Chapter Text
It was a calm life, a peaceful life, that Jack Morrison now lived. After the explosion at the swiss base that had so nearly ended his life he had time to stop and really consider himself. On the one hand, Overwatch was done, its leader pronounced dead, nothing but a stain on the world's history. On the other, he was alive. For a few days there it had been by little more than a spiders thread as he dragged himself away from the site of the explosion and nearly brought himself back to life, but here he was, living and breathing.
He had considered trying to continue his previous work, perhaps going undercover and discovering exactly what had gone wrong in Overwatch, but discarded that idea swiftly, after another struck him. For the past few years he’s been tired, but not the kind that can be cured by sleep. This was his chance for a new beginning, a new life, he could return to Indiana and leave his days as a soldier, as a public figure behind.
That's how Jack Morrison, previously commander of Overwatch and presumed dead by everyone in the world, found himself ducking into his chicken coop at 6:35 AM to quietly retrieve the mornings batch of eggs. He murmurs soft apologies and gentle greetings to his hens as he shifts them aside and places their eggs in a basket, using his hands to feel where they are moreso than his eyes.
“Easy, Ginger,” He murmurs as one of his chickens lets out a squawk of indignation at being moved, feathers rustling and eyes watching his hands like a hawk. After he withdraws she resettles herself, facing away from him in an act of defiance. Jack allows a small smile at her attitude, her personality having been what drew her to him in the first place.
After his basket has four large brown eggs lining the bottom Jack opens the door to the coop wide, allowing his chickens to leave and have free range of the property for the day. When Jack first started doing this he had been nervous that they would leave, or get caught by predators, but they’ve proven themselves resourceful and they always return to the coop each night, so he feels confident in leaving them to their own devices as he returns to the farmhouse to feed the dogs, who are just starting to wake up.
As he enters the house he feels an odd chill pass him by, different from the general morning chill of late fall Indiana. He turns, frowning into the misty morning light and attempting to make sense of the mesh of colors and shapes. He normally doesn’t wear his vision-correcting glasses while out on the farm, he knows the land like the back of his hand, but now he wishes he had grabbed them from his bedside table this morning.
After a few moments he frowns and shakes his head, unable to see anything out of the ordinary. He steps inside, closing the door behind him as a figure re-materializes into a human form out behind the chicken coop. He pauses, staying absolutely silent to ensure he won’t be caught before crouching down to process what he just saw.
Talon was right, Jack Morrison is alive and apparently in retirement, with his own farm in Corn Hell Indiana, and it’s Reaper's job to bring him back.