WHILE YOU'RE THE LIGHT
You were always going to be a doctor. Not because of your parents- it wasn't like that- you just always had a penchant for science, and you never stopped asking questions. People, in particular, intrigued you, and you wanted to know just how the human body worked. You wanted to understand life.
It was more than a want. It was a hunger.
You never stop reading, experimenting, learning. Soon you are established, recognized, yet you are still so young.
University sees you pushing yourself, more and more, because this is more than passion. This is the reality of helping so many continue to breathe each day in by proxy of your care, and your research. Surgeons were competitive, compassionate, and wicked intelligent. You were no different, except you rose so fast. That was a non-issue, however, as the years that led you here built you up with confidence, and a stubborn will that was nothing to scoff at.
People cannot snap you up fast enough once you receive your PHD, and you never stop soaring higher into the sky. Talent and precision, that was one thing- and sure, you had that in spades- but it was your intuition and instinct that were so irreplaceable. You did not just mend the broken, or save the damned, but you led the way in technological advances that allowed such breakthroughs.
Happily employed, the head of surgery in a reputable hospital, you saw a lot of benefits. Spare time was not one of them, but you made time anyway, used that time to research, to develop, and keep pushing modern medicine forward. Miracles did not exist, but progress did, and discovery could act as a miracle when it was needed to. You were the one to head the most recent discoveries about nanobiology- of course you were- and you were changing the field, altering health as the world knew it. More lives would be saved, more recoveries put on the fast track, and you were to thank. That came with a certain clout.
Clout came with offers.
STILL, I DON'T BLEED.
You did not ask for this. You did not ask for this, and you need to make that abundantly clear. There is nothing about this offer which should appeal to you, because the principal of it was inherently flawed. Save the world, but take lives to do it. Bring peace, but bruise others en masse to push peace forward. You hated that line of thinking. It was not logical, and worse yet had you seen the cost of that kind of thinking.
Your parents. What would they think? They were always proud of you, whatever you did, because they knew you thought long and deep about your choices. They knew how thorough you were. But this... this felt wrong, no matter how you spun it. There were benefits, of course there were, no kind of organization like this could make an offer without them, but your heart- metaphoric though that was- weighed heavy.
They were international, heroic, and they did fight for peace, but they fought for it. What good was war, really, when all it did was cost the lives on innocents, and steal away hope from youth? Were you being too selfish? Think of all the good you could do.
It is a hard pill to swallow.
But you accept, and there is plenty of good to be done, so don't you dare wallow in your own ideals. You busy yourself with your research, developing technology to heal on and off the field. That is when one of your greatest creations comes to life. The Valkyrie suit. Designed for first responders, and strong enough to aid on the work Overwatch took you along for.
Yet your hard work seems for naught, because you only want to heal. Biotic technology was meant to heal. Overwatch was military, and you saw right through the sheen of their promises. Given the chance, they would use your work for harm, and you could not stand the thought.
And you were the cause for breakthrough, so what did that say about you?
Could you really stay here with a clear conscience?
QUICKEST WAY TO HARM ME.
It all comes crashing down. First the unsanctioned mission, your desperate pleas for Overwatch to help, instead of being shuffled aside until the world asked for brute militaristic force. Then the fight. You'd grown close to Morrison and Reyes in your time with Overwatch, and they made your time more worthwhile, but even you could not stop their dispute. One of them was bound to be left stewing in anger over the promotion.
First they grew apart, and then you wedged herself in to occupy that space, trying to tend to wounds you had no education in healing.
Then you left. Overwatch had already garnered a negative reputation in your eyes. You appreciated the resources, and the reach of their influence, but everything else... it was never a secret how you despised their dealings.
They fight, and now even your fruitless efforts are evaporated. Morrison and Reyes die in the wreckage, and you are no miracle worker. You breathe life back into Reyes' body, but death is ever present in him. There is not much more you can do now. The research isn't there. He has come back a monster, and at your hands no less.
You never forgive yourself. You return back to your life of mending the world, and staying in the warm arms of peace, but you never forgive yourself for what you have done.
You just have to try and forget.
Though you will never forget.
STILL, I CAN'T BREATHE.
You make yourself useful to the world, wielding all you have developed, and constantly striving to develop more. You mend those that come to you in need, and scout the world for those who cannot even cry out despite needing a healing touch. Though you know you can never do enough, you strive to give all you can to make up for everything eating away at the world, breeding conflict and chaos.
Maybe one of these nights you will sleep.
Rest seems like a foreign friend, and not one who has any inclination to forgive you anytime soon, but that's okay because you feel the same way. So you give yourself over, body and soul, to those who need you, and dedicate every inch of your life to creating a better world so that maybe someday you too will find some semblance of peace.
Day in, day out, an aching devotion to your work. Nights are punctuated by tossing and turning, and vivid nightmares behind your eyelids when you do find that illusive ally of sleep.
Is this any way to live?
Can you truly give your best like this?
SWEEP ME AWAY
TO TENDER LANDS.
You get news of the recall and part of you bubbles with something akin to hope. You aren't sure why, as you long opposed much of what the organization comprised of, but yet you know the kind of good they can bring when they do it right. It comes with a side effect, however, as your nightmares grow more vivid, and you find yourself drowning in guilt.
Get it together.
You have your doubts, but there is work to be done, and if Winston can head a recall that will aid in your cause, you cannot say no, however much you may war with yourself. The only way to war with this guilt is to fight back with all the good you can pump into the world, and this just may be the way to do so.
You descend on allies and innocents alike, wings of an angel spread at your back, and you heal, golden light and warmth.
There is a world to be restored, so you put the nightmares aside as best you can, and you pour yourself into the cause, so just maybe you can find peace within yourself.
Just maybe you can fly.