Solar Storm (Overwatch Illari x Male reader)

Chapter Thirteen: Memories

"So," Hanzo spoke, his deep tone slicing through the midnight air as he took a long sip from his tea. "You claim to have used a bow before?"

The clock ticked in the background, providing the only ambience to an otherwise completely silent room. It was just you and the archer, no one else was present at such an hour in the morning. You couldn't sleep because of an irregular sleeping pattern you had gained from your vigilante work, whilst Hanzo was...

Hanzo.

An ever elusive mystery.

"I held an experimental bow which used hardlight arrows, so it created its own arrow whenever the string was pulled back. But it just... never really suited my tastes. I needed something that was faster than that, despite how cool it was to use." You explained as you took a sip of your own tea, the older man having taken the liberty of preparing some for you as well. It was evident he enjoyed these late night talks as much as you did, though if Kiriko were to ask him, he'd just say it was a matter of convenience.

The archer scoffed at your remark, shaking his head in clear disappointment. "And so you choose to run around with a gun. So uncivilised."

You rolled your eyes, sighing as you adjusted yourself in your seat.

"Is my kunai not enough to satisfy your cultural weaponry? And besides, I haven't had my gun replaced since I got here. Winston has insisted on... modifying the new model." You said as your gaze fell onto your reflection in the cup, images of that day danced gently in your mind. It was by pure coincidence that Overwatch just so happened to be at the same place that you were.

A lucky coincidence that led to your life being preserved.

"Firearms make killing too easy. With a bow, I have to account for a lot more than just my aim. A series of questions I must answer before I make the decision to take a life." Hanzo uttered in a tone weighted with regret. You nodded silently, understanding where he was coming from. Over time, you have learned more about the Shimada brothers and their history. From their upbringing, to their training and introduction to Kiriko, to their ultimate downfall and fight that would change the both of them forever.

"I... yeah, that makes sense." You sighed as your eyes never left your reflection. You closed your eyes for a few moments, realising the conversation had adopted a deeper tone than probably either of you had intended. Once you opened them you found a different reflection in the liquid, it was you, but...

Different.

A younger version of yourself, your hair partially dyed in your own blood, one of your eyes shining an electric blue as the other remained your natural colour. It was you. A version of you that's lost to the world, a child dead and buried, a life left behind due to a war that was forced onto your doorstep. There was no one to save him. No military, no defence force, no police, no rogue vigilantes.

No Overwatch.

No heroes.

The ones you had looked up to your whole life, the ones who filled your head with dreams, the ones who's stories shone light into your life. They saved people, their names beacons of hope and safety, their legacy lingering in the hearts of those they preserved.

But there was no one.

No American hero whose mask shone red through the darkness, no teleporting uplifted spirit, no shield to protect you, no primal rage to fend off the oncoming storm.

There was nothing. They were shut down and betrayed.

And now you were left to suffer.

For no one was coming to save you.