Hello, all! Poking my way into the Overwatch fandom here with this story (which will hopefully be the first in a series). Not much I have to say beyond that, but I do hope you enjoy my little piece here.

With that, let's begin...

Ripple Effect

Chapter 1: Rookie

Dawn was breaking over the Norwegian city of Olso. The early hour made for a simpler trip to the local airport, particularly for those expecting a long flight. Citizens passed through the security gate, and with no need to fight and climb over one another, they were able to proceed to their respective flights.

Lagging somewhat behind the rest of the crowd was a man in his mid-forties with short, graying hair and a weathered brown coat. He accepted a rather sizeable wheeled suitcase from the security clerk and, with a friendly nod to the airport staff, made his way onward. The man's eyes darted from sign to sign, until they rested on one marked "Ilios".

I hope you're watching, Finn, the man thought. He took a quick breath to steady himself before heading for the Ilios flight. The show will be starting soon.

Dorado was a Mexican town in a period of celebration. Piñatas, guitars, and other decorations dotted the town as per the continuing Festival de la Luz, a celebration of the end of the Omnic Crisis and the installment of new fusion power plants. In the evening, however, the festivities ceased, and the families piled back into their homes to rest.

But, some could not rest. A semi truck drove the streets, its destination being a massive pyramid-like structure illuminating the night in the distance. The truck was escorted by several police cars and motorcycles, each containing steely-eyed officers intent on seeing their payload delivered.

As the truck traversed a long stretch of road through the town, a door on one of the houses swung open, and a pair of small children—a boy and a girl—burst out. Their mother, shaking her head but unable to hide a smile, followed.

"Mamá, please!" the girl begged. "We want to see the power plant part!"

"All right, hijos, but only for a minute," the mother chuckled. "Then it's off to bed for both of you."

Her children, eyes bright and faces full of wonder, looked on as the truck approached, taking in as much of the sight as they could. Soon, the truck and its convoy passed by, leaving the awestruck children behind.

"Okay, now that we've got our fill, let's get to bed," the mother said. Her children's face fell, but the boy and girl complied nonetheless.

Before they could get inside, however, a loud buzzing began to fill the air. The wind picked up, rattling Dorado's decorations and scattering some discarded cardboard boxes.

"Mamá!" the boy cried, pointing upward.

A massive black helicopter had emerged from the night sky, stalking the truck like a predator hunts its prey. A pair of black vans screeched in front of the convoy, halting the procession and giving the helicopter time to stop and open its doors. Black ropes spilled out, each one soon carrying a figure dressed in militaristic uniforms complete with a gear-laden ballistic vest over a black T-shirt, as well as a helmet with a black gas mask and a grey upper half somewhat resembling a skull.

The dark soldiers swarmed the convoy, their rifles and handguns firing into the cars and slaughtering the police officers before they had a chance to even get out. The officers on motorcycles were able to pull out their own weapons, but these men and women were immediately gunned down as well. The two children buried their faces in their mother's body as she hurried them back inside.

One of the soldiers noticed them.

"We got witnesses," he said flatly as he watched the door shut behind them. He looked over to a soldier beside him, a slightly shorter and skinnier male armed with a handgun. "Take care of them."

Without so much as a word, the shorter soldier complied. He slammed the weight of his body into the wooden door, forcing it open and finding the family cowering in a corner. After kicking the door shut behind him, the soldier advanced on the family, gun at the ready all the while.

"No hacernos, por favor!" the mother cried out. "Please! Don't hurt us!"

The soldier pointed his gun at the little girl. Tears were running down what was visible of her face as she clung tightly to her mother. The boy positioned his body between that of the soldier's and his mother's, his face both a fearful stare and a daring glare.

Then he noticed the soldier's hands shaking. Seconds morphed into minutes. The soldier didn't fire a shot. The mother could hear heavy breathing underneath the helmet.

"Payload secure?" one of the soldiers asked his comrade.

"Looks like it," the second soldier replied. By this point, the truck's doors were open, and several of the dark soldiers busily hefted out a large metallic cylinder. "How's the witness elimination?"

"Sent the new guy in," the first soldier answered. "We'll see if he's any good in a minute or two."

"Man, they keep cutting the training program shorter and shorter," the second grunt complained. "How long's this guy been learning the ropes, three months?"

Before the other soldier could reply, the house itself seemed to scream as dozens of shots rang out from within. The shots kept coming, accompanied by even more screams.

Then came a sudden silence. No more screams.

"Hoooo, boy," the first soldier remarked. "We got us a crazy one."

"Ah, let him have his fun," the second soldier shrugged. "Probably be better off for the rest of us if he's not helping with this piece of junk, anyway."

Inside the house, bullet holes riddled the wall behind the family. Some heirlooms and appliances had been damaged, if not destroyed. Not a single shot remained in the rookie soldier's gun.

But not a hair on the family's heads was out of place.

The soldier's gun clattered to the floor as he ripped off his helmet in a flurry of gasps and pants, revealing a mess of neck-length black hair. He collapsed on the floor in the fetal position, still hyperventilating and now mumbling to himself.

"Oh God," the soldier murmured. "Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God…"

The family's stares no longer contained fear. The boy separated from his mother and carefully approached the panicking man in black.

"…excuse me?" the boy said quietly.

The soldier yelped in fright, springing into a sitting position and backing himself into a wall. More hyperventilating ensued as if the small boy was the harbinger of terror itself.

"Um…are you okay?" the boy asked.

The soldier panted some more, seemingly trying to push himself backwards through the wall, but his breaths became slower and had more time between them. Noticing their would-be murderer calming down, the family's mother went over to her son.

"I…I don't think he's going to hurt us," the mother said gently. She looked over to the soldier, who was able to manage a nod between breaths. The mother frowned worriedly; he was clearly an adult, but he still looked like his life had barely begun. "It's okay. Everything's going to be all right."

The soldier's breaths slowed down more. He soon reached a steadier, more normal rate of breathing.

"There, now," the mother gave the young soldier her kindest smile. "Feel better?"

"N-no," the soldier stammered. "I-I think I just shook off something that's basically brainwashing, and…oh God, everything's coming back to me! Ohhh, oh, God…I've only been doing this a couple months and I've done so much…"

"It's all right!" the mother said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's over. You're free."

"No…no, no, they'll figure out I broke free," the soldier mumbled with a shake of his head. "I'm not safe. You're not safe. Nobody's safe. They'll kill us."

"Who are they?" the little girl asked timidly.

"They're—they're called Talon," the soldier said, still recovering from his panic attack. "Bad people. Really, really bad."

"But…you're not bad. You saved us," the girl pointed out. "Why are you with them?"

"Because…it was either join them or get killed," the soldier replied sadly.

"Aww, dear," the mother said as she lifted his face and looked into his eyes. Two orbs filled with nothing but fear and despair stared worriedly back at her. "What's your name?"

"I…m-my name's Amos," the soldier answered.

"How old are you?" the mother asked.

Amos' eyes darted about in confusion.

"Um…twenty-eight," he answered after a moment.

"Amos," the mother began, her voice turning grave, "you need to get away from those people."

"No, no, no—that's what I should be telling you," the reluctant soldier replied as he finally rose to his feet. "I've been in here too long, they'll figure out that I haven't killed you all like they told me to."

He started pacing back and forth, desperately looking around.

"Nnnggh, what to do, what to do?" Amos mumbled as he walked.

"Can we help?" the little boy asked.

"I, uh, I don't think…wait. Wait, hang on, you might be able to," Amos said as he stopped pacing. "Do you guys have any red food coloring or fresh meat or something? I need fake blood, because…I mean, I really shouldn't expect a random family to have fake blood just lying around somewhere, but—"

"We have the coloring—go get it," the mother said as she sent her son off.

"Okay, uh…I'm also going to need one trash bag for each of you," Amos continued, still nervously looking around and pointing off in whatever directions he could find inspiration. "And I'm going to need something that'll smell like a dead body if you leave it out for a while. And some random junk that we can stuff into the bags, too—some old things you don't need and don't care about would be great."

"We had bought a turkey today for the festival, we haven't cooked it yet," the mother replied.

Before Amos could make a comment, a beep came from his discarded helmet, followed swiftly by a voice.

"Clemens, come in!" the voice said. "Report!"

"Oh, son of a—get the stuff, I'll deal with this," Amos hissed to the mother, and she took her daughter out of the room. With a fearful grimace and a deep breath, Amos donned his helmet and put a finger to the side.

"Clemens here," Amos said, the nerves suddenly gone from his voice. But his hands were still quivering. "What is it?"

"We've got the payload," the soldier on the other end reported. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm disposing of bodies," Amos replied as calmly as he could. "Be out in a sec."

"You need a hand?" the other Talon soldier asked. "It'll go faster with more people."

"No!" Amos cried. With a shake of his head, he replaced his fearful tone with an angrier one. "I can do it myself!"

"Oh…kay, then," the other Talon grunt said slowly. "See you in a bit. Over and out."

Another beep signaled the end of the conversation, and Amos yanked off his helmet with a sigh of relief. The family chose this moment to return, bearing the items he requested.

"Oh, thanks so much," Amos said. He took the food coloring and began splattering it around the area where the family once huddled.

"We should be thanking you," the mother smiled as he emptied the entire container of food coloring onto the wall. "If anyone else had come through that door..."

"Please, don't even say it," Amos told her as he took their turkey and dropped it into one of the trash bags. "I'm really sorry about the mess, by the way. Just…need it to be convincing in case any of them come in here."

"Oh, don't worry, we know our lives are more important," the mother shook her head with a smile. The children looked like they would disagree, but their mother held them closer, and they fell silent.

"Well, I mean, life-saving panic attacks apparently aren't cheap," Amos pointed out as he quickly stuffed a number of random trash objects the children brought him into the other two bags, "considering that I've probably cost you a good few thousand of whatever currency you use here in property damage and food and—"

The mother put her hands on his face and aimed his gaze into her eyes.

"We'll worry about that," she said. "We owe you our lives. Now, you need to save your own."

Amos barely seemed to acknowledge her gratitude as he gently removed her hands from his face.

"Y-yeah…yeah, okay, do me a favor?" Amos said. "Hide for a couple hours. Talon's got what they came for, and they're pulling out. You'll be safe to come out once they're definitely gone."

"We'll do that," the mother said, placing her hand on his shoulder once more. "Thank you again, Amos. Gracias."

"Yeah…yeah, anytime," he said listlessly as he put on his helmet. He picked up his handgun and holstered it, then took the trash bags from the children. "Well…wish me luck."

With that, Amos left the family's house, dragging the trash bags as he went. Once outside, he placed all three into the nearest dumpster and went to rejoin the remaining Talon grunts.

"Took you long enough," one of the soldiers snapped.

"Knock it off!" a second soldier yelled, punching the first one in the shoulder. "You want to be the next one in that dumpster? Let's just go!"

Amos silently followed his comrades onto a nearby roof and into the helicopter, then kept to the back of the group as they took off. The cylinder the truck had been carrying was now attached to the copter's bottom.

"Man, Talon's been on a roll lately," one of the grunts chuckled. "First Mondatta, now this. Here's hoping we get a raise."

"Speak for yourself," another grunt snorted. "I just want to get myself a real warzone. Cause some real damage."

But Amos did not share such satisfaction or bloodlust. His mind was on a different track.

Yep, he thought. I am going to die.