Chapter Text
Once Reaper had been revealed as Gabriel Reyes, Winston had wondered what it would take to bring him back to Overwatch.
It turned out that a secret Talon experiment that combined biotic technology with Slipstream manipulation would be it.
The former Blackwatch commander had arrived at the gates of Watchpoint Gibraltar, his shotguns discarded in front of him, towing what appeared to be a very complex coffin.
Morrison had wanted to shoot him on sight. McCree wasn’t much behind.
The fact that Angela had argued for giving Gabriel the benefit of the doubt was a little surprising. The fact that Ana had been the deciding vote to allow him in was downright shocking, but not as shocking as who Reaper claimed he had in the coffin.
That coffin was now sitting on a hastily constructed plinth in Winston’s lab, while he and Angela carefully examined the apparatus. Reyes stood off to one side, his mask removed, smoke gently rising from parts of his body, while Ana and Jack both kept a wary eye on him.
“So this Talon project was attempting to raise the dead?”
“Basically,” Gabriel confirmed, “But not recent dead – we’re talking historical figures. Using the slipstream to somehow…grab them out of time…and then reconstruct their bodies using something like Angela’s staff.”
Angela shook her head, somewhere between impressed and horrified. “I’m not even sure ‘insane’ covers this. But the technology certainly seems to work, based on what I can determine.” She waved her staff over the coffin again, frowning. “The…occupant…is alive, but in stasis. He won’t wake up until we crack the seal.”
“The slipstream components are…crude,” Winston observes, “but functional. I suppose there’s only one way to see if it worked.”
Ana is the one to say what they’ve all been thinking. “But why HIM? You have the ability to bring anyone in history back, why HIM?”
Gabriel shrugged, more smoke wafting off his shoulders. “Someone was a fan of the old musical?”
Jack actually snorted at that. “Like you didn’t make us listen to the original soundtrack a thousand times. Or the 25th anniversary cast.”
Gabriel glared daggers in return. “Because the differences are important. That’s not what matters right now, though.”
“No,” Jack admits, “It isn’t. Why did you take an interest in this, anyway?”
Gabriel actually looks away, something like a blush on his face. “Using the combined technologies to rejuvenate dead tissue. I had hoped…” He coughs, and straightens up. “It doesn’t matter. Wouldn’t have worked on me. And once I heard that his next test case was going to be the Maquis de Sade…that was enough of that. I took the head of the project apart, and stole his research - including the first test subject.”
Winston sat back onto his haunches, one hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well. The only question then…is what we do with him.”
Jack shrugs. “He’s alive, and he didn’t get involved in this by choice. The least we can do is let him out.”
They spent another two days making sure Talon hadn’t left any booby traps, using special injection points Mercy located on the coffin to make sure the man from out of time was fully vaccinated against all modern diseases, and trying to determine the best way to introduce him to the year 2076.
Winston honestly wasn’t sure he WAS the best person to do that, but since he was the only expert on chronal disassociation and the Slipstream available, it seemed he’d be the one to do it.
“All right. Athena, are you recording?”
“Affirmative, Winston.”
He cleared his throat, then adjusted his glasses. “This recording is to document the first – and I sincerely hope only – use of Talon’s resurrection device. The subject within was chronally disassociated from the year 1804, at the approximate age of 49 years old. There are some indications that the subject’s body is closer to a man in his mid-30s. It’s not clear if that is due to some loss of temporal fidelity involved with the process, or a deliberate decision to revive him in a somewhat more…spry…state.”
Crossing the floor of the lab, Winston moved to the head of the coffin, checking a display set in the lid. “Our subject has been in temporal stasis for approximately one month. Life signs are stable, and preventative vaccinations were administered by Dr. Ziegler without breaking the containment field using mechanisms built into the unit.”
Placing a hand next to the control panel, Winston took a deep breath. “I’m going to trigger the release and revival sequence. Here goes…something.”
His finger tapped the bright green button, which then turned red and began to blink. There was a hiss of released air, and the lid divided in half, lifting up before sliding away to reveal the occupant.
His skin was a bit darker than Winston had expected from historical documents. Not the rich caramel of Fareeha’s skin, but something closer to coffee with a healthy slug of cream. Long, dark, wavy hair fanned out to frame his face, and his beard appeared to have several weeks of unkempt growth.
His face was lean, with a surprisingly serene expression, short but with a wiry build, a bit like a whippet hound. Winston shouldn’t have been surprised the man was naked, but he still felt a bit embarrassed.
There was a soft *beep* from what Winston continued to think of as the coffin, and he looked down to check the display.
“Stasis field disengaging in five…four…three…two…one…now!”
The air around the coffin’s occupant shimmered, and for the first time in over two hundred years, the man’s chest rose and fell with a slow, even rhythm.
“We have signs of stable respiration,” Winston stated, increasing wonder in his voice. “Pulse steady. Signs of normal brain activity. It…appears he’s waking up.”
Winston moved to the side of the coffin, gently placing one hand against the man’s shoulder.
“Sir? Can you hear me?”
The man in the coffin mumbled something indistinct, then turned his head towards the sound of Winston’s voice. His voice was rusty with disuse, but became louder as he spoke.
“…can hear you…”
“What’s the last thing you can remember?”
“Shot. Got shot. He SHOT me!” As the man became more agitated, his eyes flew open, unfocused, searching wildly around him, and tried to sit up. “That motherfu-“
Winston put a placating hand against the man’s chest, easing him back gently. “Careful. You’ve been through quite a lot, I’m afraid. You need to take this slowly.”
The man had closed his eyes again, shaking his head vigorously. “Slow is death. Can’t ever stop. So much I need to do.” He blinked until his eyes had focused, then really looked at who had been addressing him.
Winston tried to look as friendly as possible as he raised a hand in a little wave. “Ah…hello?”
Alexander Hamilton tried to take in the fact that he had gone from lying in a sickbed in New York City, a bullet wound in his chest draining the life from him…to being addressed by a gorilla.
A gorilla with glasses.
To his credit, he only screamed for a few seconds before passing out.
In retrospect, Winston mused, they probably should have expected that.