They walked through the main hall, Other officers moved with practiced purpose. Clocking in, heading out, sorting files. Business as usual. Gabi's boots crunched faintly on something small and gritty. Shattered glass and wooden splinters clinging to the soles of His navy blue boots, remnants of a destroyed building and a lost life.
Beside him, Officer Kurt moved with a heavy, unhurried stride. They peered towards the metal door and the small window of the Morgue. To see several dead officers, including eleanor. Kurt entered the building, leaving Gabi behind the room, staring through the window. A silent exchange between Kurt and the medical staff, Kurt having a dead, hopeless look on His eyes, as if He already expected this to happen.
Gabi, on the outside looked vigilant, calm and stoic, but on the inside, his heart was shivering. He could still hear Kurt's sword cutting through the air, the wet thud as the killer hit the ground, Kurt's scream of "WHY DID YOU DO THIS?!"
He glanced at Kurt. The Officer's face was grim, but there were no tears, no visible shock. He was filling out a preliminary report mentally, Gabi could almost see the process behind his eyes facts, observations, necessary details for the paperwork. Efficient.
He looked towards Klein, who was already talking to a Sergeant behind a counter, gesturing with the notepad. Klein's voice was low, professional. Just reporting the facts of the mission, including the casualty, as if reporting a broken piece of equipment, and requesting a new one.
Mark was leaning against a wall, arms crossed, simply chilling as if he just finished washing the dishes.
How can they be like this? Is this... normal? Is this what this job does to you? Does the shock wear off so quickly? Or did it never even hit them?
Aiko walked past, quieter than usual. As she neared Gabi, she subtly slowed, her gaze flicking up to meet his for just a fraction of a second. In her dark purple eyes. A tiny, almost imperceptible nod passed between them.
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Days passed, a blurry stretch of mandated rest that offered no actual rest. The smell of blood was gone, but the image and the feeling remained. Sleep, haunted by sudden splatters and the sound of bone breaking.
Gabi recieved a letter about Eleanor Vance's funeral. A standard procedural message forwarded through the internal network. Location: St. Jude's Chapel, Primero City. Time: Mid-morning.
Gabi went. He didn't know Eleanor well, not really, but Eleanor had been there. He had talked about his sister, laughed even, just before... He deserved more than to be just a name on a report.
When Gabi arrived, the chapel was small and solemn, built of dark stone with narrow, stained-glass windows that cast muted light onto the polished pews. A few unfamiliar faces were scattered sparsely. Perhaps distant relatives, people from Eleanor's neighborhood.
His family, including Clara Vance, sobbing all over the glass that seperated their beloved sons/brothers body from their tears of agony.
And Aiko was there.
She sat alone near the front, her slight figure looking even smaller in the quiet vastness of the chapel. She wore a simple dark dress, not her uniform. Gabi walked down the aisle and sat beside her, leaving a respectful gap but a clear gesture of shared presence.
She didn't look up immediately, but her posture relaxed. And although Aiko herself did not see it with her own eyes, The air between them was heavy with grief and the shared memory of the patrol. The service was brief, words spoken by a chaplain about duty, sacrifice, and finding peace. Gabi heard the words, registered their meaning, but his mind kept flashing back barley fields near Olyssia, braided flowers, a laugh.
He glanced around the pews again, then at the back of the chapel near the entrance. No Klein. No Kurt. No Mark. Not surprising, perhaps, given Kurt's words about death being common.
Aiko and Gabi stood shoulder to shoulder, staring at at the casket that held their squad members corpse. They didn't share any words, as nothing was needed to be said.
Gabi made eye contant with Clara, Clara quickly looking away in dissapointment, filling Gabi with guilt.
They said their prayers, their farewells, and exited the Chapel.
A confrontation happened the next day, back in the small squad briefing room at Capital Branch HQ before their scheduled training session. The air was tight with unspoken tension left over from the patrol and the funeral's silent aftermath. Klein was going over the schedule documents, Kurt was checking his sidearm with practiced ease, and Mark was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded.
Gabi walked in with Aiko. He still felt his suppressed emotions from the funeral, but it was overlaid with resolve. He couldn't let it go. Not this.
He waited until Klein finished speaking, a mundane instruction about equipment issue. Then, he spoke.
"Detective Klein. Officer Kurt. Mark." His voice was steady, cutting through the routine like broken glass. "Why weren't you at Eleanor Vance's funeral?"
Klein looked up from his documents, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before settling into mild annoyance. Kurt's movements paused, his hand stilling on his sidearm. Mark's eyes opened fully, fixing on Gabi with unsettling intensity.
Aiko stood slightly behind Gabi, her presence a silent show of support, her usual meekness replaced by a quiet, determined stillness.
"Gabi," Klein said, sighing lightly as if Gabi was bringing up tiresome paperwork. "We had reports to file. Procedures to follow. Work to do."
"Work?" Gabi's voice rose slightly, the control slipping. "A man died! Our squadmate! Doesn't he deserve... doesn't his family deserve for the people who accompanied him, let him DIE to show respect?"
Kurt spoke, his voice rough, echoing his words from the patrol zone. "Respect is earned in life, Gabi. Death is... an occupational hazard. Can't mourn every casualty, or you'd never get anything done."
"Every casualty?" Aiko's voice, usually so quiet, was sharp with disbelief. "He was our casualty! He was Eleanor!"
Mark chuckled, a dry, rasping sound that grated on Gabi's nerves. "See? Told you, Kurt. Little princess doesn't like the real world. Would you rather we were all dead? Is that the respect you're looking for? Standing over our bodies?" He pushed himself off the wall, taking a step towards Aiko, his gaze contemptuous. "This isn't some noble's drawing room, Gabi. This is Overwatch. We deal with the dead so that no more deaths happen. We don't cry over them."
"He's right, Gabi," Klein added, his tone hardening, backing up Mark's sentiment if not his aggression. "Sentiment is a liability. We move on. It's how you survive. Maybe if you focused on actually improving, your squadmates wouldn't be dropping left and right."
"Survive?" Gabi clenched his fists, the memory of Eleanor's face, then his bloody uniform, vivid. "Survive like Eleanor?"
"Eleanor made a mistake," Kurt said flatly. "Got caught flat-footed. It happens."
"A mistake?!" Aiko cried out, stepping forward fully, her meekness dissolving into righteous fury. "He was trying to save people! You just... you just left him there while you killed that man!" She pointed at Mark, her hand trembling. "And you think it's funny?! You think death is just... paperwork?!"
Mark's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in them. "At the end of the day, is there any difference?" He took another step, closing the distance between them, his posture becoming threatening.
"Stop," Klein said, his voice suddenly sharp, cutting through the rising tension. He stepped between Mark and Aiko. "That's enough. The discussion is over. Get your gear. Training starts in five."
Gabi stared at Klein, then at Kurt, then at Mark, the cold reality of their detachment hitting him harder than any physical blow. They weren't just unaffected, they were actively dismissive of grief, contemptuous of emotion. They saw it as weakness.
Aiko was breathing heavily beside him, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and hurt. Mark was still radiating cynical contempt, held back only by Klein's intervention. Kurt watched them all with a grim, unreadable expression.
The divide wasn't just clear. It was a chasm. Gabi had survived the patrol, but navigating the politics and the hardened souls within the Overwatch felt like an entirely different, equally dangerous undertaking. He had found an ally in Aiko, but he had also solidified his place as a weak, spoiled outsider who knew nothing about the realities of the world.
The tension lingered in the briefing room long after Klein dismissed them. Aiko avoided looking at Mark, her jaw tight. Mark gave a soft, humorless laugh as he gathered his gear, a sound that made Gabi's skin crawl. Kurt simply watched with his usual grim impassivity. Gabi felt the weight of their stares, the unspoken judgment that he and Aiko were soft, liabilities.
He didn't care. Not about their judgment. He cared about Caius. And the Wolf. Klein's words, "Work to do" echoed in his mind. His work was finding his brother's killer, not navigating the emotional wasteland of the Overwatch.
Later that day, after the uncomfortable training session (basic drills, more physical than analytical, highlighting Gabi's disadvantages) and a silent dinner, Gabi found Detective Klein in his small, cluttered office. Papers were piled high on his desk, maps pinned to the wall.
Gabi stood in the doorway for a moment before Klein looked up. "Astrea. Something on your mind, or just admiring the decor?"
"Detective," Gabi began, stepping inside. "I was assigned here to assist with my brother's case. To find his killer."
Klein leaned back in his chair, tapping a pen on his notepad. "That's correct. Provisional assignment. Under my supervision. Conditional on certain... assessments."
"But... the training," Gabi said, a touch of frustration creeping into his voice. "It's all combat drills, physical conditioning, tactical simulations. When do I start... detecting? Looking at the evidence? Following leads? The Wolf is still out there, while im sitting here achieving nothin, dilly dallying around.
Klein set the pen down, his expression becoming serious. "Gabi, the Detective Branch in the Overwatch is not some civilian office looking through documents and papers. We go into dangerous situations. We apprehend violent individuals. We work crime scenes that are anything but safe." He gestured around the office. "Evidence often needs to be collected from places where people have just been killed or worse. Leads take you into the darkest corners of the city, where thugs and worse lurk."
Do you really think you could just walk into points of interest, and just walk out unharmed? What if this... "Crimson Wolf" were to appear, do you REALLY think you could survive that encounter, let alone apprehend him? Right now you are USELESS. You are a liability to your squad. You are practically a dead man walking whenever you go out into dangerous situations.
He met Gabi's gaze steadily. "A good detective in Exyllum isn't just someone who can connect dots on a board. They have to be able to survive in the field. To defend themselves. To protect their partner. To secure a scene until backup arrives. Relying solely on your combative allies isn't always an option, and purely relying on a Watchdog to hold your hand is a quick way to get both of you killed."
Your brother's case involves a high-level Vector user who demonstrated exceptional combat capability," Klein continued, his voice firm. "Someone who killed a trained Astrea Synapse user and evaded capture. You, ASTREA, are a Null with no field experience and, frankly, no demonstrable combat skills beyond getting lucky with a letter opener.
Gabi flinched internally at the blunt assessment.
"The assessment isn't just bureaucratic," Klein explained. "It's about determining if you have the basic capability to operate safely in the environments this job requires. To understand the physical realities of a confrontation. To identify threats before they become fatal, even if you can't counter them with power." He paused, letting that sink in. "You show a knack for analysis, yes. Your report on the Wolf's movements in the study was... unusual. But analysis without the ability to survive the immediate threat is useless in the field."
"So..." Gabi started, his goal coming into focus.
"So," Klein finished, picking up his pen again. "Your appointment as a case assistant on the Astrea investigation, working under my direct supervision, is conditional. You must successfully complete this initial phase of combat training and pass the required physical and tactical assessments. Prove you can handle yourself in the field to a basic standard. Prove you won't be an immediate liability."
Show us all, what you can do. Astrea.
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The training regimen was relentless. Early mornings filled with punishing physical conditioning runs that left Gabi gasping for air. He felt clumsy, slow, perpetually sore.
Then came the combat drills. Hand-to-hand sparring that left him bruised and often on the ground. Marksmanship training with the rifles and flintlocks, where Gabi's analytical mind could help him calculate trajectories and windage. It seemed he just needed a little bit of getting used to, but he NEVER, missed in a controlled environment.
He watched the others. The Watchdogs, moved with a fluid grace, their bodies humming with latent Synapse, bursts of energy or subtle physical enhancements making them faster, stronger, more resilient, utilizing unique applications of their synapse to increase their melee combat capabilities. The Guard Dogs, were solid, grounded, relying on brute strength, practiced technique, and an unnerving ability to absorb hits.
And Gabi was just... Gabi. The Null. His attempts to analyze an opponent's movements during sparring were often too slow to react physically. His predictions were useless if his body couldn't follow through.
Analyze opponent's stance: Shift of weight indicates incoming low kick. Predicted vector: 45 degrees. Counter: Sidestep, pivot, strike.
His mind calculated perfectly, but his body would often only manage a delayed shuffle, or his counter-strike would lack the necessary force, leaving him vulnerable.
It was due to a lack of experience. He did not have the dynamic sight that experienced melee fighters had to track fast moving blades, fists, limbs. His feeble body couldn't keep up.
He felt the stares. Not just from instructors, but from some of the other trainees, a mix of pity, contempt, and mild curiosity.
He trained alongside Aiko sometimes. Surprisingly agile despite her meekness, and possessed a steady hand with the repeater rifle during marksmanship, determined to not let another one of her's die. A Watchdog strength. "She doesn't seem that physical built so it means she can use her synaptical trigger in a specific way to aid in melee combat."
Kurt occasionally oversaw their drills. He offered corrections in his gruff voice, pragmatic advice focused purely on survival and efficiency. No praise, no condemnation, just the hard-earned lessons of the field delivered with grim precision.
The sparring assessments were posted on the bulletin board later that week. Names were listed alphabetically, paired with opponents, times, and ring numbers. Gabi scanned the list, his eyes immediately finding his name. Astrea, Gabi - vs - Thorne, Elias. 9:00 AM, Ring 3. Okay, Elias. The enthusiastic theorist. That would be... interesting. A straightforward test of basic application vs. analysis.
He kept scanning down the list, looking for his next opponent, the next hurdle on this physical gauntlet. Astrea, Gabi - vs - Vance, Eleanor. 11:00 AM, Ring 2. His gut twisted violently. The list was outdated. Eleanor was... Gone. A cold reminder of the true cost of failing in the field. He had to navigate the living system while the dead were still listed on its rolls.
He scanned further down. Astrea, Gabi - vs - _____. 2:00 PM, Ring 1. The slot was blank. A last-minute change? He looked closer at the annotation beside it. In harsh, thick ink, clearly added later: Assigned per Det. Klein. And below it, scrawled in the same hand: Mark.
Gabi's breath hitched. Probability of severe injury: High. The analytical thought was immediate, cold, overriding the sudden surge of fear. Probability of Victory: Low. Klein hadn't just put him through combat training; he'd assigned him a specific, brutal test.
If he were to become an officer, he needed to PROVE, to everyone, that the weak could emerge victori
He found Aiko later, practicing disarms with a training knife in a quiet corner of the gym. He walked over, gesturing towards the bulletin board without needing to point directly. "The last slot," Gabi said flatly, the words tasting like ash. "It's Mark."
Aiko froze, the training knife clattering to the padded floor. Her eyes widened. "Mark? But... he's not a trainee. He's a officer, assigned to Squad 7. He shouldn't be on the assessment list for trainees."
"Klein assigned it," Gabi said, the implication hanging heavy in the air. No doubt a special request. Klein, Kurt, and Mark. Mark had just newly graduated into officership, a 1st tier officer.
"Gabi, be careful," Aiko urged, her voice low and urgent, stepping closer. "Mark... he's got a reputation. Before he was assigned to Squad 7, he was rotated out of a couple of others, when He was just a trainee. Doesn't play well with others. And he fights... dirty. They say he takes things too far in spars. He doesn't see these as training or assessment. He sees them as..."
"...Proof," Gabi finished for her, his gaze distant, fixed on some unseen point beyond the gym walls. Proof that he was weak. Soft. A Null who didn't belong in a world of blood and iron. Proof that their way, the hardened, brutal way, was the only way to survive, and his way was just a path to another name on a morgue slab.
Aiko picked up her training knife, her movements stiff. "Just... don't give him a reason. Don't hesitate like in the simulations. But don't... don't try to be like him either."
Gabi nodded, appreciating her quiet support, her understanding that went beyond words. She saw the test Klein had set, the challenge Mark represented.
But understanding the test didn't make it any easier to pass. Elias would be easy enough, analyze his predictable theoretical applications. Eleanor's slot was a painful reminder of the cost. But Mark... Mark was a deliberate test. Designed to either make or break him, or at least confirm their low opinion.