Brian leans against the steel railing of the fire escape, surrounded by lingering figures draped in fantastical glowing neon clothes. A small blue light orb spins lazily around his wrist before bouncing off seemingly nothing. A smirk curves his lips beneath the black motorcycle helmet.

"Ever wanted to be a hero?" he asks, turning to face the group.

A man in a red trenchcoat, his silver hair gleaming, scoffs. "What, like Overwatch?"

"Exactly."

The man shakes his head. "Respect what they did, but I'd chicken out in a real battle."

Brian's smirk fades as he mulls this over, removing one hand from the guardrail. "You know, I met an Overwatch member recently. Former member, I mean."

Another snicker ripples through the group. "Yeah, so did I when I was eleven. One came to school to lecture us on cyber safety."

Rolling his eyes, Brian presses on. "Not like that. This was different, more...personal. We talked about life and stuff."

The silver-haired man hops up to sit on the railing, back to the rain-soaked London skyline. "Lucky you. My dad says most of the old Overwatch crew are dead now. I bet you met one of the hot ones, eh?" He elbows Brian with a suggestive wink.

A flush creeps up Brian's cheeks as he shakes his head quickly. "We'd met before, but reconnecting recently...I dunno, they seemed to get me, you know? Like they'd been where I am."

His eyes narrow. "Since you chose this place, I can guess who it was. Did you get your answer?"

After a momentary hesitation, Brian nods firmly. Planting his hands on the railing, he vaults up to stand atop the thin metal beam, staring out over the city.

"I want to do something," he declares. "Chase a bigger purpose."

The trenchcoated man grins slyly. "Just don't get too caught up chasing girls, Bri."

Brian returns the smile. "Don't think I'll see her again to be honest."

With that, he steps off the railing. The ground rushes up—then stops abruptly as Brian begins to float, hovering a few feet above the concrete.

"Never say never," the man calls up with a wink.

Bobbing gently, Brian simply turns and drifts off, face tilted towards the setting sun.

Brian pulled off his black headset, placing it on the desk. Rising from his chair, he wiped away the marks left by the headset clasping against his face. He grabbed his phone and scrolled mindlessly through the news feed, not really searching for anything in particular. It had become an instinct.

Pulling on a jacket from the hook, Brian headed out. He snatched his wallet from the kitchen counter and stepped outside in a rush.

At the intersection, Brian slowed his pace to match an elderly couple crossing the road - a man with a cane and who Brian assumed was his wife. He offered them a smile before parting ways. The familiar aroma of sugar and dough wafted through the air.

The path transitioned from hard concrete to a soft, gravelly trail winding through ancient trees enveloping him in their embrace. The crisp air filled Brian with a sense of contentment as he followed the enticing scent.

Rounding a pond, he paused before an omnic statue raising its hand. The beautiful piece, standing tall above the tree line, imbued Brian with a feeling of determination - another piece of natural beauty.

He found the source of the aroma - a small tent with a camping oven and a pot of hot oil bubbling above it. The cook dropped in some dough, and Brian watched as metal tongs flipped the pastries until they turned a golden brown.

"Ciao," Brian greeted.

"Benvenuto," the man responded with a nod.

"Felice di vederti?" Brian asked, and the man shrugged with a small smile. "Could be better."

Switching to English, he explained, "I was late because a light was out at an intersection. Took forever to fix, so I got stuck in traffic."

Brian empathized, recalling how maddening traffic jams felt when he was working. "So you've got the day off?"

The man nodded. "Yeah, they're training someone new, so I've got some free time. Figured I could come here and get lost, you know?"

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Understanding, Brian handed the man some cash and soon had his hands filled with sugar and honey-coated pastries. They waved farewell, and Brian continued down the cobblestone path. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting an idle yellow glow over the park.

Brian searched for a break in the trees and hedges, finding a small, unbeaten footpath weaving through the natural surroundings. Stepping off the main trail, he followed it carefully, avoiding stray branches and vines that could trip him up.

A blue jay flits through the trees, and Brian raises his phone, leveling the camera at it. He snaps a quick picture, but when the image finishes processing, the bird is just a blurred streak of motion. Frowning, he looks back up, spotting the jay leaping to another tree.

Brian knows there's a small grove with a pond nearby and trails the azure-colored bird through the miniature forest. Crossing into the clearing, his eyes widen as a woman crouches near the pond, sprinkling seeds into the water. A brown crop top and familiar orange bodysuit make him pause.

"Tracer?" he calls out.

The woman jumps, blinking backwards across the pond. Brian's blue eyes meet her chocolate ones, immediately noticing the bags under his hero's eyes.

"Brian?" Tracer's grip tightens on the pulse pistols in her hands.

"He-llo?" Brian says awkwardly from the tree line, feeling her studying him. He wonders if this is what Peter meant.

Tracer lowers her pistols, letting them slip back into the magnetic holsters on her hips. Her hands drop to her sides as she lets out a groan. For a moment, Brian thinks he's interrupted something.

"I can go?" He gestures back towards the path.

Tracer shakes her head. "It's alright." She glances off towards the forest, clicking her tongue before moving away.

Before she can leave, Brian blurts out, "Are you -" He pauses. "Hungry?" Holding out the paper bag of pastries.

Tracer eyes the forest warily. "Bit odd to offer sweets to a woman with guns in the middle of the forest."

Brian shakes his head. "You're not a random woman, you're a hero." The words tumble out thoughtlessly, making Tracer sigh.

Brian sits near the edge of the pond, observing the cattails bristle in the breeze. Tracer stands, never sitting down as she eats half of the shared pastry. A stray glance goes her way - the bubbly, energetic star from photos and TV interviews seems worlds away from the lethargic woman fighting off nods.

Their eyes meet and Brian looks away. "Late night?"

Tracer waves a dismissive hand, mouth full of fried dough and sugar. Brian nods towards the water. "I saw on the news today, you stopped that fight in town. The official Overwatch liaison broke it up. There were videos of you. Thank you."

He pictures the footage - the liaison in an orange hoodie taking on a man twice her size and a steel-crushing omnic. "I know you do vigilante work. Not technically legal, but I'm glad you're doing it. It helps a lot, even if you're putting your life on the line."

Tracer studies his face, her piercing gaze making him squirm. She sighs and drops down beside him, crossing her legs. "Doesn't feel like it sometimes."

She pauses, expecting a response. Brian simply meets her eyes, beckoning her to continue.

"I fought for so long for humanity to survive. Fought omnics, then alongside them to help everyone. Thought if I worked hard enough, fighting would be something I could leave behind. But people and omnics are still warring over petty things."

Brian nods. "Seems tiring."

Tracer smiles wryly. "Nope." Leaning back on the grass, hands behind her head, she gazes skyward. "I love it. Love rushing into action, jumping walls, blinking across streets. It's amazing." A sigh. "Everything else that feels tiring that's what I'm worried about"

Brian eyes the blue bruise on her neck, then the azure sky. "So what do you think?"

Her direct gaze makes his eyes dart away. "I think you should be careful," he blurts. "A lot of people rely on you."

Tracer laughs. "Not exactly a safe profession, love."

Brian shakes his head. "I think you're cool, but please take care of yourself."

Hugging her knees, Tracer regards him. "You remind me of Angela, you know that?" Confusion knits his features.

"She's my best friend. A doctor who often tells me to be careful - it shows she cares, even if she seems more like my mom sometimes," Tracer explains with a small smile.

Brian mulls over being compared to someone's mother. Judging by the tired but genuine smile spreading across her face, he'll take it as a compliment.

"Do you ever want to go back to something you shouldn't?" he asks hesitantly.

Tracer tilts her head questioningly. "I'm not one for relationship advice."

"Not like that!" Brian rushes to clarify, making Tracer crack a grin as she waits for him to continue.

He pauses, eyes fixed on the pond's still water. "I don't want this to come out wrong, but...I miss what things were like during the war."

He keeps his gaze averted, not daring to look at Tracer's reaction. To his surprise, she responds with a tired nod of understanding.

"I get it," she says simply. "Been fighting for almost 15 years now. During the war, I was miserable - getting 2 hours of sleep a day if I was lucky. Spending time in battles, maybe a day of rest at most before the next one. On and on for years."

Her expression is pensive as she recalls those times. "But I met so many people. Had so many friends and saw more of the world in a week than most do in their lives. I never cared about being seen as a hero, more just being one."

Tracer shakes her head slowly. "No matter how much I acknowledge it was miserable, I still look back on it fondly."

Tracer nudges him gently with her elbow. "So what about you?"

Brian shakes his head. "It's kinda dumb."

"I probably won't remember this later, so..." Tracer shrugs, an open invitation for him to continue.

He considers for a moment before speaking. "During the war, my family stayed together because being separated meant having to fend for yourself. My parents fought a lot before, and I remember being forced to take my brother to the museum just to get away from their arguments."

His fist tightens around the paper bag as he recalls those memories. "Then we met, and then the war started. For a long time, they never said a word against each other. The entire war, they stuck together. When things got difficult, when there was no food, they figured it out as a team. We stayed a family."

Brian's jaw clenches. "But then the war ended, and it felt like the moment they had options, they ran as far away from each other as they could."

He looks at Tracer, frustration evident. "It's like everyone's a team player, but the second things get even slightly decent, it's back to being at each other's throats. I can't stand it."

"It's like they died anyway," Tracer finishes, a distant look of sympathy in her eyes for the boy's situation.

"So what are you going to do now?" she asks.

Brian shrugs. "Go to school I guess? Graduate and go out and do something important."

"Like what?"

Another shrug. "No idea."

Tracer laughs lightly. "I have no idea what I'm going to do either."

As she speaks, exhaustion seems to catch up with her. She leans against Brian's side, and he tenses, eyes forward, not daring to look at the hero resting on his shoulder. The blue jay that led him here sits watching from a nearby tree before taking flight.

Tracer's head rests heavily against him, her breathing deepening. After a momentary hesitation, Brian asks, "Hey, do you...want to get some coffee?"

He tries to sound nonchalant, but the slight waver in his tone betrays his nervousness. Tracer mumbles an assent. "In a little bit."

Brian looks back out over the pond, watching the light dance across the rippling surface. For now, he's content to stay in this peaceful moment, the weariness of the world held at bay, if just for a little while longer.