Chapter Text
“Get up.”
Emil just about jumped out of his skin at the sound of the rough voice that pierced through his drowsy reverie. The voice was deep, slightly accented, and it sounded like death itself had paid a visit to the source. It also sounded familiar—and not in a good way. Rubbing his eyes, he gave himself a moment to stretch out his sore body and to settle his frazzled nerves. It would do no good to have an anxiety attack right now.
Looking up at the door, he realized, with a sinking feeling, that his earlier guess of who was standing at his door was right on target. Rather than focusing on that tidbit, he decided to wonder just what in the actual living fuck was Reaper doing here. According to what he had gleaned off the lore from fan fictions, the guy standing in front of him belonged to Talon, aka, the enemy. Or at least what was a mercenary working underneath Talon for the time being. He narrowed his eyes. What was a Talon operative doing in an Overwatch base? Wasn’t there any alarms he had tripped while getting in here? People that he had to pass by?
He approached the door slowly, eyeing Reaper. He looked about as edgy as he looked in game, if not edgier, considering it actually looked like real leather. How could you even move in that stuff? If there were Hot Topics here in Overwatch, Emil was 300% sure spent at least half or maybe even all of his paycheck there. If he got a paycheck.
As if on cue, Reaper lifted his head revealing a certain white mask.
“Dude, are you a barn owl ?” escaped his lips before he could even comprehend what he actually wanted to say. It wasn’t his fault that Reaper had just happened to choose that moment look up when Emil had moved closer, giving him a clear view of his mask. And it was a barn owl mask, no mistake about it. In game, it tended to appear like a mix of a skull and a barn owl, making room for heated debate about the mask, especially on Reddit.
Luck seemed to be on his side today, thankfully, as Reaper breathed out a low chuckle as a response to Emil’s seemingly immature question. For a second there, he couldn’t help but feel a touch of pride. After all, it wasn’t everyday a person made a jerk like Reaper laugh without having to die. Which brought him to his next horrible thought: what was Reaper doing here ?
As Emil inspected the leather clad man up and down, the McEdgeLord had turned his attention to the panel of sorts that was next to do the door, making it painfully obvious that he wasn’t going to be answering with anything useful to any questions. Then again, Emil wasn’t supposed to know that Reaper was with Talon. Emil wasn’t supposed to know a lot of things about this world. Play stupid .
“Since I doubt you’ll be answering any of my questions about why that soldier asshole threw me in here, I’m gonna point out the clicheness of your mask.” He shifted his weight over to his right, hip jutting out and his arms crossed. “I was like, super interested in the mythology behind owls in certain cultures for some reason a few weeks back. I think it had something to do with a friend or whatnot.”
A wall of silence was what it was met with, but it was to be expected so Emil didn’t miss a beat.
“I learned something cool though. Owls are a sign of death, or rather, harbingers of death would be a better way of phrasing it. Especially in Mexican culture.”
The pressure in the room had doubled, tension growing like a dry sponge in water. Emil had hit a nerve, deadon, while also confirming the reason behind his mask and the man’s dramatic-like habits. The urge to start banging his head against the wall began. He knew that this was not a good thing to bring up with Reaper, especially so when he had no escape route. Nibbling on his bottom lip, he knew he would need to fix the mood or otherwise end up six feet under within five minutes.
His next few words were slow, taking his time to choose the right words like a puzzle. “But owls are also considered to be old souls. They bring the power of keen observation. Patience.”
Emil paused, taking in the atmosphere. Silence. The earlier tension had diminished drastically, but was still there, ready to slip back in. But it had been replaced by another feeling: regret. Heart stabbing, aching regret. Suddenly, he found himself wishing that the dangerous tension would come back.
Shrugging off the feeling, he instead tried to crack a grin, looking Reaper dead in what he assumed to be the older man’s eyes. “They also happen to be messengers of warning. So mister edgy messenger bird, do you have a message for me?”
Honestly, if Emil could dump his body into the nearest trash can, he would . The whole entire conversation had been cringe worthy, like it had fallen out of My Immortal or some shit. A roll of low chuckles broke through his thoughts.
“ Tú es un niño extraño ,” Reaper rumbled, shifting back over to the keyboard to screw around with it more.
You are a strange kid .
Emil raised an eyebrow. Did fucking Reaper just call him out in Spanish ? Oh hell no .
“I don’t know man, but a guy decked out in black leather wearing a mask based on edgy culture, and just tosses his guns after using them instead of reloading seems a bit fucking worse.”
There was a brief pause in the hispanic man’s movements, but it was still there. A shiver ran down his spine as it came upon Emil that he had probably just fucked up again. It was a miracle he was still alive from insulting 76, but insulting Reaper? No way man, you ain’t getting out of this one. Reaper had no moral compass as far as Emil knew, and made 76 pale in comparison in regards to how he would choose to kill Emil.
The only thing right now that was probably saving his ass was the fact that Reaper was in the middle of an Overwatch base and maybe the fact that Reaper was probably surprised by the fact that he could speak Spanish. Or at least understand it. Or maybe he assumed that Emil had taken a wild guess. Before he could really consider what he was about to do, it rolled out of his mouth.
“ ¿Tu hablas español? ”
“ Habla un poco de español . Es suficiente .”
His tongue seemed too big to push the words out of his mouth, stumbling over some of the pronunciation, but it was enough. Unlike most who had forgotten what they had learned from high school language classes, he had retained most of it. Mainly due to the fact that he really liked to curse people out in another language which wasn’t Korean nor English, which was usually a rather smart choice where he lived.
There was more silence before Reaper spoke. “Your español sucks, chica .”
The door abruptly swung open and he took a step back, obviously moving to make his getaway. Emil looked around, eyebrows scrunched. What the hell was he doing?
The confusion must have been plain to see as Reaper gave snicker, one that send chills pouring down his spine. “I am an owl, am I not? Tell the abuelito that reaping time is upon them. Hasta la próxima, chica .”
He dispersed into black smoke and a distinct thud. Emil stared.
Chica resonated in his head and he wrinkled his nose. The misgendering here was getting annoying. Of course, he was used to it back home, having never really came out to his parents (there wasn’t really a need), but this was starting to grate on his nerves. Grumbling, he rubbed his eyes starting to feel a headache coming on and his achy muscles didn’t exactly help his case.
What else had that guy said? Something about telling him to warn grandpa—presumably Soldier: 76—of ‘reaping time’ of whatever that wa—.
Oh. Oh .
A warning. But why would Reaper want to give Overwatch a warning? To be all the more edgy? Dramatic? A stray thought that he might want to help Overwatch came to mind along with all the fan theories that people had crafted. Maybe one of them was right. He flattened down his crumpled black t-shirt that 76 had given him. Right now wasn’t the time to be day dreaming.
Emil stepped out of his cell and he felt his foot hit something that started to roll away. Looking down, he saw a black canister, highlighted with red. It was one of the cartridges or whatever from Reaper’s belt. He knelt down to grab it before turning it over in his hands. A gun cartridge for his shotguns? No, Reaper never reloaded. Plus there was that video explaining why the dude never reloaded.
Standing back up, he shoved the thing into his equally black (and borrowed) sweatpants pocket and looked both ways. Where the living hell had he come from? Groaning, his eyes flickered between the two paths. When in doubt, always go left… right?
Not wanting to think on it much longer, he made to go left, but paused as the cartridge in his smacked against his thighs. “...how was I supposed to know about his shotguns?”
So much for pretending that Emil didn’t know a single thing about Overwatch.