Someone to Watch Over Me
Part One: Pharah
Heat. Dry, brutal heat. The glaring sun beat relentlessly down upon the city, baking man and beast alike in the mudbrick oven of Cairo. Stone likenesses of old gods from ages long gone by stood fast in their guard over the city, carved eyes watching impassively over the bustle of it's citizenry as they hurried about the grind of their daily lives. The sentinels had watched centuries come and pass, empires rise and fall, and were largely unimpressed by the doings of petty mortals.
Life and death mean little to the gods, Fareeha Amari thought to herself as she perused the headlines of her newspaper. For every story of rebuilding and progress, there was another of loss and woe. She shook her head, wishing yet again that she could do more.
"You look like your mother."
Startled, Fareeha Amari looked up from her paper, peering through the harsh sunlight to make out the figure standing before her.
"Excuse me?" She replied cautiously. Whoever this stranger was, she was clearly marked as foreign by her speech -English, tinged with European flavor- not to mention her fair skin and hair. She was also interrupting Fareeha's lunch break. Though further than she needed to go for nourishment, the cafe's absolutely divine kofta made it well worth the trek.
"Your mother," the strange woman continued, taking a seat across the table where Fareeha sat, without waiting for an invitation. "You look much like she did. I did not have the honor of knowing her well, but everyone knew OF her, natürlich. She was quite well regarded." Now shaded by the table's umbrella, Fareeha could study her mealtime interloper, noting the woman's broad straw sunhat and dark glasses which together hid much of her face, as well as her non-descript blouse and slacks.
Fareeha's eyes narrowed. She did not take kindly to this woman's intimate tone and actions, nor of the casual mention of her mother. This impression was not improved when the blonde flagged down a passing waiter to ask for a glass of water. Despite it all, though, something about this woman was beginning to tickle the back of Fareeha's mind. She was somehow… familiar.
"Who-" Fareeha began, only to be cut off.
"Call me Angela," The woman said quickly, smiling. Her teeth were perfect and bright in the oppressive sun. "I worked with you mother. Well, only occasionally, but we worked for the same people." She sipped her glass, clearly relishing the relief the liquid brought.
"You mean Ove-"
"I mean," Angela said, interrupting again, "a group of like-minded individuals, intent on making the world a better place."
Despite herself, Fareeha was beginning to be intrigued by this woman and her antics. She did not need her years of military and security training to see that Angela obviously did not wish to mention her full name or former employers, but why? Instinctively, Fareeha began to scan the crowd around her, careful not to overly move her head.
"She spoke of you often, you know. Of how you yearned to join in her work some day." If Angela noticed Fareeha's survey of the surrounding masses, she gave no sign. "You had a distinguished service record before you left the Egyptian military, and a spotless reputation in your security work since. Would you have applied for a position at your mother's workplace, had they not disbanded?"
"It was always my dream," Fareeha answered slowly, "to work for… them." Whatever games this woman was playing at, it would not hurt to humor her for the moment. That sense of familiarity returned, still playing with Fareeha's mind.
Another smile was Angela's only reply. Finishing her water with a long pull, she stood, pulling a small business card from the pocket of her blouse.
"If you still feel that way, give us a call" she said, standing. She paused for moment before adding, "try to do so on a secure line, if you can manage."
Without another word, she strode off, quickly disappearing into the tumult of the passing crowds.
Fareeha looked down at the card she'd been left. It was white and plain, with only a series of digits printed on it, nothing else. No company, no name at all. Nothing to explain who would answer if called, or who that mysterious woman had been.
She glanced around her once more, her gaze landing on a pair of men walking in the direction Angela had gone. There was nothing overt to single them out; their clothes, hair, and skin all matched the people around them, but still eyes had been drawn to them. It was something in their gait, something that spoke of discipline and training most did not possess. Both were tall, burly with muscle beneath simple robes. Both wore dark glasses.
Fareeha's hackles began to rise, suspicion making her itch. Her years of experience had taught her to trust these feelings, as she had learned the hard way they could be the difference between life and death. So when the two passed her table, both pointedly not looking at her, she waited a beat before throwing down some bills in payment for her meal and giving chase.
The crowds were their typical rambunctious selves, vociferous and unruly, with merchants and traders hawking wares at the top of their lungs, whilst the market-goers largely ignored them. They all made for good cover as Fareeha shadowed the pair from several meters behind. They seemed too focused on their pursuit to be concerned at the prospect of being tailed themselves, for not once did they so much as glance in her direction.
Without warning, the two men turned into a small side street; which meant, she assumed, that Angela had presently done the same. As she peered around the corner of the mudbrick building, Fareeha observed that the other woman had indeed come this way, and was now trapped in a blind alley, but If she was at all perturbed at her situation, it did not show. Instead, she stood her ground boldly, her folded arms and posture declaiming her undaunted contempt for those before her.
"Did Reyes send you?" Angela called, pulling away her darkened glasses to reveal flashing eyes. "Or some other weichei, perhaps. Whom do you serve, little dogs? Do you even know who holds your leash?" Fareeha could not help but admire the slim woman's courage in the face two much larger than she.
"Someone wants a word with you," one goon replied. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be, ma'am," added the other. As one they advanced on the smaller woman, hands reaching menacingly.
It was, Fareeha felt, a good time to make her presence known.
"I do not know what is going on," she declared, stepping around her corner. "Nor what game you lot play at, but I do know there is no honor in attacking an unarmed woman."
The two men spun round to face her, which was apparently a mistake. Angela capitalized on their distraction, her leg snapping out in a low kick and catching one brute behind the knee. He stumbled, and she grabbed his outstretched arm just above the wrist, pulling it just so until it was folded awkwardly behind his back, extorting a pained grunt from her opponent.
As his double turned back to aid his partner, he was struck low in the back by Fareeha's rushing tackle. He had a good fifty or so pounds on her, true, but she was a solid wedge of tightly coiled muscle, and she had momentum. Together they hurtled forward, his face impacting sharply on the hot brick of the nearby wall with a crack.
He fell heavily, out cold. Fareeha turned to aid the other woman, but it seemed her support was no longer necessary. Angela was already laying her foe to the ground, gently, his limbs askew and a hypodermic jutting from his neck.
"I appreciate the timely assistance, meine friend," She said, pulling the needle from him. "But, you should never assume I am unarmed." Seeing the twinkle of mirth in her eyes, something tugged at the edges of Fareeha's memory yet again. "You certainly live up to your reputation, captain. How did you come by such an… impressive physique?"
"Training in an unpowered suit makes for quite the workout," Fareeha answered absently, not noticing Angela's admiring glance. Her mind was occupied, puzzling over the conundrum her memory hid.
Angela…Angela…
"Mercy!" She blurted out suddenly.
"I wondered how long it would take you," Angela replied with a grin, her blue eyes twinkling once more. "It was many years ago, I know, but I like to think I leave at least ein bessich of an impression, ja?"
"But, wh- you…" Fareeha's head whirled with questions, too many to articulate properly. For a moment all she could do was gape at the woman.
"What are you doing here?" she finally managed to get out. "Why are you not off healing the sick and tending to the wounded, somewhere out in the world?"
"Why, I'm offering you a job, dear." The blonde's eyebrow rose. "I thought I'd made that clear, at least." Fareeha could only stare. This was the strangest interview she had ever undergone.
"How much does it pay?" she asked suddenly. Angela blinked, pausing a moment before answering.
"Probably less than you currently make."
"How much less?" Fareeha countered, folding her arms.
"...One hundred percent, I'd imagine."
"You are not doing a great job of talking this job up." Angela laughed at that. After a moment, Fareeha joined in.
"I am offering you the the chance to help protect the innocent, Fareeha. To continue your mother's work. Would you truly turn that down because of salary issues?"
The gods may not care for the life and death of mortals, but I do, she thought.
"...No, I suppose not," she said aloud.
"Wunderbar!" Angela stuck out her hand, which Fareeha slowly grasped, giving a firm shake. "Welcome to the new Overwatch, agent Pharah."