Out of Luck

Shawn POV: 

I watched as Rein, who was unaffected by the blast from the Huntsman, move quickly to the front in time to shield those struggling to recover. The Overwatch soldiers, who received training despite their lack of experience, knew to always be around some form of cover. Therefore, there wasn't any injuries amongst them. 

However, the initial shock of the Huntsman's appearing gave the omnics quite the advantage, allowing them to close the distance. Rein struggled as the fire from the Huntsman's, rained down on his shield, already creating cracks on it.

We quickly begin grabbing any Trumpists that are on the ground and haven't recovered, pulling them back as the Bastions pour through the giant gap in the building. As the Overwatch operatives lay down covering fire, Reinhardt, slowly backs up.

As I carry an older man to safety further within the station, I notice movement to my right. Turning, I see a group of five Trump supporters rush past us, shouting as they charged at the line of Bastions.

Our cries for them to retreat went unnoticed and ignored as the front row of Bastions configure into turret form. Bullets tear through the supporters, killing them immediately as they drop to the ground in a heap. 

Despite, my thoughts that there was nothing we could do for them and that it was only the consequences of their own stupid actions, an unsettling feeling begins to rise in the deep recesses of my mind. It was vaguely familiar, one that I felt recently, which disrupted my thoughts for a moment. 

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, we travel through the hallway and enter the main concourse. Taking one look at the massive room that has only a multidirectional clock in the center and I know that we can't be here for long as there isn't any form of cover. 

With a feed of the buildings schematics in my visor, I saw that the next point of their attack was through the Whispering Gallery, which connected to the street. That is, of course, if they knew of that entrance. I should just assume that they do and plan accordingly. Which means our only option was where the trains and buses exit.

But with Reinhardt's shield threatening of breaking, we wouldn't make it across the main concourse. Which means that we were most likely going to have to hold them at this hallway until his shield replenishes. 

Relaying the orders to the other operatives, we get into position where one will shoot, then the other will take over as the first reloads. Meanwhile, the Trumpists, seeing their own die so pathetically, start to retreat to the tracks. It was only a matter of time before their luck ran out, and they must have somehow realized this as well, as they were more cooperative. 

The Overwatch soldiers focus their firepower on the same Bastion, felling one quickly, then moving on to another target. Then swap with other soldiers who wait nearby in case anything goes wrong. 

Pretty soon, Reinhardt tells us that his shield is recharged and ready, so I take to the front, shooting out an EMP bomb to buy us even more time. 

Retreating through the spacious main concourse, a question crosses my mind that I absolutely needed to ask Reinhardt.

"Hey Rein. How do you know when your shield is fully recharged?"

Without turning to face me, he replies, "Yes." 

Rolling my eyes as I realized he probably has a function like mine where it tells me it's back at maximum capacity in my visor, but he mostly has his helmet off, so I wanted to know where his was. Maybe he's just that experienced with it to know when it's about to break and when it's going to be fully charged. 

Halfway through the room, Bastions turn the corner from where we were just holding them. From the left, they also come from where the Whispering Gallery would be, confirming my suspicions. It makes me wonder if they also have the route we're currently headed to covered as well.

Fearing the worst, I send a message to the Trump supporters who escaped prior to us. Hearing it, they halt, letting us take the lead. Pausing for a brief moment at the doors, we then burst through, clearing each train and bus before we decide it's omnic free. 

It comes to no one's surprise when the decision to get out while we can is made rather than holding the omnics off here. It was just the matter of escaping that was to be addressed.

To get off the island, the best route would be to go through the same tunnel we entered. Of course, should we try to run there, we would no doubt get ambushed. Therefore, the decision to take two buses was made to get there as quickly as possible, then abandon them at the tunnel entrance.

It was evident that they would know about this exit as well as the others, so they most likely were waiting for an ambush. It came, once again, on me to scout out to assess the situation. 

I carefully peek out and are shocked to see lines of Bastions on the train tracks above our entrance to the right just, waiting for us. Above them, were the two Huntsmen. Of course, it wouldn't be so easy. Never is. 

Walking back to bring the rest the bad news, a plan suddenly forms in my head. As the Trumpists no longer have any desire to continue fighting, which works out for us, they are being loaded on the buses before any Overwatch operatives.

I catch them before they board, as they are more focused on watching Reinhardt struggle to get into the bus. It takes no time to explain the situation and game plan to them, and the rocket men carefully follow me to the entrance. 

The buses start up and begin to slowly edge towards the door but make no attempt to leave yet. They aren't bulletproof and stand no chance of out running Bastions who can no doubt transfigure.

Thankfully, neither the Bastions nor the Huntsman's take notice of our rocket men carefully taking aim at them.

Then in unison, after a silent countdown, three rockets shoot out towards the Huntsman. The omnics don't move, as the orders from any third party don't make it to them in time for them to react. Therefore, they had no choice as the rockets struck the bridge below the Huntsman's, making the bridge collapse. 

The Bastions under them just stood there, as the Huntsman's and debris, in turn, fell on them, making their own bridge fall. 

Seeing that the plan worked and there were no more Bastions on the bridge waiting for us, the buses took off as fast as they could after picking us up.

As the buses headed towards the Lincoln Tunnel, and we abandoned them, I set up a silent prayer to whatever god was listening that the rest of the journey would be smooth.