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Soldier: 76 enters the room. He closes the door behind him, looking around the room for a moment. Empty.
He unlatches his visor, laying it at the head of the bed. As the orange vision fades, out of his periphery, a figure creeps up behind him. In an instant, he turns, knocking a gun from the intruder’s hand then slams the mystery man into the wall, a snarl on his lips and a hand pressed to the pale neck beneath his gloved hand.
His eyes widen as he takes in the visage before him, but his grip remains.
“Who are you?” Jack Morrison, blue-eyed and blond-haired, asks the haggard soldier. He couldn’t have been older than 25. Freshly promoted.
Commander Morrison.
76 offers nothing to the query but an unamused look before turning away, releasing his hold on the younger man’s throat. He goes back to removing his gear.
“Not the talkative type, huh?”
“You’re not real,” the soldier says, “I’ve seen enough ghosts to know one when I see one.”
He removes his gloves and throws them onto the bed. His fingers are calloused, a long scar runs along the inner palm of his left hand.
“You’re me,” the ghost says. “A future me.”
“Took you long enough.”
The apparition takes its time before formulating a response as though assessing 76 with a new pair of eyes. 76 pretends he doesn’t notice.
“Is this really how I’ll be in the future?”
76 gives a snort. “You thought you’d keep your poster boy looks forever?”
“No, I mean, you’re so--”
“Cynical? Sarcastic? Spry for my age?”
“I was going to say dead.”
76 huffs a dry laugh at the deadpan delivery, peeling his jacket off his body before tossing it carelessly onto the mattress atop his gloves.
“Like I said,” the soldier says, “You’ve been dead for a long time.”
“Well, if I’m the ghost here, then what are you?”
The vague shape of his former self comes up beside 76 in his periphery, curious eyes peering at him warily. 76 removes his sidearm from its holster and begins to disassemble it on the bedspread.
“Just a soldier.”
The ghost stays silent for a long moment. Soldier can almost feel eyes roving over the scars crossing his features and 76 subconsciously runs a hand over his face, feeling the ruined tissue there.
“What happened to us?” The commander asks.
Soldier is silent as he contemplates simply ignoring the question as he begins to clean his weapon. Why is he even indulging in this? It will disappear with time.
The ghost is still staring at him.
“You should know. You’re just in my head.”
“Except I don’t and I’m actually here.”
Suddenly, 76 finally snaps and he turns to face his demon fully. The eyes he sees are full of a brightness that has been absent from his own for far too long.
“Then let me indulge you, Commander Morrison ,” the soldier snarls, “Overwatch is gone. We served for 20 years and for what? To be accused of failing to keep the peace and betrayed by our best friend? We--”
“Wait, best friend? You mean Gabe?”
Confusion crosses youthful, sculpted features, tinged with mild disbelief. 76 huffs out a humourless laugh, turning away from Morrison and shaking his head.
“Stupid, really,” he says after a moment. “But I was young. Smitten. I didn’t want to believe it.”
“But what did you mean by betrayed? How?” Morrison pauses for a moment, a cautious curiosity hanging in the dead air before he speaks. “Do I… is it something we did?
The soldier has a thousand answers for that. He settles for one.
“He didn’t think we were fit to lead Overwatch. But it doesn’t matter. Reyes died a long time ago.”
“Well, not to me, he hasn’t. If you--”
“Just let it go, kid. Even if this were real, you can’t change the course of fate. That starry hope that things might just be better if you try hard enough? It ain’t real. Just like you.”
Morrison says nothing. 76 turns back to his disassembled weapon.
He doesn’t react as he finds himself being turned by a strong hand to face Morrison face to face, a pair of hands gripping the front of his shirt. There’s a steely determination on the young man’s features. The fire behind those blue eyes is brighter than before. Stubbornness.
“You can’t tell me it’s all for nothing!” Morrison spits. “There’s so much good Overwatch has done-- can do! Overwatch was made to protect and serve the people--do not tell me that doesn’t mean anything.”
“They hated us,” the soldier deadpans, “They were calling for our head and you want to protect them?”
“We swore to--”
“‘Protect the innocent’ and look where that’s gotten us. Overwatch has gone up in smoke and Gabriel’s dead. We failed, Jack.”
They stare at one another for a long moment, Morrison’s steely look turning to one of stern disappointment. His grip loosens on 76’s shirt and he backs away, a look of disgust on his face. 76 turns his gaze to the floor.
“It was never about us,” the commander says. “If you really think that... maybe Reyes was right; we were never fit to lead Overwatch.”
“You’re right,” the soldier says, looking back up.
His reflection stares back at him from the grimy mirror on the wall, his mistakes carved in the scars across his face. The ghost leaves his parting words on the soldier’s lips.
“I never was.”