Fan Art Crossover / Overwatch
PharahCrossover origin story
The Sky Was Never Yours
Grounded in a goblin salvage port, Pharah turns a wrecked flight rig and a crew of underpaid mechanics into a problem for the man who claims to own the sky.
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The first thing Pharah heard after the engine stopped was applause. Below her, on the deck of a floating scrap barge, a goblin in an admiral's hat was congratulating himself. He had mistaken her emergency descent for surrender. This was understandable. His experience of victory appeared to consist mainly of shouting at employees who needed their wages.
This Pharah Overwatch fan art crossover story puts Fareeha Amari above a collapsing salvage port with her flight rig out of action. To bring six workers home, she must trust the mechanics below her and improvise a rescue that leaves the local admiral with very little dignity.
She landed hard enough to silence the applause. One knee touched the deck. Her damaged thruster gave a final, deeply unhelpful cough. The goblin looked at the smoking assembly, then at her, and recovered his smile. Above the harbour, his tethered salvage platforms blotted out the stars. He spread his arms as though he had personally installed them.
Prologue — A landing without permission
They called the place the Hanging Yard. Broken engines, suspended docks and unfinished bridges crowded a canyon whose bottom disappeared into cloud. Pharah had followed a distress signal through an impossible storm and arrived with her flight system failing. The source was a maintenance platform across the gap. Its support cables were beginning to part.
The goblin introduced himself as Admiral Brakk, sole proprietor of the upper air. His hat had enough braid to secure a small boat. He offered Pharah a choice: hand over the flight rig as salvage, or watch his crew dismantle it around her. She asked whether he had answered the distress call. Brakk said the callers were behind on rent.
Through the radio static, a mechanic reported six people trapped on the platform, one injured and none able to reach the nearest bridge. Pharah looked past the admiral to his cranes. Three faced the platform. All were idle. He explained that rescue work produced wear on the machinery. She asked whether the hat had come with a spine, or whether that had cost extra.
Act I — The weight of borrowed wings
Brakk did not enjoy being laughed at by his own deck crew. He ordered the flight rig impounded and sent two guards forward. Pharah removed the smoking power unit herself and placed it on a steel workbench. A warning light blinked. Both guards retreated at a speed that suggested excellent training in personal survival.
The youngest mechanic on the deck stepped closer instead. Her name was Tikka. She took one look at the fractured coupling and asked for the correct wrench. Pharah handed it over. Brakk complained that nobody had requested permission. Tikka said he could deduct the unauthorized rescue from the overtime he had never paid.
They had minutes, not the hours needed to restore powered flight. Tikka found a rack of old protective plates used by the crane crews and helped Pharah replace her damaged outer armour. The heavy silver metal lacked elegance. It did, however, stay where it was attached. Pharah tested each strap while the injured worker's voice grew fainter over the radio.
From the highest crane, a freight line ran above the threatened platform to an empty loading bay. Its travelling hook could carry a person across. Its motor could not run while the admiral's illuminated sign was drawing power from the same circuit. The sign proclaimed BR A KK'S KINGDOM OF THE SKY. Several letters had already declined to participate.
Pharah pointed to the junction box. Brakk planted himself in front of it. The sign was visible from every approach, he said. It was the foundation of his reputation. She looked at the flashing letters, the empty cranes and the people clinging to the distant rail. His reputation, she told him, appeared adequately represented by the darkness.
Act II — Six names above the cloud
Tikka cut the sign's power. The crane woke with a long metallic groan, and the deck crew stopped pretending to be busy elsewhere. One fetched a rescue basket. Another uncoiled a spare safety line. Brakk threatened dismissal. A rigger asked whether that meant they would finally be allowed to leave. Nobody waited for the answer.
Pharah clipped herself to the travelling hook and went over the edge. The borrowed armour pulled at her shoulders. Wind turned the narrow gap into a wall of grit. With no reliable thrusters, she could not correct a bad swing by climbing out of it. She watched the moving platform, counted its rhythm and pushed off the crane support on the third return.
Her boots struck the rail. She caught a stanchion as a cable snapped above her, then hauled herself onto the deck. The workers had tied their injured colleague to a door laid across two crates. Their first question was whether she had brought a ship. She told them she had brought a better option than the admiral. It was a low standard, but they were willing to begin there.
She asked for names before moving anyone. Six voices answered. She repeated each name into the radio so Tikka could check them off at the loading bay. The smallest worker laughed nervously at the procedure. Pharah said it prevented people becoming an estimate. He stopped laughing and helped secure the first harness.
The basket took the injured worker and an attendant. Two more crossed on the next trip. As it travelled back, the remaining support beam began to buckle. Pharah shifted the last pair toward the strongest corner, keeping her own weight over a frame member. Through the soles of her boots she could feel the structure coming apart, one reluctant bolt at a time.
Then Brakk seized the crane controls. He wanted the machinery stopped before somebody damaged his loading bay. From the trapped platform, Pharah heard Tikka ask him to release the lever. His reply came through the open channel, long and magnificent and entirely about himself. The crew let him finish. A moment later, the radio carried the unmistakable sound of an admiral being deposited in an empty packing crate.
Act III — An admiral at ground level
The last basket crossed with both workers inside. Pharah stayed on the platform to free its snagged safety line. A torn bracket had trapped the cable; pulling harder would drag the loaded basket against the canyon wall. She braced one boot against the frame and worked the bracket loose with a short pry bar. The deck tilted. Her radio filled with instructions to hurry that she considered broadly sound.
When the line came free, the platform dropped beneath her. She caught the travelling hook with both hands and swung into open air. For one awful second, the borrowed breastplate struck the cliff and stopped her breath. Then the crane carried her clear. At the loading bay, six rescued workers and a dozen mechanics hauled her onto solid decking. Tikka counted everyone again, including the person who had insisted on staying last.
Brakk emerged from the crate with a splinter in his hat and a new interpretation of events. He congratulated the crew on carrying out his emergency plan. The rigger turned the radio toward him. Every dock in the yard had heard the open channel. Somewhere below, a voice asked whether the emergency plan included the crate or whether that had been a local improvement.
Pharah sat on a coil of rope while Tikka examined the damaged rig. Her hands were shaking now that they could afford to. Brakk approached with a speech about misunderstandings. She gave him the list of six names and asked him to find blankets. He opened his mouth, saw the faces around him and discovered a pressing interest in supplies.
By morning, the mechanics had repaired the flight coupling and moved the rescue circuit away from the sign. The crew agreed that the emergency equipment would remain under their control. Nobody asked Pharah to govern the harbour. Nobody needed her permission to stop following a fool. She returned the borrowed plates to the rack, each buckle checked and each strap neatly folded.
As she lifted above the yard, Brakk stood beneath his unlit sign holding a stack of blankets. He called after her that the sky was still his. Pharah banked once, high enough for the entire harbour to see. Over the radio, she suggested he start with responsibility for the loading bay. Tikka's laughter followed her out of the canyon. Behind her, the crane was already moving again.
Pharah in an unofficial Overwatch crossover
The Sky Was Never Yours is original Toxic Goblin fan fiction featuring Pharah, Fareeha Amari from Overwatch. The Hanging Yard, Admiral Brakk, Tikka and the rescue are invented for this crossover. This is an alternate adventure, not a retelling of her official origin or an addition to franchise canon.
The portrait presents an unofficial interpretation of Pharah in weathered silver armour and a black undersuit inside a hangar. It is an edited character study rather than an official costume reference or a literal frame from the rescue. The story focuses on competence under pressure, the people who keep machinery working and the very satisfying sound of an inflated reputation meeting a wooden crate.
Unofficial Overwatch fan art. Original character rights belong to their respective owners.
Fareeha Amari, flight and responsibility
This Fareeha Amari fan fiction adventure gives Pharah a problem that firepower alone cannot solve. The rescue depends on listening to workers, understanding their machinery and keeping track of every person in danger. The accompanying Pharah armoured portrait fan art uses weathered silver plates as an alternate visual interpretation. Both image and episode belong to this unofficial crossover, rather than the official Overwatch storyline.