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This was the sixth time I've had to relocate, and I was fuming. Bounty hunters came at me left and right, and it was extremely difficult to settle down. I couldn't get a job, and I sure as hell would never live a normal life ever again.
I was a former member of Overwatch, and to this day miss everyone from the program dearly. I forced myself to move past the disbandment, living a life constantly on the run. I didn't have friends, didn't have allies. I was alone, making money gambling or pickpocketing.
I know, I was now some petty little thing, struggling to live, but somehow I hoped against hope that everything would get better. Somehow, this tight knot Overwatch and Blackwatch wound itself into would unweave, untangle and settle in peace.
Half of me believed my helpless hopes, the other knew it was useless. All Overwatch activity was banned, and that involved me.
I found myself wandering Dorado aimlessly, the streets completely bare at night due to the excessive gang activity. The old me wanted to spill out like a volcano, then stop the bad guys like some sort of hero. The new me knew better, and I knew it wasn't my problem.
I didn't need to help Dorado. What did any of these people do for me?
The bars in Dorado were the best I've ever been in, with strong alcohol and the best music. Even the occupants were fairly well behaved. No one cat called, and there were rarely any fights. It was a place that reminded me of a cafe, just to drink and forget whatever sour thoughts possessed you.
And of course, that's exactly what I did. I plunked myself onto a bar stool, ordering two shots of vodka. The bartender seemed shocked once I downed all of them like water, demanding more instantly.
This seemed to go on for eternity, and I found the world around me go fuzzy. Soon, the bartender cut my drinks off, demanding I paid up for the excessive amount of drinks. I slapped a couple bills on the table, probably more than necessary, but I couldn't care less at the time.
I sat at the bar with my head in my hands, breathing heavily. No thoughts swirled through my mind, only the praying that the burning in my throat would lessen.
It took me awhile to realize my name was being called, and when I did, I threw myself off my chair. I immediately felt my knees give out beneath me, falling into said person's arms.
"Careful, love," The familiar voice of Tracer warned me, "Guess ya had a couple drinks too many there, eh?" She let out a soft chuckle, hoisting me to my feet.
I didn't even notice there were two men standing beside her until one spoke up. "Hello (Your Name)," I knew he was a Cyborg, though something about his velvety voice struck me as familiar. "Do you remember us?"
A look of confusion loomed on my face, and I found myself leaning my entire body weight onto Tracer as I examined her two escorts. "Nooooope." I popped the 'p', a goofy grin on my face, "You look like Genji." I pointed at the man beside the Cyborg, finger millimetres from his nose. He stepped back a few steps, glancing at the man beside him uncertainly before looking back at me with a stony glare.
