#plot: greywatch

[apmeka-blog]

alright chumps sit your asses down and let juju spit a verse about @dontcallmejoel you brought this on yourself now i’m releasing the dogs of war

that’ll give you tons of dog kisses because demi is one of the few people that can smack me straight outta a well of self pity when i slip and get caught brooding over one thing or another. they’re the perfect blend of firmness and supportive that makes one heck of a good cup of friend-coffee. demi puts up with me in a scale like no other especially when i meme them 90% of the time, even if my memes are not always funny they haven’t gotten sick of me. 

they are a fantastic writer and one i can proudly say i’m honoured to be able to write with. you are easy to talk to, easy to plot with and an absolute joy to write with and i will preach that til the end of time. there’s always a sense of realism to their writing where there’s details included that give you a feel like.. you’re actually there. like i can’t put into words this feeling but it’s like who or whatever they’re writing is present. gives a very ‘earthly’ feel. it’s good

you talk about my au’s but have you seen the work & effort you put into your original writing as well? the greywatch? plus, forest spirits au would be barely a shell of what is it now if i never had you to help me find most of the research stuff nor your own inclusions. i have you to thank for making that au possible in the first place. 

also if you aren’t following demi -- that’s your decision but take this spiel as me highly recommending them if you’re looking for more writing partners to interact with. 

 *mic drop*

[our-legacy-rp-blog]

most wanted males?

We’d love to see:

Nicholas Zhang - his family is directly responsible for creating the cages at Greywatch, the werewolf prison

Lowry Attaway - his sister is in play.

Leland Killick - a werewolf hunter from a hunting family, with a lot of potential for plot.

Aikin Selkirk - he has cousins in play (one of which is my character), so I’d love to plot with someone and build a backstory together!

ADMIN LENNON

[ol-plots-blog]

Plot Masterlist: now available

For quick access - and a way to catch up on everything that you might’ve missed - there is now a plot masterlist! HERE, you will find links to every plot posted on the OL plots sideblog, in a rough chronological order of how they happened. All posts are grouped together in their plot category - for example, all articles and paras about Greywatch are together, while all articles about the attack in Falmouth are together. Hopefully it’s clear and error free, but please message if there are any mistakes or questions about a particular plot.

[the-royal-courier]

Things to do on a Friday Night

Its Friday, June 16th and the evening brings forth adventure and more!

Defense of Thelsamar

Time: 6 Bells (server) Where: Thelsamar, Loch Modan

Join members of the Dwarven Army as they rout a Legion invasion force from Loch Modan. (Contact Thorlond in game to join in on this combat initiative. It will be an ongoing plot.)

Stormheim Base Raising

Time: 7 Bells (Server) Where: Stormheim, near Greywatch

The Brotherhood of Valor base in Stormheim has languished unfinished and unused due to supply issues. Working with members of the Azeroth Defense Coalition, this vital stepping stone needs to be brought up. Supplies, construction crews, and arms are needed to protect the workers. (Contact Ogrimskar to get involved in this ongoing campaign.)

The Marshblood War

Time: 4:30 (server) Where: Dustwallow Marsh

Alliance forces are pushing back against Horde units in Dustwallow Marsh. (Come join in the 2017 Annual Wyrmest Rp PVP event. Contact Raseri or Alranon Alliance side or Buliss Horde side to get involved in this multi-week campaign.)

The Cask n Anvil

When - Fridays @ 6 pm server Where - Ironforge

Come to Ironforge’s own Cask n Anvil for drinks and fun with the Dwarven crowd. All are welcome in for good food, good music, and excellent brews.

(Contact Modarin in game for more information)

Mr. Smites Improv

Time:   7 Bells Where: Gazebo behind Cathedral, Stormwind City

Come watch the Xanoic Brotherhood as they perform their weekly “Mr. Smite’s Improv” a unique show with laughter, groans, and prizes galore.

(Contact Dreyfusxano in game for more information)

The Stormwind Night Market

Time:   8 Bells (server) Where:  Stormwind Docks (The series of tents at the base of the docks)

Offering a variety of items, curiosities, and acquisitions that one may find hard if not impossible to get elsewhere. With merits deep in foreign trade and a client list extending from pauper to prince, the Market offers to the public it’s stock of goods for a single night only every other week. Leave your preconceptions of the Trade District at home, and allow yourself to search for that elusive treat or item under the stars.  Visit The Stormwind Night Market for those hard to find items tonight!

(OOC: Contact Masnira or Lissmac for more information! We are open to outside vendors as well. Contact us before the event to get a booth spot! Note this market is a front for black market activity. Some questionable items will be for sale! @enigmatic-elegance )

[loalagrace]

unbeknown to her, she wasn't even truly broken yet.

So while I’m sitting here at work doing absolutely nothing, I decided to rewrite the suuuper outdated history section on Olivia’s tumblr. I’m gonna post it on there soon, but I thought I’d post it here too if anyone wants to read it. ( it’s gonna be at http://livyliv.tumblr.com/about )

It’s a little lengthy, but still super brief. If you don’t wanna know how her current plot ends [ #the fool ] that I’ve been posting about then don’t read the last paragraph! Most notable mentions are @kingofstags / @demetrius-devereaux ( there are a few others but… ) Here it is:

24 years ago a sweet baby girl was born to Priestess Adda Draco and former Kul’Tiran Navy Man James Baiylee in the kingdom of Stormwind. With a childhood that could best be described as sheltered, Olivia Jane Baiylee was a shy young girl who took to an adoration of animals and all things nature in the absence of friends, as well as the ocean in memory of her parent’s former home - Kul’Tiras. She was raised to be homeschooled, by a literate father and a mother whose service to the Light was devout, with their own aspirations for Olivia to be a Priestess as her mother. Even as a child below the double-digit ages, she took exceptionally well to wielding the Light but while maybe her calling, it was never where her passions truly lied. Olivia had often stumbled across her father’s worn journals from the city-state he’d previously lived, hidden away in boxes amidst storage as though they brought him shame. It was seldom she was caught, granted with a scorning before it was quickly forgotten again and it was in his ballads that she discovered her own love of writing, with that only heightened after his death when she was just 19 years old.

Olivia lived in the most successful kingdom in Azeroth but even still, she rarely left the area around her small home in the Cathedral District without the smothering of one of her parents. It was just after her 23rd birthday that the Royal Courier first published and she fell in love with the city’s ongoings and it’s reporters, albeit from a distance. Two months later, she left not the church but its employment and joined the newspaper as an official journalist despite her mother’s wishes. It was shortly after that Olivia met her first boyfriend as well as her first, true best friend, Stormwind’s most infamous criminal, and stumbled upon the discovery of the brother her mother had hidden from her - Olivia’s uncle. It wasn’t long after that she was fired from the Courier and subsequently to that, brought in under the wing of the aforementioned criminal, Blank, as an official Speaker of the House of Crows. Then came her first heartbreak with the breakup of her relationship, followed only a couple months later by the disappearance and assumed death of her best friend, never to be seen again. Unbeknown to her, she wasn’t even truly broken yet.

Joining the man she was infatuated with and his family, a sincere and kind-hearted citizen was slowly but surely transformed into something of a monster. Some didn’t believe it, some called it stockholm syndrome, some said manipulation, but in truth Olivia had grown to be a remarkable actress. Even such that still many of the family members believed her to be the frail woman she once was. Olivia served her purpose well in the private confines of the Devereaux Tower and outside it’s walls when needed for several months, until those outside deemed her necessary for a sort of redemption.

Two armored men at a much higher age, her uncle and a friend, intervened for a staged kidnapping of Olivia. Were she not so set on continuing to feign the credulity, it may not have worked, but alas she was taken to Legion of the Dawn’s headquarters for therapy, training, healing, and the elimination of the connection she shared with those she’d previously deemed family. With no way to escape that of which everyone around said was best for her, she was forced to reevaluate her decisions and moral code - and she did. After a month or so, Olivia was transported from there to Greywatch where she was further molded into the soldier she had been training to be. Unexperienced in the ways of the world outside of her hometown, Olivia was set almost straight into battle after battle with the Legion and the Horde alike; it was this that laid out her path as a battle cleric - a healer once more. The order’s Highlord became proud of what she had transformed herself into and thus, took it upon himself to officially adopt her where she had been without a present parent since her departure from the Church. It was for many more months that Olivia remained under this wing she had found herself back in and happily so, until she began to grow depressed once more and worse - resentful.

Olivia returned to Stormwind and fled to the one person who had cared for her since they met again, no matter the circumstance or what she had done: her uncle and the nine dogs, twenty-four cats, and deer that he housed with him. He happily let her back in his home and though he allowed her time to come to terms with her depression, he cared far too much to let her shrivel away in a pit of tears for the rest of her days. He intervened for a second time, though this time was far different than before. Her uncle allowed and welcomed reconciliation with what she would forever say was her former lover, Demetrius, where their connection was restored. Then came the training that would show her what broken truly felt like, but ultimately would alter her body, mind, and soul into a fierce huntress - into a monster more dangerous than anyone thought her capable of.

[esseastri]

*screams quietly in excitement forever*

So, I’ve been part of a new FATE campaign (GM’d by @featherwriter) the past few months. It’s called Soaring Sails and I play a growly grumpy swordmage named Runa who I love more than life itself. We’re about three-fourths of the way through our second Arc, and it’s AAAAAMMAAAZZZIINGGG, Alyx is a terribly wonderful GM and the other ladies in the group ( @thesugarcookieday, @greywatch, @flirtymauveskirt, and @currentsofdreams ) are magnificent.

Anyway, all this to say, we finally set up a blog!

and it’s a really cool blog!

with cool stuff on it!

And you should definitely check it out! Because in addition to the character aesthetics you might have seen bouncing around all our personal blogs, there’s also (or there’s going to be): worldbuilding notes from the GM, backstory short stories, flashfic from twitter, art, ooc shenanigans, and--converted by yours truly from our session recordings--FULL WRITE UPS OF THE WHOLE CAMPAIGN IN PROSE/NOVEL FORMAT JUST WAITING FOR YOU TO READ AND FALL IN LOVE WITH.

Listen, even if you have no idea what’s happening, pls give our lil blog a chance, because it’s amazing. Alyx has hurled us through some plot twists worthy of Bioware, I’m not even kidding, and there have been some shenanigans fans of TAZ and CritRole might appreciate. Plus there’s SERIOUSLY WONDERFUL CHARACTERS both player and non-player, a CRAZY-AWESOME WORLD Alyx dreamed up, and an AIRSHIP. Seriously, what’s not to love about an airship??

I apologize in advance if I go overboard promoting this, but LISTEN. IT’S AWESOME. Ngl, it’s all I’ve been thinking about for months, it’s quickly become my number one “fandom” and I’m half-desperate to share it with everyone. So. Come sail away with us. I promise you won’t regret it.

[ourlegacyads-blog]

NICHOLAS ZHANG - WHAT WILL YOUR LEGACY BE?

Very little can hold a transformed werewolf on a full moon. Wild, feral, and mindless, werewolves can break through wood, steel, bone - which is why the Minister recruited Ye Chen Zhang to build a cage. They were to be the core feature of Minister Tegus’ new prison, Greywatch, which he announced only after Ye Chen had made - and tested - his cages. It had taken him five years to get it right: countless hours and days spent testing and retesting every material and spell combination he could find until he finally made something that could hold a werewolf. Nicholas was ten and almost ready for Hogwarts by the time the cages were complete, feeling as though he’d poured as much of himself into their construction as his father. The Greywatch cells were to be Ye Chen’s legacy, and it gave him a great deal of social value around the halls of the Ministry of Magic, where he came to be known as an advisor to Lowell Tegus himself. Hard work was something that Nicholas learned from his family - that, and the value of being at the top.

REVAMPED & RELAUNCHED: now taking applications!

                MAIN / ASK / CHARACTERS / PLOT / APPLY

[olteasers-blog]

Very little can hold a transformed werewolf on a full moon. Wild, feral, and mindless, werewolves can break through wood, steel, bone - which is why the Minister recruited Ye Chen Zhang to build a cage. They were to be the core feature of Minister Tegus’ new prison, Greywatch, which he announced only after Ye Chen had made - and tested - his cages. It had taken him five years to get it right: countless hours and days spent testing and retesting every material and spell combination he could find until he finally made something that could hold a werewolf. Nicholas was ten and almost ready for Hogwarts by the time the cages were complete, feeling as though he’d poured as much of himself into their construction as his father. The Greywatch cells were to be Ye Chen’s legacy, and it gave him a great deal of social value around the halls of the Ministry of Magic, where he came to be known as an advisor to Lowell Tegus himself. Hard work was something that Nicholas learned from his family - that, and the value of being at the top.

NICHOLAS ZHANG is coming to Our Legacy, an original Harry Potter roleplay, revamped and relaunching this month.

                   MAIN / ASK / CHARACTERS / PLOT

[pumpkincentaur]

tbb plot: lenore gets her just desserts but there’s a serial killer on the loose now and that’s kind of bad, so amar and some out of town detective have to fix it. the town also finally gets uncursed so that’s good tss plot: logan may or may not commit a murder or three and now all his buddies have to help him hide the body(ies) and not get caught while the town’s newest cop tries to figure out what the fuck is going on (spoilers: logan drowns the cop at the end) tll plot: adrienne eldridge gets REALLY fucking mad and tries to wipe greywatch cove off the map entirely because of some stuff that happens to her and her brother. her girlfriends help at first but then she takes it too far and shit goes horribly wrong tbb2 plot: ?????

[dontcallmejoel]

Op: [Code: Final Will]: Hour Twenty-Three

[ Active Agent(s) ] : McCree [ Location ] : Watchpoint: Gibraltar, Blackwatch Division

He’d changed back into the serape and hat on the way back, it wouldn’t do to be seen entering a Petras-Neutral organization in the same disguise he used to rob a Petras-Active facility after all, but the mannerisms had yet to return in full. Technically, he had a day yet before Athena made good on reporting him, but as keyed up as he was he knew he wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon. Carefully, he studies the following pages, looking for Gabe’s breadcrumbs that indicate how to break the code.

There are approximately forty additional pages filled in the prayerbook as Jesse remembered it, not the least of which is headed with one verse:

“And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.”

“Trouble in paradise,” Jesse mutters when he reads it. Though, maybe not. What is loosed on earth being loosed on heaven sounded suspiciously like a merger protocol. He lifts the page images onto his working screen, careful to keep it on a secured personal clone of Blackout. He opens a thread on the verse, a side thread to keep a note on any allusions of earth and heaven.

Three hours later, notes spidered out, from the pages, an imbricated halo of data points color-coded by relevance to the initial thread of code, spotted here and there by a dozen or so other repeating patterns and references. Jesse’s on his fifth cup of coffee, contemplating breaking out some of the old stims they saved for multi-day ops. The only reason he opts not to is his own anxiety: if he can’t tame this beast Reyes dreamt up on his own, how was he ever going to fill his boots?

A smart mind’s weakness is its ability to become overloaded. Being hyper aware of details meant pulling back to view the bigger picture tended to be that much more difficult. Too many perceived details meant the focus of the target blurred. The more variables, the more likely someone is going to fuck up. As is, There’s one obvious code, and two potential side codes, a mark that indicates he can use one smaller cipher to completely change one of the ciphers, and dozens of potential keys to do both.

It’s not that difficult. Gabe’s voice. Here more than ever, it feels like he’s at the back of the room, observing, commenting, correcting. You’re lost in the minutiae, focus on the problem. Focus on the motive.

Which was easy enough to say, and in general true. Gabe, however, was always the exception to his own rules. He had been the definition of difficult, and sly as a fox to boot. There was no way the first code Jesse can find is the actual code to unlock the system, Gabe would never leave something that important to face value. Undoubtedly, these random details would become a vital clue to determining the true key.

But what could it be? What clue was he missing? Motive. Focus, Jesse. Would Gabe have left a Blackwatch-specific set of keys? Towards the end nothing was certain regarding Gabe and his general opinion of the world, but even when Jesse left, the man still had an outsized respect for his own division.

People don’t think in terms of white spaces. They pay too much attention to what someone is, and miss what they’re not.

One of Gabe’s old mantras, something Jesse must’ve heard a thousand times. Focus on what it’s not. “Blackout, be a darling and up the contrast for me.”

The pages render, and immediately he picks out a pattern of double spaces, something like 34 in all- no. 42. “Take the words on the left and the right of the spaces and analyze for me, please.”

In less than a minute he knew what the next cipher was.

“Take the original code, run it through the heaven and earth cipher, then finish with the white space cipher.”

A monster, a beautiful, elaborate loop of cipher that looped on itself continually. And it probably only took his old boss an afternoon to knock it out, then a week or so to refine it. Jesse tries and fails to swallow back his rising anxiety. Some boots to fill indeed.

“Pull up Blackwatch internal servers.”

Nᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ: Bʟᴀᴄᴋᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ Iɴᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟ Sᴇʀᴠᴇʀs Sᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ Uɴᴅᴇʀ Pᴏsᴛʜᴜᴍᴏᴜs Oʀᴅᴇʀs ᴏꜰ G Rᴇʏᴇs

“Override code.” A flashing block appears under the words, filling the screen as Jesse repeats the cipher. It fits the entry bar like a glove.

For a second, the screen goes black. Then, the Blackwatch logo lights up.

Wᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ. Bʟᴀᴄᴋᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ Iɴᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟ Sᴇʀᴠᴇʀs Aᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ.

Cʀɪᴛɪᴄᴀʟ Nᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ: Rᴇᴘᴏʀᴛ: Fɪɴᴀʟ Wɪʟʟ Aᴠᴀɪʟᴀʙʟᴇ ꜰᴏʀ Rᴇᴠɪᴇᴡ.

Aᴄᴄᴇss Fɪɴᴀʟ Wɪʟʟ?

“Open it.”

“Reyes reporting.” The sound of Gabe’s voice sets his heart hammering. He strains, listening, trying to absorb the voice of a ghost. “You’ve activated my Code: Final Will, which is only possible if I’ve died in action without suppressing the Blackwatch Lockdown Protocol. So that leaves me with two possible futures, one where Overwatch is a shell operation for those weak-kneed fools in the UN, or has been disbanded entirely. And if you’re here, then I guess whichever option it is, it didn’t take.” A chuckle. “They think they don’t need us. Like they could’ve won the war without us. It’s amazing how high minded people can get over the state of the world when they refuse to shed a drop of blood to change it.”

“Narrative’s always important. I’ve told you this before at some point. The narrative they’re pressing is Blackwatch is the tarnish on Overwatch’s bright and shiny face. As if wiping us away will save Overwatch from itself rather than cripple an organization of immeasurable power and influence.”

“Here’s my narrative: Overwatch and Blackwatch may be night and day, but they’re all part of the same cycle. Light and shadow, framing and defining one another. But if Overwatch is the hand then Blackwatch is the brain. They’re not concerned with preserving the good name of Overwatch, they want to cut the intel vital to determining the outcomes of our missions off.”

“But they have the brush, and under it they tried to turn soldiers into paragons, and if you aren’t a paragon you’re a pariah. Well, I’ve seen what becoming a paragon does to you, and, though ol’ Jackie might find this offensive, I prefer the latter. At least then I wouldn’t have to internalize all the hard aspects to put on someone else’s face for the public.”

“I say it’s time we took the brush back, stop painting over one another, and hold up a fucking mirror. I designed this system so that the other codes would not only reactivate Blackwatch but automatically integrate the system with Athena. Every tacit approval of extreme force, every unanswered request for clarification or sharp order implying getting the information was more important than everything else, with a vague wave at morals and individual health. Overwatch? Blackwatch? One and the same.”

“At least, that was my intention, but you’re one of us. It’s likely you know the current situation better than an old recording does. So I leave the option up to you, integrate the system and reveal the full face of Overwatch to the public, or reactivate the shadows and put them to use saving the world. Good luck, Agent. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Cᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀᴀɴsꜰᴇʀ ᴏᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ. Pʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀ Aɢᴇɴᴛ Dᴇᴛᴀɪʟs.

“Blackout, if you’d do the honors.” His information processes.

Aᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴇᴅ.

Funny, how one word could feel like a death sentence.

Wᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ, Cᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅᴇʀ. Jesse feels a prickle over his left shoulder, like the ghost of Gabe Reyes had entered in his unawares and was hovering there. Rᴇɪɴsᴛᴀᴛᴇ Bʟᴀᴄᴋᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ?

Jesse hesitates. “Blackout, make a clone of the internal server. Keep the original locked as per Petras protocols, but begin to liquify the data.”

Oʀᴅᴇʀ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇᴅ, ᴇsᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛɪᴏɴ: ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛᴇᴇɴ ᴅᴀʏs.

“Now, on that clone, keep the system set-up and protocol codes. Freeze all encryption codes and a access points. Save the assets. Talon has access to some of the reigns, we’re going to need to purge’em before we can think about going a step further.”

Wʜᴀᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ Bʟᴀᴄᴋᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ?

Jesse pauses, eyes roaming over the lines of data that formed a picture of Blackwatch actions in the last five years. They were familiar, unsettlingly so.

“Blackwatch is dead, darling. It’s time to burn that old house and start anew.”

Across an ocean, in a dim room, a screen lights up.

Cᴏᴅᴇ: Fɪɴᴀʟ Wɪʟʟ, Aᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴇᴅ. Red eyes under a bone-white mask, hands becoming solid from inky smoke. Aᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀs.

[dontcallmejoel]

Op: [Code: Final Will]: Hour Thirteen

[ Active Agent(s) ] : McCree [ Location ] : New York City, just outside The Petras Vault

The company that designed the vault was smart. Or corrupt. Hard to tell, but everything from the architects to the base materials to the contractors that poured them to the laborers that did the wiring, even the men that came to inispect the building for health codes, all in house in one form or another. Security was uniform, no mesh of different firewalls or encypted emails to chink their armor. He waits patiently as Blackout probes the tech’s infrastructure with a ghostly comb, wishing desperately the helmet allowed him to smoke. He knew that vice would bite him in the ass one day, but there’s nothing for it now. Instead he watches the ellipses after Blackout’s Pᴀʀsɪɴɢ blink sequentially, and uses them like a metronome to the mental recitation of every Agent ID that died for Overwatch to live in order to keep a clamp on his autonomic fidgets.

Finally. One of the data packets Blackout sent in hit a charging personal cell plugged into a work computer.  A foothold, one that opened the tree to architect’s morgue, and therefore to the Petras Vault designs.

Fɪʀᴇᴡᴀʟʟ Bʀᴇᴀᴄʜᴇᴅ.

The building turns out to be an iceberg, the majority of the twisting halls located in a whorl below the surface, a yard of unobstructed dirt acting as a shell, likely pressure-monitered. Satellite-imaging pulls up where a city-ordinated plumbing hook up broke the otherwise solid ground, and confirmed: pressure monitering forming a ring where maintence could stand safely with locking the entire building down on the off chance someone flushed one too many unmentionables.

The building design overlays his vision, the lines of halls tracing over the ground and external facade. Camera data for the cameras nearest to him open in stacks of neat collumns in his peripherals, going transparent when the angle has an overlap with a variable he needs to keep in sight. The camera angles are airbrushed over his view of the hall, and anytime the building security took control that camera lit up on his interface.

Blackout feeds his biometrics into the plate system, and he walks across them like he weighed nothing. There are no service entries, but a building of this size with as many floors means there are fire exits at every staircase. Doors with circuitry Blackout can play like a baby grand piano. The monitering system moves with his smooth gait, timed perfectly so he hits every gap.

Iɴᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ. 

The line art of a well built suit animates over the hall outline that intersects his path. He choses an alternate route, and the cameras reload to match him.

Weapons are dead center, the focus of an immovable ring of camera haze, Personal Effects given the short shrift of an outer hall. He’ll be exiting through fire escape at the end of the Personal Effects hall, but first, while he’s here, he might as well do some shopping.

Blackout opens the schematics for a specific weapon in the works for one G Reyes, the prototype of which is in Box E8 (the number of which gives him a chuckle, becuase the designers must have looked at a chessboard layout once or twice or were otherwise supernaturally gifted in coincidence). Once he hits the edge of the immovable camera ring, he waits. A coffee delivery request had been issued from the security detail’s location, and was due to deliver right about now.

3. 2. 1. Sᴍɪʟᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴏɴ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴀ.

He moves then, keeping his walk smooth and predictable to help Blackout mask him from the motion sensors as much as possible. She’d bought him a little time by initiating the sleep screen on the moniter screens. Box E8 slides out, the mechanism disguised as a routine system check on screen.

What it reveals is a piece of art that would’ve made Jesse whistle with appreciation. unpainted grey metal, custom magazines with open back slots, a magazine cache with some form of rotational mechanism built in to change the rounds...

It’s built for Gabe, but when he lifts it from the box, it slips into his hand like its come home. The custom rounds were never built, but their designs are easy enough to filch and store for later.

He straightens up, the box slipping back into the wall. The subroutine that opened it is deleted like the action never occured. The weight sensor will detect it’s empty in the morning when the system resets, but for now is blissfully unaware of any changes. Before he leaves, he points his mirrored faceplate at the camera head on, and, after a beat, nods respectfully.

It’s easier to get Gabe’s personal effects. No cameras, no weight sensors, no real locks, just drawers that slide out and reveal a neat jumble of clothes and whatever else was in Gabe’s blastproofed desk. It’s almost like he’d taken out a storage locker, one he’d one day recall he had and come to clean out. At least it wasn’t dusty, so someone checked routinely on the contents.

On top, a black prayerbook. The best secret Gabe never kept.

He exits swiftly, and is halfway to the transport site when the Petras Vault security triggers, and the entire building goes lockdown red.

[dontcallmejoel]

Op: [Code: Final Will]: Hour Nine

[ Active Agent(s) ] : McCree [ Location ] : En Route to New York City

The quiet spaces around action are the darkest. If hanging around the old office in Gibraltar bred sentiments, sitting alone in his own head on the way to an Op had him drowning in them. The helmet in his hand is a high-tech mirror, reflecting his face back at him. There are new lines around his eyes, wrinkles on his forehead, a scar just barely visible under his beard. But the years had been kind where life had not, he still had his hair and his eyes, after all.

He’d created Jesse McCree during the Blackwatch Era to remind himself that while Blackwatch did what was necessary, McCree specifically sought justice and through justice redemption. The old Spaghetti Western ideals, that justice for the wicked didn’t belong only in the hands of saints. He wanted to be a reminder that a reprobate like himself could walk among the sinless and be no less of a hero.

But Jesse was flashy, the caricature in red with a memorable accent and identifiers you could track from a mile. Jesse couldn’t do the job he was about to. Slowly, he reaches up and removes his hat.

Mirrors were once thought to capture the soul and reveal it as it truly is. Ana told him once mirrors were used by the gods when walking through different worlds to identify how they were expressed in that world, a tool of revelation and identity, revealing the bond between what is and what you are. Know thyself.

He lifts the helmet, smooth oval of it that would encase his entire face, locking himself away. All who looked at him would only see themselves.

Blackwatch had been created to become whatever Overwatch needed. It was time he returned to that philosophy. He would become whoever he needed to be in order to keep Overwatch safe.

Magna mercede, at all costs.

The become everyone, he would become no one.

The helmet is so light he can barely feel it, an experimental version of hardlight, and one way on all sides giving him complete use of his peripherals. A screen loads over his vision, the only way he can tell he’s wearing anything at all.

Bʟᴀᴄᴋᴏᴜᴛ ʟᴏᴀᴅᴇᴅ sᴜᴄᴄᴇssꜰᴜʟʟʏ. Wᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ, Aɢᴇɴᴛ.

Time to begin.

[dontcallmejoel]

We Are Needed

[ Agent ] : McCree [ Status ] : Overwatch (active), Blackwatch (decommissioned) [ Location ] : Watchpoint Gibraltar, Section B, former office of the Resident Blackwatch CO

He knew he shouldn’t’ve come back here. The shadows breed memories faster than his sentimental mind can shut down. Shoulda known he wouldn’t be able to resist wandering the old stomping grounds. Shoulda also known that the moment a mission went south he wouldn’t be able to resist reviewing every detail with the same soul-searingly critical eye he learned from Gabe.

He sits at Gabe’s old desk, bathed in the incandescence of the debrief screen, peering through boots crossed at the ankle on the desktop, eyes just barely skimming from under the brim of his hat. On the mainscreen, Winston hits his rage, and drops nearly as quickly to one Akande Ogundimu.

“Athena?” Polite and patient, immediately in contrast to the storm brewing behind his eyes. As if she knows it, she’s hesitent to reply.

“Yes, Agent McCree?”

“How much intel on this guy did our friends have before dropping in to say hello?”

The right hand screen pulls up. Not much, a bio face sheet (outdated), a few clips of the man in action. All in all, underwhelming would’ve been paying the scant info a compliment. “They went in on this?”

“Overwatch assets are few-”

He cuts her off, his feet slipping to the floor with a resolute thump. “Gabe woulda had the ass of the officer that approved this before breakfast.”

“Need I remind you of Reyes’ current status?”

“Which part? The dead part or the psy-fucking-chotic part?” Jesse rubs his eyes, sitting straight. With a little finagling and a few moves borrowed from the big man himself, he pulls up the Petras Act Final Report, opening the section on confisticated materials, where he figured just ab out all of Blackwatch’s assets were kept. Bingo, Personal Effects, Reyes, G. “Be that as it may, even dead he has more common sense than us.”

Location: Petras High Security Vault, New York City. Well. Damn.

“I ain’t Gabe, and I reckon it’s about time I see that as a blessing.” He watches once more, the moment Genji stumbles, the moment Lena’s slipstream device is torn from her and she loses herself in time. “I didn’t come back to watch them die.”

“Jesse, please consider, the recall of Overwatch was one thing, but to recall Blackwatch could be disasterous.”

He’s quiet at that. “What they don’t know won’t hurt’em.”

“Be that as it may,” oh boy, she’s getting fiesty. “I have to report it immediately per Petras.”

“Athena-”

“Jesse.”

“Activate emergency Overwatch Protocal Synocope, authorization code 10-6-6-7-8-4.”

Silence. Then, hesitantly, “Authorization code accepted. Temporary Blackout protocals now in effect. Welcome back, Agent McCree.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He makes his way for the door, a plan forming as his heart quickens. It’s been years since felt this, the electricity in the air before the lightning stirkes.

“Jesse?”

“Yes?”

“You have forty-eight hours before I have to inform the UN.”

“Understood. Just remember, until then? Not a soul.”

He’s got a train to catch, and some assets to call. But first, a little change in costume is in order.