If it wasn’t for the Endothermic Blaster lying right next to the dismantled corpse, you’d be hard pressed to recognize the person who met her untimely end was actually Mei. Limbs were torn apart, her head smashed in, blood everywhere.
There had been tensions among the Overwatch members recently but now it seemed open war had been declared. Sure nobody was going to cry over Mei, since, well, nobody liked her but it was still important to find out who was responsible for this because they might soon start killing people the Overwatch team actually cared about.
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It was a rainy night. It usually is. This place is so dark and humid I'm surprised people don't grow gills from living here. I was going home to drown my sorrows on a bucket of booze when I suddenly got a call. An anonymous number, great, those are always good news. the voice on the other side of the phone told me to go to the old Overwatch PR building, that I would find something, "interesting" there. Well, at least it didn't try to sell me cable. I pondered whether I should go or not, this kind of calls don't usually end favourably. But I was bored and my curiosity was peaked enough, so why not? I brought my old .475 Wildey Magnum with me, nowadays a toy compared to all that ultra modern laser stuff, but still as capable to put holes on people as back in the day. I miss the old Charles Bronson days, it was all so simple back then. You didn't have to worry about your toaster coming to life and suddenly trying to kill you, or all those robot that suddenly wanted to play people.But hey, at least I got internet, and that is worth every robot uprising.
I arrive to the place to find it crawling with police and Overwatch grunts. Shit. If something has happened I'm here with a gun, so they will all point their fingers at me. Or their plasma rifles. Anyway, if I wanted to know what was going on, I'd have to get inside. In my profession, asking politely what's going on can get you a punch in the face. Curiosity did not kill the cat, but rather a lack of common sense. Before I could even react, a policeman stopped me and asked me my ID.
-Are you the press? -Said the man.
-Excuse me? -Must be a rookie, I thought. Noone asked a suspicious man on a rainy night like this one if he comes from the press. -Do I look like the press to you?
-Then who are you and why are you here? - Damn my short temper. In my profession, this kind of thing was a killer, and I've spent ten lives worth of luck in the past already.
Fortunately, someone up from the shadows. He told something to the guard and handed something to him. it seems that even the rookies are susceptible to a good old classic bribe. My worries didn't stop, because that man went away as fast as he came. Really bad sign. Try to follow him but he just blends with the shadows. My bones tell me to just run and leave this place (or maybe that's the rain making my warscars act up again), but I'm bored enough for this. Luckily, these ultra-secure "professionals" still doesn't seem to mind people with trenchcoats walking around, and I manage to watch from afar some things. The most important one, one of those Overwatch superstars being stuffed in a black bag. If my vision hasn't failed me, I would say is the ice lady. My first reaction is confusion, because apparently this was done without attracting that much attention, there were barely any people looking over the scene, although I attribute that to the rain. The other thing I felt is a bit of smugness. I have to be honest, those Overwatch superstars kept going aroung the world as if they owned the place, even when they were disbanded, they just came back a few years later. It's nice to see those heroes, almost invincible at the eyes of many, just as human as the rest of us. Sure, they help save the world from the omnics with some loose screws, but those people got all the attention and resources in the world while veterans like me just got enough for two days of booze, and not even the good brand of booze. I get another call from the mysterious man from before, that tells me that If I manage to find the responsables of this, I could get "a consideable reward". Meh, there he goes talking like one of those popup ads that appear on the internet. I'm bored, ready to call it quits. Fun game, but enough, booze is not going to be drank itself at home, and getting stuck with Overwatch's problems was never a smart thing to do. Then he tells me something to me, and my lood froze. How can he know? Nobody knows that. Now he got me. Now I'm really curious what's it about. I feel like I'm being dragged to some sort of game, but at the very least they won't take me by surprise. I'll find out who the murderer was, who this mysterious caller is, and what is all this mess about. And if I have to, show him why the .475 Wildey Magnum was Charles Bronson's favourite weapon.
I accuse FinalFan, that's what happens when you point fingers at the newbies. I don't know if we have to write rol-stuff, but this is always a great passtime.