Underground Medical Lab
The lab was silent but alive as screens flickered, tubes pulsed with amber fluid, compressors sighing with each breath of the automated system. Shawn stood at the core terminal, gloves slick with condensation, staring down at a row of sealed injectors.
They were slim, preloaded, each tipped with a crimson band standard Overwatch color. But these weren't just stimulants.
They were Blackline.
"Batch seven confirmed," the system intoned. "Bioelectric absorption rate: 84%. Tolerance: 91%. Cell decay: minimal."
S3bastian strolled in from the far end, wiping plasma residue off his arm. "If I had tear ducts, I'd be crying. Look at you. About to be court-martialed one day, now the patron saint of sustainable doping the next."
Shawn gave a dry smile. "They're ready. Doses stay dormant until trauma activates them. No more flare-ups. No neural inflammation. No kidney degradation. They just... settle into the bloodstream and wait."
He slid one stim into a black satchel marked with the Rose's Thorns insignia. "One injection before treatment. The body adapts as it heals. No forced augmentation. Just evolution, delivered slowly."
S3bastian gave a solemn nod. "You've done it."
"No," Shawn said, sealing the case. "We did. If I get in trouble for this, you're going down with me."
The Next Morning
Sirens tore through the still morning. Lights pulsed red.
A voice crackled over the intercom: "Omnic activity has resumed. Global scale. Immediate redeployments underway." Screens across the lab lit up. Dozens of red dots lit up every continent. But this time, something was different.
"Pull up visuals," Shawn ordered.
The feed flickered showing dust-choked skies over Paris, Seoul, Johannesburg. Soldiers running for cover. Omnics marching with precision. A new Bastion variant lumbered forward on four legs taller, broader, with massive back-mounted mortar pods that fired arcs of concentrated explosives. The battlefield flowered with fire.
In another feed, a sleeker Bastion resembling a panther, sprinted forward on all fours before unfolding into a slim, high-caliber turret. Rapid-fire. Pinpoint. Then the Orisa units appeared.
Terrorizing Eastern Europe was the "Orisa Vulture". An Orisa unit that moved with horrifying grace, launching drone-like javelins that hovered around it like vultures, each one capable of detonating with a concussive flash.
The second, located in Russia, was the Orisa Juggernaut. "It was twice the size of its predecessor, with shielding engines that absorbed projectiles and converted them into kinetic retaliation blasts.
"Someone's been busy," S3bastian muttered. "Anubis must've built an entire new command tier."
Shawn's hands clenched. "So, this is what they were waiting on."
With attacks launching simultaneously worldwide, the middle east was no exception. A large scale omnic invasion was attacking the forces in Jordan. We were to hold the city and halt their advances before they gained momentum.
Chaos reigned in the halls. Medics sprinted past with stretchers. Officers barked orders over holographic maps flickering under their palms. Transport crafts came and went like insects over a flame.
Shawn stood by the requisitions table, sorting Blackline doses into deployable pouches. Each runner would carry five. Administer, then stabilize. He was about to head out when the noise behind him dimmed. Jack Morrison stood there. His usual stoicism was dulled by exhaustion, uniform dusted from a recent redeployment.
"I'm being reassigned to the Eastern European front," Jack said. "Massive push in Prague. We've lost three squads already. I leave in an hour."
Shawn looked up but said nothing. Jack glanced around, then stepped closer.
"I wanted to say something before I go."
Shawn gave him his full attention, raising his eyebrows curiously.
"I know what I did. Pulling the plug on ABR. That couldn't have felt right to you. Especially with everything we're facing. We've been through a lot together, I know what you're capable of. You do a lot of things that I don't agree with. I just..." He paused, voice rough. "I didn't want to leave thinking there was bad blood between us."
There was a moment of silence, the kind that stretched but didn't break. Then Shawn shook his head.
"There's no bad blood, Jack. You were doing your job. You're still doing it."
Jack blinked.
"And I get it," Shawn continued. "We all answer to someone. And at the time... maybe I wasn't thinking clearly. Maybe I was too close to it."
He offered his hand.
"No hard feelings."
Jack took it, firm. "You're a good man, Shawn. Even if the brass can't always see it."
"I don't need them to," Shawn replied. "Just need the next wounded soldier to make it home."
Jack nodded. "Then we both keep doing what we can."
Deployment Bay – That Evening
Shawn stood beside his team. Twenty medics. Twenty field runners. Blackline doses locked into shoulder pouches. They all carried packs, supplies, and quiet determination.
Every member had been briefed: Administer the stim before treatment. Let it work while you do your job. Watch for signs of overcorrection, but trust the process. He held the final stim case in one hand, the medical crest on the lid.
Then he addressed them.
"You've heard the reports. The world's burning again. And this time, it's faster. Harder. We won't stop the storm. But we'll damn sure keep our people alive through it."
He opened the case.
"Blackline is our answer. We're not just medics. We're the last line between hope and body bags. You carry life in your hands."
He snapped it shut.
"Let's get to work."