Now who was at Gibraltar and how was he going to keep both them and him alive?
Who was still alive? Jack was gone, so were Ana and Mei, Reinhardt must have keeled over by now too. Angela was with Overwatch by necessity and had always disapproved of their methods; she would have left when she could. Jesse probably wasn't coming back and that was his fault. He'd killed Liao himself.
Torbjorn, Lena, Winston. The last major three. There could be any number of lower ranked members, but one of them would need to be present for a watchpoint to be active and running. It was probably Lena. She'd been sighted recently in London. Whoever it was, he hoped they were ready for an attack. He didn't need to lose any more of his old friends.
He sighed. Soon this would be over. Soon he could bring down Talon and bring justice to his friends, if without the knightly ideals Reinhardt would have spearheaded.
His phone beeped and he glanced down. The name he saw made him slump back into the seat, relaxing, and brought a smile to his face before he frowned again. He'd done it again, gone too far with things. Shit. Sometimes he lost his grip, like back at the apartment. It was good he had someone who kept him grounded now and again. He didn't want to know where he'd be now without her. Probably fully fledged monster instead of just a part time one. Good intentions weren't always a good enough reason for terrible actions. He should have learnt that running Blackwatch, so why did he keep forgetting now?
Heard you're coming to Spain, the message said. Huh. Allie was in Spain? That explained why he hadn't seen her in a while.
Yeah, what are you doing there? How long have you been there? he replied. The reply came instantaneously.
You'll see. I've been here a few weeks, place is busy. Might as well be a zoo, she said. Interesting, increased personnel meant they really wanted whatever they were sending him to get then. Sad for them they weren't going to get it. Wait...
I imagine that's loud, sending you a bit bananas? he sent. He hoped he was reading her last message correctly.
Just a bit, looking forward to being done when you get here. Winston was at the watchpoint, and as soon as he checked in Allie could get somewhere safe if anything went wrong.
God. He just couldn't believe he'd let her get involved in all this. Alejandra had found him when she was fifteen. Four years after he'd been announced dead, not that he knew how she found him. Her mother and him had split when Allie was five. It was safer for both of them given the route his work had taken, and though him and Maria were good friends they weren't in love. Not in the way he loved-
No. Don't think about him, he's dead. He's not coming back.
This wasn't safety for his only daughter, this couldn't be any less safe. But he couldn't stop her. She said she wanted to help him, and he was already in too deep to find another way to bring Talon down. Not that he even knew if he could. She saw something in him he didn't see in himself.
He sighed. His phone pinged again.
I'm not sure where to go when I'm done here though, so many places to choose. Suggestions?
I find home tends to be a good place to start when you're not sure, sweetie. They'd meet in LA after this. Not her home, Dorado was still too unstable. His home. It had been a while since he'd been there.
- - -
He strode past the fence. Not bothering to stop for the security check. They knew who he was - he was the only one with his... specific attributes - and he didn't need help finding his way around. All Talon bases were laid out the same. Seemed like a security risk, but he wasn't going to raise it as an issue.
His destination was somewhat a trek, down four flights of stairs and through a maze of corridors, but he was unhindered as he went despite how busy it was. Most people saw him coming and got out of the way, even if they weren't mindful of watching their mouths. Snippets of conversations about him were continually hitting his ears. Not that he cared, he wouldn't be in the building long, and the number of times he'd have to return to any Talon HQ was hopefully limited.
He went via the lockers and unlocked the 75th one. He wondered again if they'd moved someone to give him this number. Could have been a coincidence, but a weird one. They did know who he was, after all. He frowned. On top of the briefing he was expecting to find was a newspaper cutting. Reports of a vigilante calling himself Soldier: 76, with a picture. Gabriel froze. The picture was impossible. Jack wasn't alive, couldn't have been. Mercy told him Jack was probably dead when she attempted to bring Gabriel back. Yet despite the age the man in the picture looked so much like him. It was probably a cruel joke, something to spur on the bitter, jealous mercenary they thought he was. He wouldn't deny being bitter even after all these years. But it was never aimed at the strike team. Never aimed at Jack.
Appearances were appearances though, and he crumpled up the newspaper and directed his nanobots to tear it apart before letting the dust scatter on the floor. He had work to do, and he was going to do it.