Prologue

The state of Watchpoint: Gibraltar was one of serious disrepair. Since the disbanding of the international peacekeeping organization years ago, the base had fallen under the singular care of Winston, Overwatch's leading scientific mind, a genetically-engineered gorilla known for his dedication to his projects and not his ability to maintain a functional workplace. His sentient AI assistant, Athena, did what she could to encourage cleanliness, but there was only so much persuading one could do from behind the glass of a computer monitor. The lab had been in pieces before the attack, and was an absolute wreck after.

The attack was the reason they were gathered here today. Winston, who chaired the meeting, was the one who had issued the call; British field operative Lena “Tracer” Oxton, Swiss medic Angela “Mercy” Ziegler, and Swedish engineer Torbjörn Lindholm were also in attendance. Several other ex-Overwatch members had been contacted but were unable to make the trip: Genji Shimada was handling unfinished business in Japan; Reinhardt Wilhelm was assisting with reconstruction in Germany; Jesse McCree was, according to recent news reports, currently on the run from the law. Nevertheless, given the nature of the attack, it was made clear that waiting for full attendance was not an option. The uniforms of the assailants suggested that they were affiliates of the known terrorist organization Talon; the most likely reason for their assault on a long-defunct military programme was that they were planning to target attacks on its former members. This meant that all of their lives were in danger, and they needed to coordinate a suitable response.

This was easier said than done, as the United Nations had with the Petras Act invalidated Overwatch's military charter, leaving its past members as little more than civilians (albeit ones with highly decorated pasts) and incapable of taking direct action without fear of prosecution. Mercy, who was a strict pacifist, had never liked the militaristic aspect of the organization and thought this change was for the best; Torbjörn, whose inventions had fallen into questionable hands after the organization's disbandment, tended to agree with her. Winston and Tracer, whose lives had both been radically shaped by their Overwatch involvement, disagreed starkly with them on this view, and reconciling these differences in pursuit of the greater good was what this meeting aspired to be about.

At the moment, Winston was reading back to them an article from the latest issue of Atlas News. He and Tracer had recently stepped in to prevent an attempted Talon-coordinated museum heist, an event which, while successful (and no jurisdiction on Earth would dare to prosecute the two of them for it), had thrust Overwatch back into the public eye. Understanding public perception of the organization was considered critical when making their decision on how to move forward.

“Let's see… ‘The Overwatch Generation has grown up. We once believed in hope … and some have chosen to act upon it in astonishing ways.’” Winston's voice was strangely authoritative as he read the words aloud. “‘A Chinese environmentalist … saved a nest of endangered arctic wildlife … using nothing but her own inventions. A musician from Brazil … exposed and destroyed a corporation's exploitive use of local land. A professional-gamer-turned-mech-pilot has become a celebrity in Korea … These are exactly the types of remarkable individuals Overwatch would have recruited.’” Winston looked up from his tablet, adjusting his glasses as he faced the room. “She does have a point.”

“What are you saying, Winston?” The meeting had just begun, but already Mercy's voice carried notes of exhaustion. She had been the most senior member of Overwatch at the time that the program was disbanded, and had spent considerable time in committee with the UN discussing the organization's various transgressions. At this point, the mere mention of the name seemed to visibly wear on her spirit. “That we attempt to recruit more members for an organization that no longer exists? This doesn't solve any of our problems.”

“Doesn't exist, my arse,” Tracer replied, as typical full of energy. “We're here, no? Even if we can't go on the offensive, the more eyes we've got on Talon, the better, I say.”

“No,” Mercy said emphatically. Tracer always was rather quick to jump to action, and while it had a definite charm, it also made for shitty policy. You couldn't use a chronal accelerator on global affairs, unfortunately. “Overwatch is and has always been a response to the Omnic threat, which is at this point largely under control. We are not, and have never been, equipped to serve as a counterterrorist organization. This is the reason why we fell apart in the first place.”

“So what, we're just going to do nothing then?” Tracer's tone made it clear that she wouldn't accept that for an answer. “Look, I was there when Talon assassinated Tekhartha Mondatta—if we'd known they were coming, we could've stopped it!”

“Tracer has my point exactly,” Winston responded. “While I agree, Mercy, that Overwatch has… had its fair share of organizational problems, that is not to say we can't do things right this time around. If we have the capacity to put an end to Talon's behaviours, we cannot just stand idly by and watch! We have to do something.”

Torbjörn sensed Mercy's growing agitation to his left and leaned forward in an attempt to prevent it from reaching a boil. “Aye,” he said, “we have to do something, but who's to say that something has to be Overwatch?” Torbjörn had been in the game long enough to know that a change of angle was often needed. “Right now Talon is taking advantage of everything we accomplished as an organization and turning it right back against us: our intel, our technology, they even have Amélie for Pete's sake.” Amélie Lacroix had been kidnapped by Talon and brainwashed into becoming a sleeper agent—now she was their most skilled assassin. “What's to say, if we start this up again, we're not going to end up with more of the same?”

“These people you're mentioning—that the article mentioned—they're just children, Winston!” Mercy waved her hand emphatically in the air, but Tracer attempted to cut her off.

“Oh, come now, they're not much younger than me—”

“Yes, exactly,” Mercy said pointedly. “My point exactly. They're children; we can't go asking them to take part in… take part in what is essentially an illegal operation…”

Winston put his head in his hands, trying to explain in such a way as to calm Mercy down. “Nobody's asking them to do anything illegal. We're just expanding our network…” He had the opposite effect, and she was now shouting louder than ever.

“They'll get brought up on a conspiracy charge at the very least! You're talking espionage, you're talking unlawful armament, you're talking—I'm assuming—some form of military engagement… We don't have the charter for these sorts of things! We can't just go around acting like we're outside the law, or we'll be no different than the enemy we're fighting!”

“Just one second there!” It was Tracer's turn to get heated, as she rose out of her seat and pointed a finger angrily in Mercy's direction. “We don't rob museums. We don't assassinate religious leaders. We are nothing like Talon—How dare you compare us to them?”

“We don't get. To just do whatever we want. Without public oversight. Or approval.” Tracer's outburst left Mercy unfazed; she leaned back in her chair, her arms steadfastly folded at her breast. “I don't approve of this, period.”

“I have to say, I agree with Mercy on this one,” Torbjörn said. He certainly wasn't eager to join the fight, but letting Tracer and Mercy duke it out seemed unlikely to garner results. There had to be a compromise. “I'm with you, Tracer, in that Talon has to be stopped; I don't envy them getting their hands on any of my old tech any more than the rest of you, believe you me. But there's no reason not to play this one by the books.” He gestured with his hand around the room. “Look around. Our base of operations is a wreck; what's more, virtually all of Overwatch's old chief officers are now dead. None of us is Ana; none of us is Jack. We don't have the manpower, we don't have the funding; we don't have the leadership… This isn't something we can do.” For someone who had started his sentence just trying to calm everyone else down, Torbjörn found himself making a surprising amount of sense. “That doesn't mean give up! But there's not a military in the world who wouldn't take one of us signing up to be in their service. We need to make connections, get involved on a local level, and build up from there. No more of this international strike force business. It's not what we're good at.”

“There we go,” Mercy said with a sigh, relaxing backwards into her chair. “Finally, someone says something sensible.”

Tracer had had a frown on her face for the past five minutes, but at this point it changed from a mark of anger to one of contemplation. “Alright,” she said finally, admitting defeat. “Say we do that. Winston, you and Athena can certainly coordinate things here, but as for the rest of us… where would we go? If you're serious about any military in the world taking us, we should be strategic about it, yeah?”

Excited that the group had reached something which approximated tentative agreement, Winston snatched the moment and ran with it. He swivelled towards one of his monitors, and began typing rapidly into the computer. “It would be smart to go where there are already strong anti-Omnic military operations, as that will give us access to the most resources and they would be least likely to turn away the help.” A number of windows popped up on the monitor as Athena began feeding him back data. “Right now, it looks like our best shot is Korea—they've been in near-constant conflict with the Omnics for decades now, remember—and Russia, where what they're already calling a Second Omnic Crisis has only just begun. Word on the street is that they've been experiencing difficulties with the God Program quarantine down in Giza, so it might not be a bad idea sending someone to Egypt as well to insure everything there is under control.”

“I call Korea!” Tracer's hand shot into the air with a flash, eliciting curious expressions from all the others. “What?” she said nonchalantly. “Egypt is too hot and Russia is too cold. Gotta keep my chronal accelerator functioning properly.” She tapped the glowing device strapped to her chest as she spoke. This was not, strictly speaking, an actual concern (and Winston, who had designed the device, gave her a frown signifying he knew as much), but the others shrugged and did not press the issue.

“…I'll take Egypt, then,” Mercy replied. It was the mission which would likely call for the highest level of negotiation, which suited her skillset perfectly. “With luck, there will be no need for conflict and they'll have everything under control.”

“Fine by me,” Torbjörn said gruffly. “I'm used to the cold.”

“In the meantime…” Mercy had adopted a considerably softer tone, now that the group had reached a consensus. “Winston, dear, I know diplomacy isn't your strong suit, but try to get ahold of the major players and let them know what we're up against. Washington, China, the like. There's no guarantee that they'll listen to us, but we have no reason not to give them everything we have with regards to Talon.”

“I'll… I'll try my best.” Winston's voice was shaking—diplomacy really wasn't his strong suit, but he did have Athena to help him with the phrasing of his letters. With that, silence descended upon the room, as each person contemplated their individual tasks. Tracer looked to each of them in turn, a light smile growing on her face.

“Feels kind of exciting, doesn't it?” she said finally. “After all these years, we're finally back in action! I mean. Sorta.”

And with that, the meeting was adjourned.