The light had faded, but the silence remained.
Smoke wafted skyward in ghostly ribbons, mixing with what was left of the clouds. The once-mighty California Omnium now stood as a smoldering ruin—twisted steel, ruptured towers, and slag heaps where assembly lines had once marched forward like clockwork. What little wind blew carried the scent of metal dust, ozone, and scorched bone.
Jack Morrison stood atop a collapsed support beam, his visor cracked, one hand gripping his pulse rifle like a walking stick. His squad, what was left of it, moved behind him with caution. Every face was dirtied and hollow, smeared with ash, but alert.
He clicked his comm once. Static. Twice. More static.
"S3bastian, report."
A short burst of static crackled, then cleared.
"Alive and well." His answer was brief and lacked the usual sarcastic tone with no humor to be present at all. For very good reason.
Jack allowed himself a breath of relief. "Shawn?" No answer. Just the soft hiss of background interference.
The medic tents were overflowing. Rows of injured were laid on metal cots or the cold ground, as triage prioritized the ones who might still make it. The tent flapped against wind made turbulent by the explosion's aftershock.
The Head Sergeant, the grizzled head medic who once challenged Shawn's approach, now sat at a field table, hand trembling as he filled out a casualty report. His eyes paused when they reached the name: Medical Specialist Shawn Rose. He didn't write anything for a long time.
He didn't want to. But he knew he had to. Everyone knew.
Leslie burst in followed by Virginia. Their uniforms were dirtied with a mixture of mud and blood. However, the blood that stained their clothes didn't belong to them.
"Sir," Leslie said quietly, "Virginia says that he might have survived. That he went high enough."
He didn't look up. "We don't build hope out of what-ifs, soldier. Trust me, it's easier not to."
"I saw it," Virginia protests. "He flew. That explosion… it didn't hit us. It didn't even hit the ridge. He protected us."
Another medic turned from the patient she was treating. "Even if he survived the blast, that altitude… no chute. No stabilizer. Just gravity and fire."
The Segreant rose and placed a hand on both of their shoulders. "I know that boy is special, but he was still human. There's only so much we can do. I don't want to accept this as much as you do, but there's only the reality that we have in front of us.
They sat in silence, the hope still burning in both of their faces, dying down, but not out.
The Makeshift Overwatch Command Center, California
Jack Morrison entered the debriefing room with shoulders heavier than any weight he'd carried in battle. The senior command staff sat in silence, watching him. The image of the explosion still hung frozen on the holoscreen behind them, brighter than the sun itself. Many different high commands were present at the moment; however, Jack's mind was elsewhere. Sighing, and he mustered whatever focus he had to start his report.
"Operation Ironsky was a success," Jack began, voice steady. "The California Omnium is neutralized. Enemy forces in the region are in full retreat or disabled. Radiation levels are high but localized."
"And the core?" Commander Chen asked.
"Gone," Jack said. "Taken above atmosphere before detonation."
General Lévesque leaned forward, folding her gloved hands. "And who exactly did that?"
Jack looked her in the eyes. "Medical Specialist Shawn Rose." A beat of silence.
"Casualty?" she asked.
"Unknown," Jack said. "We're organizing recon flights and satellite sweeps now. But the blast… it left nothing in the sky." Another beat. She knew how important Rose and his omnic were. Losing them was a blow. However, at this stage of the war, they could probably somehow learn to make do without him.
Then the general tapped her console. "Understood. We'll mark him MIA. With honors."
Jack nodded and left without another word. Unfortunately, that's all he could do on his part. The honors would grant him various medals once the war was over, a fitting reward some would say. But as Jack looked down at his hands he thought of the serum bonded with his very DNA. It made him superhuman, the doctors assured him. So, why did he feel like he wasn't even qualified to be human right now?
Pacific California Coastline
S3bastian stood on a cliff that overlooked the sea. He held a piece of torn fabric—Shawn's coat, half-burned, streaked with dried plasma and dust. Waves lapped against jagged rock below. He didn't move for some time.
Finally, he sat, back clicking as his joints adjusted.
"I ran the calculations," he murmured aloud, though no one was there. "Altitude, trajectory, detonation radius. Even factoring in the maximum potential for bioelectric self-reinforcement… odds of survival are 0.07%."
He looked up to the sky, now quiet, tinged with hues of orange and gray.
"But then again, you always did make a mockery of statistics." He lifted the sash, gently folding it. Inside his chest cavity, he placed it in a small, protected compartment.
"Until proven otherwise… consider yourself late, sir."
Somewhere Unknown – Time: ???
He couldn't feel his body. No pain. No weight. No breath. Just warmth.
A pulse of energy surrounded him, swirling around his body making him feel like he belonged. It was gentle, serene, and rhythmic. Not the kind of electric charge he wielded. This was deeper. Older. Familiar.
Shawn opened his eyes.
He was floating, surrounded by nothing and everything. A swirling ether, glowing with traces of light and static, hummed around him like a heartbeat. He tried to move but found his limbs slow, like swimming through honey.
Alive?
He wasn't sure.
Far in the distance, something drifted closer. A shape.
It glowed with a strange hue, like a blend of aurora and circuitry. As it neared, words formed in his mind, not spoken, not heard, just known.
'Oh.' Was all he thought in response. 'I didn't know you could, speak if you call it that.'
Back on Earth
A new transmission pinged in Overwatch's encrypted network. Untraceable source. Encrypted by a cipher no one had used in years. When decrypted, it contained only three words:
"He's still sparking."
Morrison stood staring at the message. He didn't smile. But his eyes lit with something fierce.
Hope.