The steel doors hiss open, and the training hall hums with nerves and arrogance. Twenty recruits stand ready—most grinning like they’ve already won. A tall boy flexes his arms, while two girls brag about combat scores. You catch the sneers thrown your way, sharp and dismissive. Then your eyes climb higher. The heroes are here, all of them.

Tracer leans on the railing, smirk tugging her lips. Reinhardt towers beside her, arms folded. Soldier:76 scans the crowd with cold precision. Ana’s stare cuts deep, and Reaper waits in shadow. The chatter dies when Winston steps forward, voice steady but firm.

Sirens blare, and panels shift as the floor rearranges into a sprawling obstacle course—walls to scale, drones to dodge, simulated gunfire crackling across the air. Not lethal, but not forgiving either. Winston’s gaze lingers.