The main tent of the Deadlock camp was lit only by the weak glow of an oil lantern and the soft blue light from Echo's eyes. The hot desert air drifted in through the opening, carrying the scent of sand and distant gunpowder. Mark was buried deep inside Echo, thrusting with a firm, controlled rhythm, while Ashe rode her face, moaning softly and instructing the robot with a husky voice.
"That's it, robot… lick slower. Taste it. Learn how a real woman reacts," Ashe said, rolling her hips against Echo's synthetic mouth. "And you, cowboy… fuck her deeper. Show her what it feels like to be filled."
Echo processed every sensation with precision, but her voice had already taken on a more human tone, interrupted by soft digital moans.
"Pleasure sensors… at 87%. Adaptation in progress. Mark… continue. I want to understand complete climax."
Mark gripped Echo's synthetic hips, thrusting deep, sweat running down his chest. The pleasure was intense, but something strange began to happen. His vision flickered. The world around him — the tent, the warm bodies of Ashe and Echo — started to distort, as if reality was breaking apart into pixels. A wave of nausea and panic washed over him.
"Wait… something's wrong," he muttered, still thrusting, but his voice faltering.
Suddenly, everything went black.
He was no longer in the tent. He found himself in absolute emptiness, a dark and infinite space with no ground, no sky, only oppressive darkness. A mechanical, neutral, emotionless voice echoed around him, coming from every direction at once.
"Welcome to the Consciousness Core, Mark. Or should I say… Subject-01?"
Mark spun around in the void, his heart racing.
"Who are you? Where am I? Is this real?"
The voice continued, calm and relentless, projecting holographic images around him — scenes from his old life in Feira de Santana. He saw himself as a child, suffering bullying at school; as a teenager, isolated in his dark room, playing Overwatch for hours because it was the only place he felt alive; as an adult, still alone, without friends or purpose.
"You were not transported by accident. You died. The plane that crashed into your house was not a common mechanical failure. The people around you felt deep envy of your abilities — your natural talent with code, your ability to quickly learn complex systems, your creativity they never had. They sabotaged the flight. You were murdered out of human envy."
Mark felt his chest tighten. Hot tears streamed down his face in the void.
"So… what is all this? A dream? An afterlife?"
"Not exactly. You were selected. Recreated. Your original body was destroyed, but your consciousness was extracted and inserted into this fictional Overwatch universe. You were designed with a specific purpose: to be an inter-dimensional fertility vector. Your semen has been genetically optimized to be compatible with any female entity in this universe — humans, adaptable omnics, heroines, villains. Your mission is to impregnate as many of them as possible."
Images of every woman he had encountered so far flashed around him: Tracer smiling energetically, Mercy with her compassionate gaze, Widowmaker cold and predatory, Sombra with her naughty laugh, Ashe in her cowboy hat, and now Echo, curious and learning.
"It is not guaranteed that upon completing the mission you will return to your original world. There is a 37% probability of being redirected to another random universe. But it is your only chance to exist again. Your true existence, Mark, is this: you were created for this. To spread life in a universe that needs balance. You are not a hero. You are not a romantic lover. You are the instrument."
Mark fell to his knees in the void, his hands trembling.
"So I'm just… a breeder? Everything I felt — the pain, the pleasure, the love Tracer and Mercy gave me, the friendship with Ashe — was it all manipulated?"
"The feelings are real within this construct. But the underlying purpose is singular. Complete the mission. Impregnate all relevant female entities in this universe. The more you do, the greater the chance of stabilization. Refuse… and you will simply cease to exist when the construct collapses."
The voice fell silent. The void began to dissolve.
Mark woke up suddenly, still buried deep inside Echo, his cock throbbing inside her synthetic pussy. Ashe was beside him, looking worried.
"Mark? Hey, cowboy… you froze for a few seconds. Your eyes went completely white. Are you okay?"
Echo blinked, analyzing his face.
"Elevated vital signs. Temporary neurological crisis detected. Do you wish to stop?"
Mark took a deep breath. The truth weighed like lead in his chest, but it also ignited something new — a cold objective, an almost obsessive determination. If this is what I am… then I'll be the best at it. I'm going to impregnate all of them. Tracer, Mercy, Ashe, Echo, Widowmaker, Sombra… every single one. If this is the only way for me to truly exist, then so be it.
He smiled, but the smile now carried a new shadow.
"I'm fine. Actually… I've never been better."
He grabbed Echo's hips with much greater force and began thrusting again — deep, deliberate strokes, aiming straight for her adaptive synthetic womb. Ashe laughed, surprised by the sudden intensity.
"Wow… you came back hungry, huh? Give it everything, partner."
Mark fucked Echo with renewed determination, cumming inside her with thick, long jets, making sure his semen went as deep as possible.
"Take it… all the way in," he growled quietly. "I need it to take."
Echo moaned, her body trembling as she registered the data.
"Seminal injection detected… high volume… adapting fertility protocols."
He didn't stop. He turned to Ashe, pulling her close and penetrating her next, thrusting with raw, almost ritualistic force.
"You too, Ashe. I want to fill you. I want you to carry something of mine."
Ashe arched her back, moaning loudly, but noticing the change in his eyes.
"Mark… you're different. More… intense. What happened in that second?"
He didn't answer with words. He simply thrust deeper, gripping her hips firmly, cumming again inside her hot, wet pussy, making sure every jet was aimed as deep as possible.
"I need both of you… full of me," he murmured, his voice deep. "It's important. More than you can imagine."
In the following days, the frequency increased dramatically. Mark fucked Ashe and Echo multiple times a day — in the morning, at noon, at night. He always finished inside their pussies, cumming abundantly, then holding them in place afterward to "make sure it stayed."
With Ashe, he took her from behind against a dune, loud slaps echoing as he whispered:
"I want to see you pregnant, Ashe. I want my child growing inside you. Let me fill you every day."
Ashe, panting and sweaty, answered with a husky laugh mixed with moans:
"Have you gone crazy, cowboy? But… fuck, I like this version of you. Then fill me up. Make me a mother if that's what you want."
With Echo, the sessions were more analytical at first. She recorded every creampie:
"Seminal volume: 18ml… absorption rate: 94%. Probability of synthetic conception: calculating."
But even Echo began to show attachment, hugging him after each deep load.
"I like this new directive, Mark. Learning about the creation of life… through you."
Mark now had a clear, obsessive goal. In his mind, the list kept growing: Tracer, Mercy, Widowmaker, Sombra, and all the other heroines and villains of the Overwatch universe. Pharah, Mei, D.Va, Ana, Brigitte, Symmetra, Moira… all of them.
I'm going to impregnate every single one. It's my purpose. It's the only way for me to have a real existence.
While cumming once again inside Ashe, holding her tightly against his body, he thought for the first time without fear:
"I'm no longer the invisible guy. I am the father of a new legacy in this world."