❛ guess we can’t have everything. ❜
@mechbreak.
❛ nah, we can’t. world doesn’t let you. ❜ if we did, i wouldn’t be here. gabriel thinks on his own frustrating position in the world, how his ascension and inevitable descension from a point of ultimate authority had really and truly never been predictable. started as a sweaty, tired little kid in los angeles. a cocky, exhausted teenager facing uncertainty in their future. a soldier. a killer. won a medal or two, earned hero, earned test subject for the soldier enhancement program. earned strike commander of the world’s most powerful peacekeeping force, hero of the omnic crisis. and then –
and then, this.
jj beeps furiously at their doctor while she works; mara just curses back in ASL, sending the omnic into a furious flurry of text-based messages over the communal chat. matthias is prying a hammer out of the wall. the center table in the freezing cold base is strewn with blueprints and plans, the map of their next strike location all laid out, bespeckled in red X’s and O’s. someone yawns. gabriel’s pen rolls off the other end of the desk. a deep scowl embeds itself into his chiseled, war-torn features, exhaustion evident in every move. a large hand swipes down his face, wheely-chair creaking beneath the weight of him. he loves his team. sometimes even more than his previous one. but there’s still bitterness souring his feelings on the new position. he resents that she noticed his longing, disappointed stare, reaching up to close the holo projection of the news. the current strike team pasted on time fucking magazine, beaming and proud. he’s not in it.
some days he can’t help but be reminded of the ticking time bomb that is this room of people, and the fact that he’s been shackled to them against his will. sure, were he given the chance to go back, to be commander of overwatch again, he wouldn’t take it. hard no. but that’s the thing. he’d appreciate the fucking choice over being swept aside so jack and all his blue-eyed, blonde-haired, charismatic character can take his place. having your hand forced will inevitably make anyone at least slightly resentful. reyes spins the chair to turn to bryce, sighing. he wonders some days if she wants to be here either. where would their resident reclusive mechanic go, were she given the choice? sometime, gabe will have to ask her that; dossiers and resumes only explained so much. he stares for a second, then sits up with a grunt. break time is over. gets up, stretches, and gestures that she follow.
❛ anyways. we need to work on the prototype drone. did you finish the blueprint, or are we winging this one? ❜