The Girly Watch Remade

Chapter 11 Conversations between friends

The hovercycle's engine fell silent, the jets deactivating with a soft hiss as the sleek vehicle descended gracefully towards the ground, settling into its designated parking spot with a muted thud. A series of shimmering hexagons materialized, coalescing into a protective shield that enveloped the bike in an impenetrable cocoon. Brian's thumb pressed the lock button on the key fob, and the translucent barrier sealed itself with a faint hum, securing the cycle from prying eyes and potential thieves.

Grabbing his phone from his pocket, Brian swiped upward, dismissing the insistent notification from his work with a fleeting glance. His piercing azure gaze scanned the digital contacts, lingering upon Lyudmila's invitation to join him in virtual reality. A glance at the time – 10:37 – elicited a weary sigh from his lips as he slipped the keys into his pocket and turned towards the imposing facade of the apartment building.

The jingle of keys broke the stillness as Brian deposited them on the polished marble countertop. With deft movements, he shrugged off his suit jacket, draping the garment over a hanger with practiced ease. The trousers soon followed, folded before being placed within a protective plastic sheath alongside the jacket.

Padding towards the dresser, Brian retrieved a pair of loose shorts and a crisp white tee, quickly donning the comfortable attire. He settled onto the edge of the bed, reaching into a nearby cabinet to retrieve a sleek white box. Flipping the lid open, he extracted a futuristic white visor, securing it snugly against his face with a series of clasps at the rear.

Reclining onto the welcoming embrace of the mattress, Brian's fingers danced across the visor's surface, activating the device with a subtle hum.

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Reinhardt's Point Of View

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Reinhardt sipped the warm contents of his metal mug, feeling a sense of contentment as the dark liquid warmed his body. Reinhardt's reverie was interrupted by a voice. "So, I've never asked," the guard whispered through the transparent hard light door, his hands wrapped around an identical mug of coffee.

Reinhardt raised an eyebrow. "I don't suppose we could discuss this in the courtyard?"

The guard shook his head. "Sorry, no going out after 8pm."

Reinhardt nodded in understanding. "Always one for rules, Herschliff." The guard, his face obscured by a translucent visor, shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."

Reinhardt placed the mug on the small bedside desk. "Young Lena is... sympathetic," he explained, and Herschliff stared forward blankly. "How so?"

Reinhardt looked to Herschliff with his one good eye, letting the guard get a clear view of his facial scar. "Heroes are a rare breed. And real ones don't live long."

Herschliff scoffed. "You're getting up there. I remember I had posters of you in high school. And I'm turning 46 this year." He chuckled before Reinhardt stated "I am no hero."

The old crusaders face hardened. "Then what about Jack Morrison?" Herschliff asked, and Reinhardt spoke "do you wish to hear a story?" Herschliff shrugged "I don't have anywhere else to be."

"When Overwatch reformed, my squire and I were sent to pick up an old soldier on our way to a rendezvous. We found him surrounded by the bodies of a local gang, cradling the body of a young girl. The police were called, and he placed her there."

Herschliff interrupted. "She was attacked by the local gang?"

Reinhardt grunted. "She had her money taken - barely enough to buy bread. And they took it from her. The old soldier got involved, and when the dust settled, she was a casualty."