Reaper Sample

He really didn’t like saying it, but some part of him wondered if hiring on Moira was a mistake. He wouldn’t condemn her research— Of course not. The stuff that she did was really of legend. She could cure any genetic disease, if she got far enough in whatever it was that she wanted to do. Overwatch’s highbrows really had no idea what they were talking about when they shunted her out like they did.

The only ones that knew Moira was around were Genji and Jesse, and they didn’t even know what she was really doing here. Gabriel was pretty sure that they jumped at the chance to not have to visit Angela every time that they had a paper cut, though he didn’t ask. He had their silence, and that was more than enough. If Jack found out? Hell, that might be a fight to tear the base down. He’d go to the higher-ups and the bureaucrats and there’d be another argument about the viability and sustainability and some other ability of Blackwatch, and he’d have to defend his decision to at least six men in suits that had never seen a day of combat in their lives.

It wasn’t like he would be able to keep up the secrets forever, but at least he would be able to pretend long enough for Moira to be useful. Sure, it felt a little futile. If she managed to get her job done, then Gabriel would be pulled from active duty for a while for disobeying orders, and for going behind everyone’s back to do his job, and for countless other things that the head staff probably hated him for. Still, if Moira failed, then the growth in his lung would get him pulled from active duty anyway. And then he’d get a formal reprimand for not divulging information (how many ways could he call it cancer without saying what it really was, the bureaucrats were probably dying to know) to the rest of the class, and then probably die in sick bay while Jack figured out what the hell he was supposed to do without the right hand man that didn’t give two shits if he pissed people off. If he had to choose between the two, he’d pick the one that at least had him up and about to keep an eye on the boys.

So he hired Moira. So he became her guinea pig, for the advancement of humanity. So he put his life into what very may well be a madwoman’s hands like a desperate man searching for his last chance at something. At anything, really.

The first few treatments were a success. Most of the pain had subsided. His breathing had returned mostly to normal. Moira told him that his scans seemed to be turning up with less blockage by the day.

Still, he wondered if it was really, truly worth it when he began to smoke one day in Moira’s chair. She had him hooked up to sensors with her too-cold hand on his shoulder, and his skin began to tingle. He felt like he was being stuck with pins and needles. When he looked down to find the source, he was smoking, a thick black fog wafting from his fingertips. He felt like he was going to throw up when he saw it, an immediate wheeziness in his lungs as he demanded that Moira shut it down.

For what it was worth, she told him as he put his shirt back on, there still wasn’t any sign of cancer in his system. What was happening was, it appeared, extreme cell death and regrowth. While this was surprising, it wasn’t exactly a bad thing. She insisted that he would need further testing. Gabriel took this for what it was worth, despite the immediate and crippling fear, and went on his merry way.

That was two months ago.