WITH SOMBRA LOST ONCE AGAIN TO THE UNKNOWN, likely back on the job, he was starved for intel. His capacity for the subtle approach was dwindling with the passing days, along with his patience. He’d done his waiting, a lifetime of it, and still he waited even indeath. Heaven didn’t want him, and Hell had spat him back out to a nightmare of its own design on Earth, so here he was, haunting this purgatory until he’d found his peace. Unfortunately, for what was left of Overwatch, that peace meant their end– and if it meant suffering, he’d be glad for it.
Maybe then they’d know what it’s like.
Lingering in his kingdom of darkness, the alleys bathed in litter and filth he would call home, Reaper brooded over his remaining weapons and ammunition, laid out in an orderly fashion atop the lid of a dumpster. None of them packed a punch like his own did but regardless, he’d need more soon. His grip at each edge of the dumpster began to tighten the more he steeped in his thoughts, steel-tipped fingers biting into the metal– before the softest scuff of a shoe drew his glower.
A child, a little boy clutching his robot figurine, coaxed to dangerous places by curiosity. It was as they say– “curiosity killed the cat”.
The kid seemed arrested by the gaze of this monster, the BIG BAD WOLF his mother probably tells him about. They traded stares for the longest time, before the monster was the first to move. Still the boy did nothing, a deer in the headlights, even as he approached at so leisurely a pace, eyes dogging every step. The creature’s shadow had swallowed him now, and crouching, he dared closer, cementing those cautionary tales with only a word:
“BOO.” and the boy took off out of the alley real fast, but not without dropping his toy, and it hit the ground at the mercenary’s feet with a CLATTER.
That’d teach him to wander off by himself.
