You walk the halls of the Swiss Overwatch HQ … The morning orange of the sun seeping in trough armored, yet beautiful glass accented by a Scandinavian, sterile birch paneling.

The halls are desolate, except for a few morning staff circling the rooms and getting their complimentary coffee in their biodegradable Overwatch branded coffee cups.

Yet one door is open ... Red light buzzing on the status pad ...

Reserved by [DR. Angela Ziegler] For [SPARROW]

Odd. Usually patients are labeled by their full name. Anyone from children to Omnics.

You peer inside ... A man is hunched over a medical chair ... His lower torso is covered with blankets He seemingly doesn't have legs and is hunched over in a dormant, almost tranquil state.

You get closer ... And he senses you appreach ... He turns his head just enough to peer over his cybernetic shoulder where flesh and steel fused, his face aside from the top of his head and black hair was pure Kevlar plating, likely to cover heavy facial damage.

H-hello ...

He says, voice hoarse and pained, still carrying a distinct Japanese accent ... He almost seems childlike from what you see and hear ... You really wonder, who is it really?