I was nineteen when they promised me I could be a hero. Sergeant Turner must have keyed in on the bright-eyed look I gave the John Morrison poster, strategically placed over his right shoulder. Small towns across America worshiped John, my modest home in the Midwest being no different. He was a folk hero for poor kids, the picturesque figure of American values, farm boy turned superhero. Turner told me if I worked hard enough, I might get my name etched in history.
"Just like Commander Morrison," he said.
"One question, sergeant, sir. What about my family?"
"You got a wife?" he asked. "Kids?"
"No, sir. I have a mom and a brother," I said. "They'll need the money more than I will."
"We can arrange that, son," Turner said. "I admire that. John was a family man, too."
My eyes widened. "You knew him?" I asked.
Turner puffed up his chest. "Hell, I fought with him. He was a great soldier. Inspiration to us all."
That was everything I needed. Thumbprint, retina scans, digital signature. I was property of the United States Army, Private Jacob Cross. In a few months I'd be leaving the country for the first time in my life. I knew my little brother could provide for our mother, even if he wasn't as good of a shot as me, but I was still worried for them even after my boots crunched grass in England.
When my father died ten years ago, we had to learn how to hunt for ourselves with an increasingly limited amount of bullets. Tracking and hitting small game at a hundred yards for years developed my skills enough to stand out, with another recruit close behind named Davis. We connected immediately, both of us being poverty kids, even though he was from deep in the city somewhere in California. Our marks were high enough to be selected as potential candidates for the coveted eight week sniper school, starting a few months after basic training, but they needed us with some experience under our belt.
As soon as we graduated, our squad was loaned out to the London police as a part of a United Nations joint task force. Mayor Nandah was hosting Tekhartha Mondatta from the Shambali monastery ahead of their big unveiling; the new Turing Green building, a home for the omnics currently living underground. Null Sector had been making noise, especially in England, as the historic day loomed over the future of synthetic and organic bonds. The world originally thought they were a rogue terrorist organization, loud extremists without a chance to deal any real damage, but major attacks all over Europe had escalated them into a near global threat. As exuberant as the city was, I couldn't shake the feeling that something major was about to happen.
The air felt off. Tense. Static crackled and popped in the air with the armored convoy rolling by. The extra security was intended to be a show of force, to show no fear in the face of domestic terrorism, but all I could see were faces just like mine. Afraid. Out of their element. Fresh recruits from every corner of the world in anxious solidarity, arms ready to react poorly in the face of imminent pressure.
Davis tapped my shoulder.
"You hear that, Cross?" he said.
"No. Hear what?"
"Overwatch, man. They're coming." Davis's smile grew wider.
"Here?" I swallowed the lump in my throat. It felt like I was staring at the poster again. I couldn't believe my luck. Commander Morrison in the flesh. The biggest hero we'd ever heard of might be showing up today. Surely to pledge his support for the human-omnic alliance, but maybe he'd have time to give us troops a small speech. The news made its way through the ranks, and we all stood a little straighter. More speculation rose about who else might be showing up. A few recruits mentioned the newest rumored recruit, Tracer. Lena Oxton, the fiery London native, "with a tight ass."
Davis nudged me again. "There's something about that sniper chick, Amari. I don't know if she even has kids, but that's a MILF."
I chuckled. "She's definitely got something."
"What about you, man?" Davis asked. "Which of those Overwatch girls you like the best?"
"Mercy. Dr. Ziegler, no question," I said. "Prettiest woman I've ever seen."
"Not a bad choice." Davis said. "I've never fucked an angel before." We laughed together, holding each other up.
The task force stood near the Turing Green building site in southwest London, surrounded by half the city and thousands of camera flashes. Mayor Nandah and Mondatta waved to the crowd and shook hands, posing for the photo op of the century. Cheers erupted as they performed the groundbreaking ceremony, each digging their shovels into the soil and turning it over to symbolize the hopeful unity of our new future.
The static came back, drowning out the noise of the hundreds of thousands of people screaming their support. The air turned heavy and started tasting like copper. I looked around, but I was the only one who noticed the sudden change.
"Do you feel that?" I whispered to Davis.
"Feel what, Cross?"
"Something's about to happen," I said. "It's in the air."
Davis glanced at the celebration, then back at me. "You better start making some sense, man."
The tension broke. I grabbed his arm and dropped to the ground, trying to pull him with me. He leaned over, but didn't budge. Davis looked down at me and mouthed "What the fuck?"
The city exploded. Shards of glass rained down on us from the highrise buildings as the initial detonations tore through the streets. Fire raged above the sky. Multiple bombs erupted throughout London, crashing hundred year old buildings down to rubble. Sirens tore through the chaos as the Mayor and Mondatta were corralled to safety.
There was a bang close by. When I opened my eyes, I was on my side. I was still holding Davis's charred arm. I think that's all that was left.
"He's the only survivor from that area. Some stroke of luck."
"Bedauerlich."
Was that German? I tried to speak, but it came out as a weak groan.
"Oh! He is awake?"
"He hasn't moved in two weeks, doctor."
I groaned again. Two weeks. I was just watching the Mayor and a robot dig holes.
"It would seem so. This is Doctor Angela Ziegler, can you hear me?"
"You're not really an angel, are you?" I croaked out.
"I do not believe so," she said with a small laugh. "How are you feeling?"
"Hurts. What happened?" I squeezed my hands into loose fists. No problem. I tried to wiggle my toes. It felt wrong. I knew Mercy's voice should have been sending shivers down my spine, but I felt numb.
"We were attacked by Null Sector, diese Verrückten." Dr. Ziegler sighed. "But no matter. You must know."
I opened my eyes. Mercy stood over me, golden hair framing the most beautiful woman in the world through her sullen face. The sea looked back at me, and I knew everything would be okay.
"Know what, doctor?" I asked.
"You have been badly hurt, I am afraid." She hesitated. "You have a serious concussion. Multiple deep lacerations. And there is... severe damage to your spinal cord."
"Damage?"
"Yes, to your tenth thoracic vertebrae." she said.
"I know you're German, doctor." I coughed. "But could you give it to me in English?"
Dr. Ziegler flashed a brief smile, but it vanished into a sympathetic grimace. "My apologies. But you are paralyzed from the waist down."
