The nights had grown colder as summer began its rapid descent into autumn. This wasn't a problem for Angela Ziegler, a Swiss native who is accustomed to the mountain chill and winter's bitter cold snaps. Yet, the damp, wet roads of King's Row were nothing like her homeland. Her black leather boots slapped against the rainy cobblestone streets, the sound reverberating but otherwise blending. It was late evening and the town seemed more alive now than it was when she first arrived hours ago, when the sun was still high in the sky.
Angela blended in well with her surroundings, tugging the white woolen trench cloak closer to her body, whispering prayers into the collar that her jeans wouldn't get too soaked from the water getting kicked up from the ground. She needed to act anonymously though, it was vital. Just as the other's had, Angela received Winston's recall notice, something that was created though thought to never be used. Ever since the PETRAS act, Overwatch activity was put to a halt. Angela more than anyone had suffered many terrible, personal blows during the last Omnic Crisis and felt obliged to adhere to the protocol of the international law. It never stopped her from traveling and assisting others independently though.
That was, until the recall came.
She had been hesitant to accept the invitation out of sheer fear of the repercussions it would have for her old allies. After a bit of thought, that was also reason enough for her to join them again in battle. They would need a doctor, one that knew their history and nuances almost to a fault.
So here she was, wandering around in civilian clothing and clutching tight to a metallic briefcase in one hand, looking like a lost tourist that was swept away in the winding streets of England. The rendezvous point was Watchpoint: Gibraltar, an older facility off the southern coast of Spain. While it made more sense to travel directly to the base from where she had been in Southeast Asia, Angela knew it would draw too much attention. Instead, she decided to detour to King's Row before sneaking onto a charter to Morocco before jumping off as they passed the old facility. While all this illegal activity for travel was more or less up McCree's alley, Angela had little choice. All ex-Overwatch operatives were heavily monitored, especially by passport. It was against her morals to be so questionable, but there was no choice. For the sake of her fallen friends from years past, she had to do everything in her power to protect those that are still alive now.
"Watch it!" A crusty old voice bellowed toward Angela as and elder man brushed past her in the opposite direction. With a furrowed brow, the blonde doctor watched as the man passed by with some scrutiny. By the time she turned forward again, she saw another person begin to bristle past, and another, and another one yet. Quickly, more and more people were starting to herd into a single direction. Were they running away from something, or racing to an accident in progress? As a doctor, it always disgusted her how quickly other spawn to the scene of an accident, flocking around to gawk at the loss of life while doing nothing to assist. A train wreck, car crash, a battlefield; these were not places meant to gawk at for entertainment.
A resounding gunshot ripped through the air up above, as if audibly confirming Angela's fear. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. With deft movement, the doctor dove for a nearby alleyway, skulking a bit in the shadows until she was certain no eyes were on her. That was when she gave the briefcase at her a quick flick. Within moments, the luggage unlatched and began to shift out what had been stored. It was the Valkyrie suit with her favored Caduceus Staff and Blaster. She had made modifications to make them collapsible for sake of travel, and she was especially grateful for the upgrade in this moment. In no time at all, Angela had slipped into her uniform without much suspicion. A flourish of her wings and an ominous golden glow in the inky black alley were the last sight any might catch before she was sent skyward. A crackling buzz echoed in her ear from a communicator. It was old Overwatch technology that held open lines on all nearby channels. It was something Winston had created back in the day, a device she had thought was outdated until now.
"Shooter on the roof, I repeat, shooter on the roof!" A spry, female voice cried out before another gunshot was heard. The heart of the doctor sank rapidly as she recognized the accent and tone. It would only make sense Lena was here, this was her home. Knowing her old companion was near strangely comforted Angela, but no more than it troubled her at the same time. There was gunfire, and Lena was in the middle of it.
The Valkyrie suit began to run a diagnostic scan based on the location of Tracer's radio signal, picking up the vitals of the orange-clad girl as well as several others, many of which were falling into critical levels. She had to hurry before more lives were on the brink. With an extra push of energy, Angela raced over to an adjacent rooftop from where she saw Tracer. The young girl had been curled up, left to writhe in agony as a nearby Talon vessel departed. By the speed of her suit, Angela hovered before Tracer with her staff in tow. A milky gold glow began to wash over the younger woman, her body beginning to loosen up from the tight ball she was pulled into from before.
"I'm taking care of you, stay still." The blonde doctor called out in a soothing warm tone, causing the England-born brunette to peek up at here with round, meek eyes.
"My word, Mercy, is that you, love?"
"I was making my way to answer Winston's call...what happened here-"
The concerned words were swiftly silenced by an ominous shade of black smoke curling around her body and yanking her away from Tracer as if she were nothing more than a ragdoll. With surprising strength, Mercy was thrown at a nearby brick wall, left to weakly gather her bearings as Tracer began to run over.
"Watch out!" Tracer called out as the murky shadows began to take form before Mercy. It swirled upward like a pillar of death until the apparition took physical form. Standing before the Swiss doctor was the international threat known as Reaper, one polished gun aimed inches away from Mercy's nose while the other was steadily aimed on Tracer.
"You-!" Mercy breathed out, clutching the wall for support still. She glanced over the dark figure's broad shoulders to ensure Tracer was fine. It seemed she was, though she too was left to stand frozen in place.
"Even when it's not my mission, I still clean up after Talon." The distorted, husky voice called out between them before his guise turned toward Mercy with certain malice. "At least this is a worthwhile venture."
"Stay away from her!" Tracer called out defiantly, earning a dark chuckle from Reaper who cocked back the gun aimed at the English native. This caused the smaller girl to snap her mouth shut and simply stare down Reaper and the blonde woman just beyond her view.
"It's been too long, Doc." His voice boomed toward Mercy, clearly attentive on her exclusively. "I'm here for my annual check-up. Sorry I'm late."
"I don't take walk-up appointments, sorry." Mercy murmured quietly in response, eyeing the man cautiously.
"First for everything." He remarked as she slowly approached the blonde woman, causing her to shrink against the wall and pull out her Caduceus Blaster for good measure. Despite this, Reaper didn't seem threatened at all and continued walking toward her.
"I said stop!" Tracer barked out, the volume of her tone suddenly booming as a trail of bright blue caused the smaller girl to be standing between Mercy and death incarnate. Without skipping a beat, Reaper smacked Tracer aside with the back of his hand, causing the girl to cry and skid against the ground.
"Tracer!" Mercy shouted with her pistol still aimed directly at the man before her. Just as her finger wrapped around the trigger, Reaper knocked the small gun out of her grasp. During her bewilderment, a clawed hand latched painfully tight around Mercy's throat, pinning her against the sharp grit of the wall.
It was then that Mercy noticed Tracer's feeble form attempt to get to her knees after being knocked down. Blonde brows knitted together in grave concern once she noticed something. The light on Tracer's chest was dimming and began to flicker weakly. The brown-eyed girl noticed the doctor's stare and glanced down, her own fear coming to fruition at the sight. The chronal accelerator was her anchor in time, and if that was destroyed, she'd be lost. Maybe it'd only be hours, but it could be days, weeks, even months. It was then that Mercy had to make a judgment call.
"Get out of here, Tracer!"
"B-But-!"
"Find Winston and fix your chronal accelerator before you lose an anchor!"
"Who says she gets to leave-" Reaper began to rear his head over to gaze at the energetic girl on the ground before the air was knocked out of him. Mercy had managed to grab her Caduceus staff and knock the pole end into his stomach, causing him to lurch back several feet. With a firm stare, Mercy nodded to show Tracer she'd managed. There wasn't going to be a second chance for her to escape, she needed to take the opportunity now. With a fleeting grimace, Tracer blinked away as fast as she could manage while still keeping in mind her limitations.
Reaper was quick to recover, to Mercy's chagrin. She watched with bright sapphire eyes as the ominous smoke began to swarm around his body, as if a maelstrom of rage. Hard leather slapped against the rooftop with heavy thuds, his footfalls slow and methodical as he approached the doctor with her staff poised before her.
Then, he stopped.
For a moment, Mercy had stopped breathing as she watched the man pour his eyes over her form in an almost frantic manner. Confused, she glanced down and noticed a single gleaming dot hover against the polished white curve of her stomach. Before she could react, a bullet was fired from the far side of the rooftop, penetrating through her armor. All at once, the angelic form of the woman collapsed forward, though she was surprised to find that she wasn't lurching against the ground with her face against the concrete. No, it was the scent of wet leather and ammunition that comforted her as she grabbed at the wound on her stomach. Sanguine rivers began to pour out of the small hole, seeping through her clothing and between the fingers which clutched her stomach gingerly.
"What are you doing?" A lethal tone demanded from Reaper toward the culprit. It was an average looking sniper, one clad in Talon regalia. The man nodded toward Reaper respectfully as he approached. "Orders from above. Any and all ex-Overwatch operatives are to be subdued and brought in directly to Talon."
"You fuckin' shot her." Reaper seethed, still holding Mercy in his arms as he craned his head toward the sniper. The man shrugged in response to the venom.
"Didn't you hear me? Orders are orders."
"...no, I didn't hear you." Reaper spoke in a dark, low tone after a long pause. Shortly after his words left his lips, he readied his gun in a free hand and blew away the sniper with a single bullet. "You died before you could report to me."
"No!" Mercy cried out, panting as she felt the adrenaline kick in. She wasn't sure if it was from the sudden merciless death before her or if it was her nervous system kicking in after the shock of being shot herself.
Reaper tossed his gun aside carelessly, allowing it to meld into the shadowy pool that had formed beneath their bodies. How could Mercy not have noticed the murky depths below them? Likely because she had been running her medical knowledge through her head about gunshot wounds. It was her attempt at keeping herself calm.
"Did it miss the major organs? Do you have any immediate swelling or bruising? Is the bullet lodge inside or did it pass out the other end?" She ran off the questions in her head almost repetitively, as if she'd deduce it all without taking a look at the wound. As if reading her troubled mind, Reaper tugged Mercy into his chest with both arms as carefully as he could. Funny, he had no allegiances with her; he shouldn't be bothered with her well-being at all.
"What're...a-augh...what are you doing?"
"Getting you out of here. More Talon agents will come."
"Don't you work for Talon?"
"I work with them, not for them." Reaper almost snapped back his response, though as soon as Mercy had winced in pain, he seemed more subdued and in thought. "You can't heal yourself with a bullet still in you."
Ah, so it hadn't gone through the other side.
"Verdammt..." Mercy whimpered quietly as she pulled her milky white hand away, revealing the dark crimson of her palm from holding the wound. She was losing too much blood far too fast. She needed to get somewhere to peel this armor off, but there would be no way she could make it alone.
"Take the help or die." Reaper spoke with some finality, clearly frustrated at her hesitance to the situation. He knew what would happen if she hesitated any longer, and so did she. After a solemn moment of debating bleeding out or accepting help from the vile man, Mercy weakly nodded her head.
"A-Alright..." She replied softly, blue eyes a bit dimmer than before as she peered up into the cowl of the terrorist who has caused so much death these last several weeks alone. From this close, she could see the radiant glow of those crimson red irises beaming down on her.
"Hold your breath and shut your eyes." Was the last Reaper said as he clutched the frail woman's body closer to his leather-strapped torso. Within seconds, both of them were covered in a plume of the inky darkness, enveloping them and yanking their forms down into the puddle of black until nothing remained of their presence on the rooftop.