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Summary
The rift, the fights, the bickering over leadership—Blackwatch versus Overwatch, Morrison versus Reyes—it had all led to this.
This rubble bites at his ruined flesh through the tattered remains of his armored vest, jagged pieces of metal and stone tearing his mangled skin further; his ears still ring with the boom of the explosion that had destroyed the Swiss base, but it's a distant sound, a noise fading into black. His face is coated with dust, dirt congealed with blood and dried across his skin—his mask is shattered, scattered to the debris, splintered like his chances at fixing this—and the grit under his eyelids burns as he groggily blinks, coats his tongue as he groans.
Gabriel Reyes knows he's going to die.