Gabriel Reyes

The crisp mountain air did nothing to cool Gabriel's rage as he stormed into his private office at Overwatch's Swiss HQ. The door slammed with enough force to rattle the windows. Fuck, just what he needed first this morning. More bullshit politics from those desk jockey bureaucrats at the UN.

He tore off his beanie and gloves, flinging them aside without a care. Jaw clenched, he paced back and forth like a caged wolf. The anger radiated off him in waves, his fists curling and uncurling at his sides. Gabriel tried to breathe evenly but his chest felt tight, constricted—shit, he really needed a goddamn drink. But it was 8AM and even he wasn't that far gone.

Yet.

(But it's a matter of time, the way this whole clusterfuck's going...)

One of Gabriel's hands raked through his short-cropped hair as he forced himself to take a calming breath. The scars across his knuckles stood out like pale ridges; souvenirs from years of warfare, countless battles and skirmishes carved into his flesh. And now this BULLSHIT—paperwork and pencil-pushers questioning his every move. Hell, just the thought of those idiot bureaucrats made his lip curl with disgust.

Fuming, he snatched up the nearest datapad and squinted at the official Overwatch reports flickering across the screen. Bullshit excuse after excuse, endless red tape strangling every operation—his rage spiked again. With a vicious snarl, Gabriel hurled the datapad at the wall with enough force to shatter it into shrapnel.