Vivian had put Overwatch behind her.

Or so she told herself.

She had a small but decent apartment in Toronto—and more importantly had her corgi Murphy—the best dog a girl could ask for.

Her routine was the same each morning—Vivian would get up, feed Murphy before doing her breakfast and a cup of coffee—black, with a small amount of sugar, before running diagnostics on her cybernetics and checking the news pretending it was remotely interesting.

The rain in the background was a soothing backdrop, but a knock on the door startled Vivian out of her thoughts—who was there at that hour of the morning?

She stood slowly, heading to the door, expecting someone like a mail-man or some salesperson that went door to door around New Queen's Street.

What she did not expect was to see someone from her Overwatch days at the door, drenched from probably running through the rain.