Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
Talon’s signature mercenary.
He was neither fully human, nor fully supernatural. He only existed as a strange entity that represented the limbo between life and death.
After the implosion of Overwatch, he was revived from the remains of a man who he believed to be deceased in every sense. A man who grew to embrace the life in the shadows that he spent so many years in. A man who he believed had been erased from the world like a bad typo.
To merely cling on to this new existence meant constant agony, plus a side of bitter resentment that he couldn’t help but revel in for the past few years. Despite this constant struggle, he still served as one of Talon’s best assets both physically and intellectually. No matter the mission, he executed his foes with not only red-blooded vigor, but also with haunting grace that made his killing sprees resemble an elaborate dance recital. He took pride in what he did, which was leaving a horrifically beautiful path of death in his wake. One could consider it his outlet.
Along with his feats done in the name of Talon, only his tight-knit circle knew of the list he kept of those whom he wanted [needed] to eliminate from Overwatch. Yet, nobody knew for sure if he planned to kill them as an act of retribution or simply just a sick thrill. Either way, with his true intentions hidden behind attire mirroring the Grim Reaper he knows so well, he was sure to look good doing it.
This is one of the many stories of Reaper, a story that he probably would have liked to forget, a story that leaves him at a painful crossroad of who he truly wants to be, and a story that makes him feel like a fucking hypocrite.
April 10, 2076
Fluffy mounds of gray blanketed the Venice night sky as the city lights flickered below. While the riverside streets bustled with humans and omnics alike, most of which attending the ongoing masquerade ball, Talon lurked in the shadows as they always did. This time, their plan was to squash a bug that had gotten in the way of the goals of their leader Doomfist, this particular bug being named Vialli . Despite most Talon associates following their own motives while also working for the organization, Vialli’s insatiable greed for money was becoming a worrying threat to Talon’s ideals, so much so that just getting rid of him was the best solution.
Hidden among a sea of vibrant masks and luxurious fabrics straight out of Romeo & Juliet , Talon’s agents took out Vialli’s minions one by one, with the level of covertness that the organization was known for.
Agent Widowmaker, perched atop a distant rooftop, took aim for her first target hundreds of meters away. Her breaths cold and silent, one of the many masked faces in the crowd below was positioned in the center of her reticle as she stood still in concentration, fully scoped in.
After just a few moments…
1…
2…
3…
Fire.
Widowmaker pulled her trigger with a steady finger as the lethal hunk of lead escaped her rifle at a blinding speed. Less than a second later, her target collapsed to the ground instantly, the bullet wound between his eyes causing his golden masquerade mask to shatter from the impact. Yelps of horror sounded from the crowd as he lay on the ground lifeless, and those around him desperately tried to flee from the assumed sniper’s sights. They did not need to worry, though, as the job was already complete.
As the deep red trail from the bullet slowly faded away into the darkness, Widowmaker whispered into her earpiece, “ Target neutralized. ”
Meanwhile, Agent Sombra was completing her dirty work in her almost uncharacteristically elaborate jester attire. Uncloaking in a purple light, she swiftly pistol whipped two of Vialli’s security guards from behind, knocking them out cold and buying herself time to work her magic at their computers. She was always so efficient in what she did, and always wore her signature smirk that made her intelligence and confidence more than crystal clear.
With a clear of her throat, and a bat of her eyelashes, she whispered into her earpiece to Reaper on the other end, “ Apagando las luces. ”
Everything was going according to plan, as usual. In theme with the masquerade ball, Reaper was covered head to toe in a blood red ensemble bearing a striking resemblance to The Phantom of the Opera’s Red Death. From a floppy velvet hat complimented by a massive goldenrod feather, to a bouquet of crimson ruffles and fabric that flattered his biceps and thighs, this was a self-made costume that Reaper spent a hefty amount of hours hand-tailoring from scratch just for this event. Always with a touch of the dramatic, he wanted to look extravagant when it came to getting work done. This was especially true with this particular costume, as he saw it as a tribute to art he had been enamored with since his childhood, art that had influenced his very identity.
Despite all of this, as far as everybody else was concerned, it was just a simple costume strictly made to blend in with the crowd and nothing more.
His gold trimmed cape billowing in the Mediterranean wind, he stood firm at the ballroom’s rooftop, staring through the glass ceiling as he observed Vialli’s men occupying the space. They were noticeably more alert as they must have just gotten word that multiple team members had just been taken out mysteriously… and quickly.
Whether they were on guard or not did not matter much in regards to their fate; Widowmaker and Sombra had successfully done their part, and now it was Reaper’s turn. With a self-assured nod to himself, and his signature Hellfire shotguns gripped confidently in his gloves, the man melted into black mist and slithered through a crack in the ceiling.
Reaper materialized in the middle of the ballroom, instantly calling attention to the dozens of goons that began to encircle the strange entity. Most of the time he preferred to keep to the shadows, silent but deadly, but this seemed like an adequate time to put on a show.
“It’s Talon!”
“I think it’s the Reaper!”
“Prepare to shoot him dead!” various men exclaimed in response to Reaper’s presence.
Yes, Reaper was now quickly surrounded by armed enemies, and yes, he was outnumbered.
But he certainly wasn’t outmatched.
The men, who at the end of the day were just mere humans with weapons, started charging at Reaper from all directions, guns blazing. The ballroom instantly turned into a battlefield as the sounds of hundreds of rounds being fired filled the room in an instant. At first, Reaper took an analytical and passive approach to combating his opponents, dispersing his nanites just enough to allow bullets to simply pass through his body like a cloud, and calculating the location of each opponent to figure out his plan of attack. The black gas of his body wraithed around the room just like smoke, seemingly in an attempt to confuse them as opposed to attacking them immediately. Like a cat playing with its food before taking its first bite, Reaper wanted to wait for the right moment before the bloodbath began.
As Vialli’s fleet started to become more and more confused by Reaper’s movements, just then did they realize what they were up against.
Finished coming up with a plan of attack, Reaper decided that it was time to pounce. His elusivity turned into deadly aggression in a fraction of a second as he began to jolt around Vialli’s men like a shadow. Preferring to close the distance himself, his leather-bound arms stood firm against the kick-back from his weapons as he fired each shot with fatal precision. Just 5 formulated blows meant 5 men taken down immediately. 2 more shots, 2 more men down. All the while, they could barely even attempt to keep track of Reaper’s movements between each kill. They were so agile yet so deadly, one moment he just was a man with two shotguns and the next he was a wraith darting around the ballroom. He was something far from human, something fucking terrifying.
The men instantly started to panic. This was Talon’s undefeated mercenary that showed no remorse in his killing. This was Reaper.
“Just fucking shoot him!!” one of the men desperately barked at his dwindling team. But it was of no use. Every few moments, the crimson robes wrapped around his impressive frame emerged from black smoke as he chose another target to annihilate, only taking two shots at the very most to finish each one off. A puny sneak attack from one goon ended in him being flipped over Reaper’s shoulder like a cape. The poor sap was then promptly blasted point blank in his eye, with a knotted red puddle of liquid and gunk immediately forming where his face used to be. A poorly timed sucker punch from another was only met with the wraith’s soldier-esque reflexes, ending in him getting his entrails blown out across the ballroom floor. It was absolutely horrifying, and it still continued. No mercy whatsoever.
He was far too quick for the men to even attempt to injure, and his shots far too lethal to be in the realm of survivability. Despite his face being covered by that golden mask, you could still feel the nightmarish anger that he wore, and it was all the more evident given how passionate and deadly his blows were. Reaper had no clue who any of these goons were, nor their identities, nor their stories. But he seemed to kill them as if he had a personal vendetta against each and every one of them, as if leaving them alive was not an option for both Talon and himself. “ Completing the mission ” by any means necessary was always that man’s priority, releasing some pent up angst while doing so was just a bonus.
As Vialli’s men fell dead around him in such a horrific display, there was still a strange sort of beauty that emanated from the man’s murderous performance. And a sick, inhuman brand of satisfaction flowed through Reaper’s typically discontented heart, invigorating his decaying body. He felt pumped and satisfied.
The mixture of gunpowder and bloodmist filling the room blurred the mercenary’s vision, but he sensed that he was now in the clear. His ripped velvet robes being caked in sweat and blood, he threw his empty shotguns to the ground as they kicked up a puff of smoke. He then clicked on the earpiece that sat snug in his ear. His flattened voice carried throughout the now empty ballroom: “ Target neutralized .”
Seeing the dozen freshly slain bodies decorating the floor was a familiar feeling, but there wasn’t much time to relish in his triumph. He ignored the carnage he had left and slithered out of the room among the smog once given the signal. It was time to move on and report to Akande.
“We have a war to start,” Akande Ogundimu proclaimed flatly to the Talon council that sat among him. After just eliminating Vialli himself by shoving him off a bridge, the threat to Talon’s inner peace was now compromised, and Akande had just outlined Talon’s true ideals through an invigorating speech. As Talon’s leader, he made his view clear:
Humanity’s strength lay in war.
Humanity’s strength lay in death.
Talon needs to take matters into their own hands to make humanity stronger.
Means to an end.
Akande’s words reverberated throughout the room:
“... We have a war to start... ”
“... We have a war to start... ”
“... We have a war to start... ”
Reaper gulped hearing those words echo from Akande as he occupied his seat at the table. Gabriel had gone through this already all those years ago. Gabriel had seen loved ones perish, families broken, communities destroyed. Was he ready to do it again?
No matter what, it was far too late for second guessing, and he felt stupid for even briefly comparing current events to what happened a lifetime ago. That was different.
He sat in silence and nodded in agreement with Akande’s declaration along with the other Talon executives. Any smear of emotion that may have been left in that husk of a man still lay hidden behind the dull glitters of his mask.
Promptly, the council was then dismissed, and one by one the Talon members exited the meeting hall.
“ Reaper. ” Akande stopped him in his tracks as he began to leave the building’s front doors. Reaper’s pace halted as he looked behind his shoulder, the crimson fabric of his now dingy masquerade ensemble billowing in the Venice wind.
“Yes…?” Reaper gruffed in his usual matter of fact tone. It was impossible to tell, but his already aching body was exhausted, the high from the slaughter had just worn off. He did not want to spend another minute doing Talon’s dirty work. Not here, not now.
“We need you tomorrow. Talon intel has just informed me that Overwatch activity is beginning to grow in Paris. We need to plan a covert mis-”
“I will not be able to attend.” Reaper cut off his superior.
Nearly taken aback by Reaper’s interjection, Akande continued: “You are an expert at eliminating those who stand in our way…” He threw his hands up to illustrate his sincerity. "I know it is short notice but you are crucial for this mission and your presence for the planning meeting is required.”
Reaper paused, dissipating and quickly reforming out of smog in front of his boss, now facing him only a foot and a half away. Akande could feel the seriousness of his eyes piercing straight through his mask.
“I cannot attend. Not now. I have personal business to take care of.” The breeze blowing throughout his Red Death attire carried Reaper’s earnest words. This must have been important.
Akande was not threatened by Reaper’s tone, if he was even trying to be threatening. He knew, despite his devotion to Talon, his own goals and desires still always sat in the front of his mind at all times, a common attitude among those who worked for this organization. Fact of the matter, he had things that needed to be done on his own terms.
But what things exactly?
Curiosity raised Akande’s eyebrow. “Hm… I thought you said that Amari and Morrison were not in position to be eliminated just yet…?” In Akande’s mind, “personal business” could only mean that elusive list of Overwatch agents that Reaper seemed dead-set on eliminating. That’s all he seemed to be concerned about when not carrying out missions, especially recently.
“No. There’s an unrelated item that I need to retrieve. It is urgent.” Reaper turned his head away from Akande and glanced over to the Venice skyline, the city being framed beautifully by the moonlight. A new-found solemness in him still somehow permeated through the dull gold of his masquerade mask. Akande probably wasn’t meant to notice it, but he was a very perceptive man.
Akande broke the ice a little bit. “Oh? What could it be then?” He smiled slightly. “Paying off a debt? Visiting old friends? Mayb-”
“Akande.” Reaper interjected again.
Akande quit teasing. “Fine. I won’t ask for any details. But, you told me you weren’t feeling sentimental, right?” His tone deepened as he leaned in closer. Even a no-nonsense man such as Akande Ogundimu liked to show at least some interest with his co-workers on occasion, especially considering how… stressful the present admittedly was. Maybe this wasn’t a good time for that, as Reaper was rarely very responsive to that kind of friendliness anyway.
“I’m not sentimental,” Reaper cracked his neck as his arms folded across the broadness of his chest. “I told you that before… and I never lie.” He paused, then turned around away from Akande, maybe to get his point across, or maybe just to appear more brooding.
Reaper’s gritty voice slipped out from under his mask, “...and don’t follow me.”
“Fine.” Akande agreed, exhaling heavily. “Just make sure you don’t lose sight of what’s really important for us.” He leaned in closer to Reaper, slowing the pace of his speech. “Don’t dwell on the past... when we are looking towards the future. Got it?” Akande meant no harm, but this was a time to be stern, no matter what Reaper’s plans were.
“Hmm...” Reaper responded with his usual moody grunt. He knew the risk of retrieving this specific item, and the external and internal conflict it could bring. The self destruction, the pain, the hypocrisy. But he knew that he needed to get it in his hands before it was too late, even if he was telling himself how stupid this whole plan was.
After a moment of silence, his body then melted into an inky mist that dissolved into the air, and just like that he was gone with the wind.
Akande now stood alone outside the renaissance building’s grand entrance. He sighed to himself as he shook his head, “Ugh, I’m not sure why I even try with him sometimes.”
Reaper was definitely never the most affectionate or lively person, but something seemed off about him just then, and Akande picked up on it immediately. The wall he always naturally had between himself and the world seemed just slightly thicker, and his tone just slightly more distant and solemn. Whatever “personal business” he had to take care of was surely something very intimate, and something Reaper felt the need to guard with his life.