When Duty Calls: Overwatch Toilet Stories

A Throne to Think Upon (Doomfist/Akande)

Clippings of newspapers, frayed and torn at the edges, lined the floor of Akande's cell. Even though they were ripped from several different issues, they all relayed the same message: Doomfist had been defeated. Numbani was finally free; for now, at least.

Akande and his colleagues weren't ready to let things end just yet. They were devising a plan, a way to get him out of Helix's grasp and back into Talon's headquarters. The clippings of newspaper scattered around the room not only fueled his anger against his capturers, but kept him up to date on the outside world. Soon, he would change all the headlines back to what they used to be: the name of the building that Doomfist destroyed last.

Akande layed on his bed, staring up at the ceiling when his stomach growled, hissing at him with vengeance. The food Helix provided him was mediocre at best, and it always came out uglier than it went in. Before Akande could get back to his throne in Talon's headquarters, he would have to take a trip to the porcelain throne. He got up from his bed and made his way to the toilet, making sure not to step on any of his newspaper clippings.

Akande turned to sit on the metal toilet that was barely big enough to accommodate his thighs. His legs spread wide as he sat, with his hands cupped and placed between his kneecaps, feet pointed outwards.

A craaackle sound echoed beneath Akande. His toes burrowed into the floor as he began to relieve himself. The log hit the side of the bowl with a sploot. There was no water in the bowl, so the familiar sound of a splash was more of a splat. A brrpt rattled the bowl, the sharp sound piercing his eardrums. Another log began to slide into the bowl. Akande raised his feet off the ground as he pushed it out with another splink.

As he handled his business, he pondered more on what his escape plan should be. If they can't get in through the front door, then they'll have to go around.....a helicopter might work. A loud bruumpt interrupted his train of thought. He widened his legs and leaned forward, getting comfortable. An array of zzzpts escaped his body as sound of his dump rang throughout the small room. Each log he pushed out painted the silver bowl with streaks of dark brown.

After what seemed like ages, Akande finished and cleaned himself up. The toilet quickly disposed of the waste as he flushed and walked back to his bed, navigating the sea of newspapers once again. The smell of his dump lingered in the air, scorching the hair in his nostrils. Nevertheless, the situation had been handled. His mind--and his body--had been cleared. It was back to business.