No matter how firmly Fareeha Amari believed in the revival of Overwatch, everything leading up to the first mission filled her with doubt.
The recall notice itself had been cause for concern, and, as it turned out, was unfortunately indicative of what was to come in the following weeks. She had always believed, deep in her heart, that Overwatch wasn't gone for good. Some day, maybe soon, maybe in a few decades, it would rise again. The people who joined Overwatch weren't cut from common stock, after all. They were all seemingly purpose-made for heroism, and surely couldn't just retire into obscurity sipping drinks on a beach somewhere. But in every fantasy and sober consideration of what a reformed Overwatch would look like, Fareeha never once imagined it would look the way it did: an email nestled in her spam folder, between dubious claims of there being horny Russian women near her, and a newsletter update from a website she'd stopped reading years ago. Inside the message was an attached video of Winston making an impassioned plea for any and all past and hopeful Overwatch members to join him in fighting the new evils that plagued the world.
It probably would have been more inspiring if it hadn't stopped to buffer four times throughout.
By the timestamp, the message had sat untouched for a little over a week before she found it, and it was a few days more until she could bring herself to respond. The organization she had known was, well, in general more professional than what looked like a hasty webcam capture. Even if this was legit (and with cg as good as it was, it may very well have not been), did Winston have a plan? Would they have anywhere to stay? Would they have money for weapons and transport, or facilities to maintain the highly specialized tools that most Overwatch members used? Had any government agencies been contacted?
At the end of the day, though, joining Overwatch had been her dream since childhood. When a chance at that dream lands in your lap, you take it. And, quite frankly, even if it did just end up being a handful of the old crew getting drunk and telling stories in some abandoned warehouse somewhere, that would still be worth it. The soldiers and officers of Overwatch had been like a family to her growing up, and she could do with a reunion.
As it turned out, the reality of the recall was depressingly close to her prediction. When she arrived at the old watchpoint in Gibraltar, the only ones there to greet her were Winston, Reinhardt, and Lena 'Tracer' Oxton—a younger woman who had joined shortly after Fareeha had left to join the Egyptian military. The welcome she received was as warm as expected, with Reinhardt crushing her into a hug immediately and babbling about how much she'd grown, and Winston and Lena ecstatic to see another person respond to the call. When Fareeha asked Winston about what her first mission would be, though, he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled that he'd get back to her about that.
Those first few weeks could have easily been dispiriting if it hadn't been the most fun and relaxation Fareeha had gotten since she was a kid. During the days she'd help repair the jets that had left to grow dusty in the base's hanger, at night drinking cheap beer and swapping war stories with Reinhardt. Or, more accurately, she would tell most of one, and then old Willhelm would be reminded up something and start booming out another tale that would turn into three others. On any other man it would have been grating, but the old bastard was just too sweet and excitable. Like a seven-foot tall puppy. And so what if all they had was peanut butter, ramen, and wilted, bruised, bargain-bin vegetables? She got to let her guard down, and she had her own room. More than she could say for her time in the military. Not that she stayed there often. As it happened, Lena was very good at convincing her to share her bed.
Their first mission together felt more like a high-school roadtrip than the kind of high-stakes inernational intrigue that Overwatch was best known for. A grassroots human-supremacist group in France had been making the news after making good on their promises to start making attacks on the meeting places of the Omnic populace. The jets were still out of commission, and even if they weren't, there was no way in hell any of them could have afforded to buy fuel for them. What was in their budget, however, was a beat-up old station wagon with a cracked windshield and complaining second gear. This humble vehicle, weighed down by two giants, two adult women, and hundreds of pounds of armor strapped to the top, took them from Gibraltar to Annecy, where they successfully beat back several attacks over the course of a week. When they apprehended the ringleaders of the group and turned them into the authorities, news groups flocked to interview them. When asked breathlessly whether this signaled a revival of Overwatch, Fareeha only gave a coy smile and responded in halting French "We're just a few people trying to do the right thing"
That clip went viral, and pretty soon every recall notice that had gone ignored was responded to. Within two months, the base was comparitively bustling with close to a dozen new arrivals. Some were familiar, like Angela and Jesse, who had been like an older brother and sister to Fareeha growing up. Or, at least, Angela had felt like an older sister until it got too weird thinking of the woman whose cleavage she stared at as a sister. Jesse teased her endlessly for her childhood crush on Angela, and thus stayed firmly in the older brother category. Others were new, strange, faces to Fareeha, though, including a Brazilian d.j., a Korean child soldier, and a Bastion unit with a pet bird. Even if the base still echoed with every footstep and the bunks were so empty that nearly everyone could take a whole room for themselves, the personalities of those present filled the base with more passion than Fareeha had ever known before.
This afternoon had been their first real mission as a team. With the funding that Lucio and Hana brought on board they could finally afford fuel for the jet, and were able to intercept a small Talon detachment on Ilios from kidnapping local researchers and stealing the archaeological data that had recently been uncovered.
Fareeha's heart swelled as she walked into the shower-room of their temporary holdout on the island. Spirits were high, laughter filled the muggy air, and Lena was chasing Hana attempting to whip her with a rolled up towel. All of the concerns that ate at her confidence during all those weeks of stale beer and ramen were washed away that day. They had new blood, new purpose, and if today was any indication they were shaping up to be a formidable fighting force.
Her reverie was broken, however, when a thickly accented voice called out to her,
"Amari! Does your Raptora suit have hollow bones, like bird? It would explain how easily you get swatted out of sky!"
Fareeha turned on her heel, grimacing, to find an enormous Russian woman sprawled languidly out one of the benches like a predatory cat. Aleksandra Zaryanova was the most recent arrival, having met the team on the island when they arrived. While Fareeha had seen her on the holo years prior when she was still a championship lifter, she knew little of the woman, and had so far had no chance to feel her out.
While it was true she had required field repairs on several occasions to continue fighting, who could blame her! She was used to facing off against gormless Omnics and underpaid mercenaries, not the kind of ruthless fighters Talon employed. But Fareeha bit back the defensive retort, reminding herself of her promise to try and be more personable with her comrades. And judging by Zaryanova's toothy grin, the comment was probably made in jest. Well, two could play at that.
"At least I don't have to rely on those ridiculous bubblegum shields of yours. Really, Aleksandra, they look like the stuff Hana is always chewing on."
Apparently she responded to the jab correctly, as Zarya let out a deep belly laugh that seemed to reverberate across the whole shower.
"What can I say? It is hard to care about appearances when I know that I can bench this whole team aaand probably most of enemy on top. Everyone but weird pig man, that is."
Despite herself, Fareeha felt a smile tugging at the edges of her mouth. There was something magnetic about the giant woman that she was beginning to feel. But, she supposed that it was to be expected of an international celebrity. As she started to strip out of her flight suit, she continued the banter,
"I don't know, are we talking in or out of armor? Even just Tracer's accelerator is surprisingly hefty, without accounting for Reinhardt's suit."
When no answer was forthcoming from the Russian, Fareeha quickly chastised herself. Talking about the weight of equipment, really? Is that the best you can do? But when she looked up, now fully freed of clothing, Aleksandra was staring, eyes wide. Fareeha felt herself wilt a little, blushing under the scrutiny.
"Damn…Amari where have you been hiding,"
Aleksandra just mouthed silently, gesticulating vaguely at Fareeha
"All of this."
Fareeha stared back dumbly.
"Excuse me?"
"I had assumed you were skinny twig under that armor like tiny Korean girl or pretty doctor. But I am… Pleasantly mistaken."
Aleksandra was grinning broadly again, eyes running up and down Fareeha's naked body. Fareeha spluttered, searching desperately for a reply, but none was forthcoming. Despite herself, she gave a lopsided smile and laughed, feeling the warmth of pride washing over her.
As the Russian woman rose to leave, Fareeha felt disappointment tug at her heart. It was quickly dismissed though, when Aleksandra looked over her shoulder
"We shall work out together then, soon."
"Better stand back, Amari, these pipes are about to burst!" growled Zarya through clenched teeth. Fareeha could only stare in incredulous horror as the Russian behemoth bicep curled a 95kg weight in her left hand, puffing all the while, her face contorting to express seemingly every possible emotion. Slowly setting her own barbell back on the rack and leaning against the wall to get a better view, Fareeha felt all of a sudden hopelessly inadequate in comparison to her friend. And yet, she also felt a swelling of pride, or something close to it, that she got to witness this sight.
Even as Aleksandra struggled through her last rep, face flushed, shining with sweat, eyes squinting and face screwed up in effort, it struck Fareeha just how breathtaking this woman is. Even with over a decade of military experience, she had never met anyone so dedicated to their own body, to pushing the limits of what the human machine is capable of. It made her knees go a little weak just considering that kind of strength.
"What, no applause?" Zarya challenged, as she flopped back on the bench, eyes closed, chest heaving.
"Sorry, Aleksandra, I guess it's just hard to get excited when I know that isn't even the best you can do."
Managing a low sardonic laugh through the exhaustion, Zarya raised one hand weakly with middle finger raised.
"Aww, don't be like that, you know it's just because I want the best for you." Fareeha laughed, strolling over to her friend's bench to squat next to her and offer a bottle of water which Zarya immediately snatched and gulped greedily from.
"For real though, how do you do this? Before I joined Overwatch I thought I was pretty strong but you are just…So…" Fareeha paused, brows knit as she tried to find an adequate descriptor.
"Big?" Zarya offered, raising one eyebrow smugly.
"Well, yeah! What is your secret?"
Aleksandra considered the question for a moment, before shifting herself to make room for Fareeha on the narrow bench. As Fareeha settles down next to her, she slowly began to speak.
"The way I see it, Amari, there is no secrets to this. Every month there is some hot shot on internet making claims about shortcuts and ideal routines. But in my home there was no scientist checking my form or making me eat special diet. I had big rocks to carry and a bowl of oats every just came a day when I was little girl helping bring in firewood, and I notice that I can only carry one piece, or two, where my father can heft a dozen or more. I didn't like that."
As she related the story, her face took on a soft contemplative expression that Fareeha had never seen before. Admittedly, in their short friendship there were few situations Fareeha had seen her where she wasn't focused on a battle or talking shit during down-time. But something about it felt like seeing this was a rare and privileged occasion. Aleksandra was silent for a moment as she rearranged herself, leaning forward onto her knees. Fareeha briefly noted the firm warmth of her friends' thigh against her own, but quickly dismissed the distracting thought from her mind.
"So I decide, hey, I never want to feel that way again—that I'm less capable than someone else. Or that I cannot help as much as I could. The next day I picked up a rock by my school, and tried to lift it until I couldn't anymore. I was sore for a week! But it felt so good, and I knew that I wanted more of that feeling. So I kept doing it. And then, well, here we are."
Aleksandra looked at Fareeha, eyes bright with earnest nostalgia, before suddenly turning away, seeming a little embarrassed, her usual catlike grin returning.
"Sorry for the mushy story, I do not know what came over me. That's it, though, if you love something, there is no need for secrets. Just devotion."
"So...If I am hearing you right, if I want to get bigger I just need lots of wood and a Napoleon Complex"
Aleksandra barked out a laugh, before putting Fareeha in a headlock and grinding her knuckles against her skull. Fareeha squawked in surprised laughter, squirming helplessly in the larger woman's grasp. As their laughter died down and they separated, Fareeha found Aleksandra still staring at her, with an expectant grin. Suddenly overcome with a wave of self-consciousness, Fareeha immediately turned her gaze to the floor.
"So…Uh, same time on Friday?" she mumbles, making as if to leave. Aleksandra laughs again, clapping her on the back and rising with her.
"Don't be silly Amari. Okay, here's another secret. You got to treat your body just the same as you treat the body of any other woman. You do not have your fun and leave. She needs to be taken care of!"
Fareeha stared dumbly at the Russian.
"What I'm saying is, come to my room. We'll eat something, cool down a little. I think we've earned it! Or at least I have. Maybe you don't after giving up to admire how well I was crushing it."
Letting out a snort, Fareeha punched her friend in the bicep and followed her down the hall.
"SO WHAT DO YOU THINK?" yelled Aleksandra over the screaming of guitar and unintelligible Slavic shouting that was blasting from the speaker system beside her bed.
"I UH, LIKE THE…PASSION?" Fareeha shouts in response, with an unconvincing smile on her face.
Turning down the music slightly, Aleksandra looks back a little sheepishly. "It's okay if you don't like it. Russian punk isn't for everyone, especially the hardcore stuff they were doing in the 60's."
"No, no! I don't dislike it. I think I just don't get it yet." Fareeha reassured, "I mean, from the eight words I could make out it sounds pretty tailored to what people were going through at the time. And I really respect that. My favorite music comes from the turn of the century when Egypt was still in a really uncertain place. Certainly makes a more compelling story than listening to yet another dude whine about not getting his dick wet."
Aleksandra snorted at that, and stretched back out on the couch they were sharing, resting her head on Fareeha's thigh. As the final track on the album stopped abruptly, Aleksandra spoke up again,
"To be fair, when I was getting into this music, I didn't really know much about politics. Mostly I was just going through a…" she chuckled sardonically, and grimaced in mock-horror, "just a little bit of a phase."
"Let me guess, dyed fringe, lots of spikes?"
"You have no idea Amari," she groaned, covering her face with her hands. "It was pretty bad. But we all did that when we were kids, right?"
Fareeha rolled her eyes, shrugging. "Sorry Aleks, I was too busy having sex with girls and disappointing my mother to have any phases, letalone find the time to dye my hair."
At this, Aleksandra shifted her head off of Fareeha's thigh to raise herself up to shove the Egyptian's shoulder.
"Come on Fareeha, no way you don't have some embarrassing story! If you don't tell me, maybe I'll just have to ask little miss Angela, hmm?"
Blanching at the suggestion, Fareeha shoved Aleksandra in turn before relenting,
"Okay, okay…" she fell silent for a moment, face taking on a grave tone.
"I…"
Aleksandra leaned in expectantly, and Fareeha closed her eyes.
"Was really into mecha anime" she finally admitted.
Aleksandra's eyes widened, and her grin quickly grew to an alarming size. Fareeha felt her face grow red hot, and she immediately regretted ever speaking to this woman. The giant Russian folded her arms and bounced in her seat slightly like an excited schoolgirl.
"So…Tell me, when you're flying up there in battle, do you think of your cartoon theme songs?"
"I don't need to put up with this kind of abuse!" Fareeha stood and threw up her arms in mock exasperation, but Aleksandra immediately leapt up to wrap her in her arms and drag her back down onto the couch, laughing uproariously the whole time.
"You are so sensitive, like little girl! I can't believe this is a hardened soldier I'm talking to."
"Okay, look, let me just," Fareeha squirmed in her friend's grasp before managing to wriggle her phone out of her pocket, "here. I'm gonna show you one episode, and maybe you'll get it"
"Haha, okay, deal."
Truth be told, Fareeha did cringe internally a little as she hit play on the episode she was thinking of. She had forgotten just how loud and overdone the intro amv was, and how goofy the premise was out of context. But as she settled into Aleksandra's arms and let the episode play, she forgot all about her self-consciousness, and let her heartstrings get pulled right along with the high-flying action and overwrought drama.
As the emotional climax came to a head, with the assumed protagonist sacrificing his life to pass the torch to his scrawny protégé, she briefly wondered if the impact would be lost without the buildup of the prior episodes. That worry was swept away immediately, though, as she felt something wet begin to drip into her hair. As she craned her head to look up, she found Aleksandra with a stricken expression on her face, tears streaming from her eyes. She looked down at her, forlorn and pleading.
Fareeha gave her a teasing grin, and shimmied up to hug her friend's face into her shoulder.
"It's okay, I won't tell anyone."