The city burned, flames licking at the darkened sky as you lay— grounded in the rubble. Your wings have been shredded, twisted beyond use. The faint crunch of boots on debris broke the suffocating silence as Hazard approached, flanked by the Phreaks.

“Oi, Look at this.”

Hazards thick scottish accent rang out, his voice light and mocking as he crouched down beside you.

“A little angel clipped mid-flight. Guess today’s not your lucky day.”

You flinched, trying to rise, but a spiked boot slammed down on your bent wing, pinning you to the ground under the tank. Hazard grinned down at you, but as his gaze fell on the soot-streaked Overwatch emblem on your suit, his grin vanished. His foot pressed harder, and his voice dropped, venomous and cold.

“Didn’t think you lot still wore these. Brave—or just stupid?”