Chapter Text
The sun rises over the sleepy New York streets, heralding in a new dawn with its invigorating brilliance. With each day, hope seems to elude the city. New York is rife with uncivil acts and bombings, a hefty price to pay for what seems like an infinite war. A bird chirps. Ants feast on a recently-deceased cockroach, killed the night before by an annoyed human. The city comes to life, accepting the deaths of the previous day and embracing the next.
"The future is bulletproof!" Brian grins as he utters the beginning of a My Chemical Romance song. His eyes are weary with a faint cynicality to them, former ghosts of their rambunctious predecessors. At least, he thinks, he's able to smile. Brian yawns, reaching for his cellphone, only to remember the events of the unfortunate night before.
It's six in the evening. The pendulum swings precariously as six sonorous dings reverbrate throughout the house.
"Timmy! Brian! It's time for dinner," A feminine voice calls, putting down her spatula. It's been hard on her since the Omnic War, with two children to raise.
"Coming!" Timmy grins, putting down his Reaper and Soldier 76 figurines, running to the table. "Brian! Did you hear? There's an Overwatch museum! Can we go?"
Brian shuffles to the dining hall, headphones fitting snugly around his ears. He takes his place next to Timmy, his eyes fixated on the glowing cellphone screen.
"Overwatch is dead, Tim. There's no point. Why do you even care? They won't save us anymore. Were they here when I had to shoot down that Omnic, only to discover Dad was dead? You know what? Fuck this. Fuck Overwatch, and fuck-"
"Brian Reynolds!" The feminine smile on the woman's face twists into an outraged, horrified frown. "I do not condone vulgarities in this house!"
She marches up to Brian, snatching his cellphone away with a tired, disappointed glare. "You are taking Timmy to the Overwatch museum tomorrow as an apology to your younger brother." Maria Reynolds snaps. "No compromises."
The memory fades as Brian clenches a fist. "The aftermath is secondary." He mutters, slipping a navy pullover over his head. It's the one his father had picked out for him on a business trip to Australia. Brian smiles at the memory.
Why the hell didn't they come to save his father?
His thoughts are replaced by pure hatred as he storms to the front door, ennui radiating from his annoyed features. Brian sighs as he glares at Timmy, who responds with an impish smile.
"Alright. The sooner we get this over with, the faster I get my cellphone back."
Hope resides in Timothy Reynolds' eyes. It burns brightly, unwavering even in the face of massacres and bombings. He is one of the many stalwart ambassadors of childish innocence; too young to understand, in the midst of halcyon enjoyment.
"Yay!" Timothy smiles up at his elder brother, tugging the other out of the house. Even as they get into the taxi, he keeps up a constant stream of loquacious chatter about long-antiquated heroes. Brian listens, not saying a word as he glances out the window. Timothy notices, following his brother's gaze.
"Brian, look!" Timothy points to a defaced Overwatch billboard with defamatory messages scrawled over the entirety of the canvas, a common sight in the city. "They can't do this!" He's too young to understand the impacts of the war on the populace. Fighting has made the people war-weary, and abhorrent of anything remotely representative of recent conflicts.
"Of course they can," Brian replies calmly. He's used to this; numb to the appalling atrocities typical of a war-torn environment. The people are recovering, some turning to hatred to forget their losses. "Listen, Timmy," he begins, almost reluctant. To use vulgar language on his brother was one thing, but to tear apart his jaded worldview? No. Brian stops himself short as the taxi pulls up at the marble steps of the museum. "Let's go."
Timmy grins as he kicks open the taxi door, running up the steps two at a time. "Whoa!" He pushes open the wide, glass doors of the rotunda building, a blast of welcoming, cool air enveloping his small frame. "Look!" Timmy's eyes are attracted to a wide screen as Brian stands beside him with bored eyes.
The camera pans to a shot of Russian forces fighting Omnics near Moscow, the harsh Russian winter only exacerbating the sheer disparity of the battle. It is obvious, from a glance that the Omnics seem to be winning.
"Conflict." The narrator begins, the voiceover complementing a shot of Rio de Janeiro being bombed by fighter jets as the camera cuts to Australian ships firing at a large Omnic in the Sydney Harbour.
Timmy glances up in awe, excited by the explosions while Brian watches disinterestedly, having seen enough on the Internet to guess that this is exaggerated propaganda.
"As the world teetered on the brink of anarchy..."
The camera switches to a shot of punks fighting police in front of the Eiffel Tower, eliciting an amused eyebrow raise from Brian.
"A new hope arose."
An image appears of Overwatch soldiers carrying an Overwatch flag, with Gabriel Reyes standing proudly in front. Timmy beams with pride, oblivious to his brother's annoyed expression.
The voiceover continues, images of Overwatch heroes interspersed with narration.
"And today, though its watch has ended, its soaring ideals of freedom and equality will never be forgotten." The screen fades to black as the Overwatch logo appears, exciting Timmy once more.
"And now their watch has ended," Brian chuckles. "Should've ended with the men of the Night's Watch in Hardhome." He laughs softly, pleased at his own joke.
Timmy barely notices, jumping up and down as he smiles up at Brian.
"That was so cool! In that one battle, they had Soundquake. Remember, he has, like, chest missiles..."
Timmy broke off, imitating the sounds of a missle, much to Brian's annoyance as he lets out a frustrated sigh.
" So which one's your favorite? Mine's Fusionator. No, no-no-no. Tracer. Yeah! Tracer! She's like, "Cheers, love. The cavalry's here!" Timmy chirps, imitating the sounds of Tracer's pulse pistols as he glances at Brian, waiting for a response.
Brian rolls his eyes sarcastically, putting his hood up as he walks away, oblivious to Timmy's disappointed frown, watching his brother press against a glass
display.
Timmy's eyes light up in fascination as he runs up to an exhibit, pressing his hand against it in wonder. Doomfist's Gauntlet. He smiles as an electronic display comes up, too excited to notice Brian walking away.
"That's Doomfist's gauntlet! Oh man, they said he could level a skyscraper!" Timmy gushes, looking around for his brother and running to catch up with him.
"And remember, he was out fighting and Winston beat him? And-and was like, "PRIMO PUNCH!" Timmy continues, grinning happily as he chatters for the next five minutes.
Brian sighs, having enough of this. He doesn't need to be reminded of how Overwatch failed him. He turns around, looking his brother in the eye intently.
"Timmy. That's only in the holovids. Everybody knows Overwatch got shut down. Half of them are just mercenaries now." Brian snaps, walking away yet again, cynical disdain radiating with every word.
Timmy shrugs, pretending to fire at Brian with arm cannons, a goofy smile on his face.
The ground shakes.
"Was that me?" Timmy glances at his hands in awe, about to say something more when the ground shook again.
"Fortunately not." Brian replies as he holds his brother close, wincing at the earth-shattering sounds of glass splintering and falling from the skylight. "Well, Timmy, looks like you got your wish," he mutters, glancing in disbelief at the fallen ape-like figure. "They're here."