Author's Note:

Sorry if I seem to be removing, editing and re-adding chapters to this story.

I'm still pretty new to this writing- well, not exactly new but rusty nonetheless- and having a keyboard with keys that don't always work isn't helpful.

Also, the progress on this story may slow over the next few weeks as I'm away next week, and most of what was written so far was written before I'd set this up. And I'm still not sure where exactly I want to take this- don't worry, nothing inappropriate: I know my start point- as outlined already in Chapter 1- and I know my desired end point- the pair of them managing to reach safety in some capacity- but I don't quite know everything I wan to put between those two points.

If you notice anything that's not quite right, e.g. letters missing from words ('he' rather than 'the' etc.) then feel free to mention it in the review section and I'll put it right asap!

Also, if you want to suggest ideas for my next story, fire away. Be aware that I'm not going to write any stories of a massively sexual nature. Suggestive themes or forms of torture (those which are not Casino Royale-esque, anyhow) yes, but I draw the line at that.

Thanks!

Blackadder.

2: One way Ticket

Watchpoint Gibraltar. 1920 hours GMT.

"We've identified a facility deep within Latin America- namely northern Brazil- that appears to be large enough to produce all kinds of nasties: Bastions, Titans, Valkyries, you name it. Now, normally, we'd notify the local government and let them bomb hell out of the place. However, the Brazilian government isn't taking too kindly to our advice right now. That, and the fact that Rio is a hornet's nest of Omnics. Suffice to say that they're more concerned about their burning Capital than some secluded, supposedly harmless foundry."

Morrison continued with his briefing, noting the usual look of boredom on Tracer's face. It struck him as odd that despite Omega's earlier disregard for authority, he seemed somewhat engaged with the briefing. Evidently, his contact at Secret Intelligence had been right about his suitability for this kind of work. "That, and the fact that we aren't officially cleared to operate in Brazil as of yet."

Omega shot an evil glance across at Tracer. If he'd known she could teleport, he'd have thought twice about betting a pint. She returned his glare and smiled. Oh, how he would love to see a spot of karma.

"Right. What's the plan then?"

"Quite simple: You'll fly from this Watchpoint, via Ascension, to a small covert base, codename 'Hotel America', on the border with Columbia. You'll finish your prep there, and we'll send through any further intel before you deploy. If anything goes wrong, that's the closest base you'll be able to pull out to."

Morrison paused.

"One more thing: this is a Black-light Operation. I assume you know what those are still, Omega?"

"Obviously, Commander:"returned Lamont, with a somewhat sarcastic emphasis on 'Commander', "Five years out of the Service hasn't seen me hit the flush button, so to speak- in short, once we cross into Brazil we can't expect any cavalry over the hill except our exfil, and if anything goes wrong… you deny any knowledge of the op and WE are left to our fates. That about sum it up?"

"Indeed. Best of luck to you both."

As they left the briefing, Tracer quipped "Boy, "O", you didn't seem too happy about Commander Morrison sending us in under these conditions."

Omega stopped and looked her in the eye. She could see something wasn't right in there. She didn't know what, but something…

"I don't know. Any time I go on these types of Op, they always seem to go as badly wrong as they could possibly go. I suppose this is the perfect blooding for a newbie, eh?" The look in his eyes had gone, replaced by the somewhat mischievous look that she had seen when she had first met him a few hours earlier.

"Oh, and James will do just fine, thank you."

30 miles from site Hotel America. 0530 hours local time.

Tracer had noticed Omega hadn't stopped dismantling and cleaning his rifle for most of the journey from Ascension. It looked quite an old thing, at least 20 years old. Some type of marksman's rifle for definite.

That said, it seemed to have a few personal tweaks: under the barrel set what looked like the plasma launcher from a Bastion-G series.

She also noticed he had changed into a different uniform of sorts before they left: in place of the black patterned fatigues, he was now wearing tropic-pattern fatigues, with a light jacket over his t-shirt. Except This looked to be even older, maybe even from the last century.

This guy seemed to be the real deal, if a little outdated. Also, she noticed a bulge on his right wrist. A watch, probably. Among the pieces of equipment fitted to him was a light load-carrying belt for explosives and suchlike- again, an outdated, yet effective model- and over his left shoulder was a rail of sorts, similar to the type she had seen in armouries for securing weapons. Everything about the equipment he used was functional. No frills, just the bare bones of what he needed.

Kind of like Morrison, when he deployed. She smiled. Except this guy seems like a right hooligan. And the bullets haven't even started flying yet!

"How come you're still playing about with that rifle? Surely you've checked it over enough by now." Omega noted the sarcasm in her voice in the last sentence.

"The last time I didn't check my rifle over before battle, it jammed on me and almost got the rest of my team killed."

Tracer was confused by one detail in particular: Omega never referred to things almost getting HIM killed, but other people. Perhaps he was un-killable, or maybe he was like Ana- more scared of failure in his duty than of death itself.

"Right. Well, you sure don't talk a lot, do you?"

He smiled slightly. "Just you wait. I'm frosty enough on Ops, but when we're non-tac I can talk like it's going out of fashion," he paused, "curious about 'ole Eileen here?"

Tracer blushed slightly. Even in the dim light of the cabin on this dropship his eyes were still sharper than your average bayonet.

"Yeah, I've tweaked it a bit. Modified the sights with an updated scope. Nothing has a God day at the office when it's in my crosshairs," he chuckled, before turning to the somewhat oversized under-barrel," and yeah, this isn't exactly standard. Took that as a trophy of sorts during an Op in Kazakhstan. This bastard killed a good half dozen of my guys, so as payback I took this. It's certainly useful for wiping anything out. Omnic or otherwise."

Tracer decided to ask the one thing that was still on her mind. One way to know.

"How come you seem more preoccupied with keeping your team-mates alive than yourself?"

His smile faded for a moment. "There's good reason for it. They're about all the family I've ever known."

She looked taken aback slightly. "You mean to say you're- you're an orphan?"

He shook his head, "No. I just don't remember anything about my family. That's all. And given that's your go-to guess, I'd guess the same about you."

He glanced at the holo-map on the bulkhead next to him.

"Well, we're just about at the service station. You want anything while we're here, or shall we just fuel up and go?"

one hour later, site Hotel America. 0650 hours local time.

The dropship dusted off from the pad, and begun its flight South towards the intended drop zone around 30 kilometres short of the Omnic foundry. Any further away, and it would make reaching the site tiresome. Any closer, and it risked triggering a full response as the outer security net of the foundry would be breached. Additionally, the ship was a drone: Overwatch could barely risk potentially losing two agents on this operation, let alone more.

Some slight turbulence shook the craft as it skimmed across the canopy, maintaining as low a signature as possible.

"So, how come you left the Secret Service anyway?" Tracer chose to ask. If there was one thing she hated more than crossing paths with Widowmaker, it was awkward silences on long insertion flights. And Omega wasn't making things any easier.

"Wasn't my choice: they decided to retire me medically. But again, that's a story for- "

"-another time. You really need a better response to some of these questions." Tracer sighed. "I just don't get why you're so cagey about who you are."

"there's reasons, I assure you. You'll learn them in due- what the hell is that racket?"

Tracer noticed as well. There was an awful lot of beeping from the automated cockpit. Despite being an unmanned sortie, the dropship still had a cockpit for human crew. And every warning sensor in there was going haywire.

Interference? Unlikely.

*WHAM!*

The ship lurched violently to one side. Apparently, their safe route to their target... wasn't.

"SHIT!"

Red strobe lighting and all manner of alarms started going off in the rear compartment of the dropship as it spun out of control through the sky. Omega staggered across the spinning bay and activated the emergency door release. The rear ramp of the ship blew off with a clang as the exploding bolts fired.

"We're going to have to jump for it!"

Tracer's eyes widened and she blinked at him. "You're mad!" Even in her career as a test pilot- which saw her fly many aircraft that weren't really that flyable- she'd never consider something as downright dangerous as this.

"Have you got a better idea?" he shouted back, as he jumped off the ramp. She made up her mind and jumped off of the ramp, just as another anti-air missile slammed into the faltering ship and swatted it from the air like a rolled-up newspaper to a fly.

As she spun through the air she saw contrails zip by. Jets? What the hell would someone want to blow US out of the sky for? The shattered dropship continued to careen out of control before ploughing into the canopy and disappearing in a cloud of dust and smoke.

The canopy below enveloped the pair as they fell. Down, down into the unknown terrain below.

Somewhere in the Brazilian jungle. 0715 hours local time.

10 minutes after the shoot-down.

"Bollocks!" Tracer yelled, pulling at her leg with every ounce of strength she could find, to no avail.

She'd just about jumped out of the crippled dropship without any injury. However, her landing hadn't been what she was hoping for. It had been a soft landing, granted. But a "soft" landing wasn't much consolation when she was stuck up to her waist in what seemed to be clay in a dried-up riverbed. Moreover, her chronal accelerator had gone into its safe mode due to the force of the ship being hit initially.

How useful it would be if it was working was a different mater.

"Okay, I take back calling you crazy. Now could you get your arse over here and help me. Please?"

I bet this is payback for me blinking to the briefing and not warning him first, she thought.

Still, there was no sign of, nor reply from her partner.

"James… I know you're there somewhere. Stop being a git, this isn't funny."

So far, she'd tried to writhe her way free. That hadn't achieved anything besides tiring her out somewhat and aggravating her more. She'd been in the jungle for less than half an hour and was already starting to decide that leaving, preferably as soon as possible, was her preferred choice.

For fuck's sake, why is it always me that this kind of fucking thing happens to?! she thought. Trying to move just seemed to make her sink slightly more, and she didn't dare to try and use her hands to push against the surface. Given her current situation, getting her hands- or worse yet, arms- stuck wouldn't make things much better.

I just hope this gunk- and this bloody awful stench- can be washed out.

As time went on, she became somewhat more concerned about what had happened to Omega. She'd seen him falling somewhat less gracefully into the jungle. They'd jumped only a few feet above the canopy, but that was elevated about 40 feet off the ground. A fall like that would kill most people.

She just had to hope he wasn't like most people.

About 400 metres South of Tracer. 0716 hours local time.

Omega woke with a groan. His landing had been somewhat less soft. Being a pinball bouncing off of trees wasn't his most comfortable landing in memory. That said, it wasn't his worst either.

Bloody hell, that wasn't part of my landing plan, he thought as he righted himself against a tree. And- fuck me, my head hurts more than it did after leaving drinks at the Service leaving drinks… during this party to celebrate when Omega left SIS, his colleagues decided the best send-off would be to dye and scent a pint of vodka to look like ale. Given that his head felt worse than he remembered it being the next morning that time- and that he woke up in a skip the next morning with what felt like the US Air Force going to war inside his head- this was a new level of pain. Even for him.

Doesn't feel like anything's broken, that said I can't feel anything right. And I wish things would stop bloody spinning. Some hell of a bounce I must've had off of the trees...

As he regained his bearings, he stood up against the tree and checked himself over. Human pinball. Hah!

"A minor gash to the head, nothing much more than that…" He paused. He thought he heard a voice. Someone shouting for him.

He set off in what he could best tell as the direction of the voice.

Somewhere in the Brazilian jungle. 0725 hours local time.

"About fucking time!" Tracer growled as Omega stumbled through the foliage a short distance from her. "What were you doing, having a nap?"

"Kind of. You know, the kind of nap aided by bouncing off of a whole load of big fucking trees?" He smirked at Tracer. As good luck would have it, karma had befallen her. It was a shame he was a decent person, or else he would have teased her for a little while longer. That said... I owe her a little payback for that teleporting stunt of hers.

Her expression, somewhat irate at first at his eventual arrival, softened to her normal, less angry self. "Oh. Well, would you mind getting me out of here before a company of Bastions happens to wander this way?"

"Alright, alright... Did they never teach you to look before you leap in Basic?" He moved closer, making sure to avoid the soft ground. It wouldn't be much good if he got himself into the same situation that Tracer was.

She glared a him as he grabbed a hold of her. "Don't get any ideas."

He laughed a little. "I wouldn't dream of it. Now grab hold of my sleeves and gimme a sec..."

A minute or so later, Omega had Tracer free of her predicament and had paid the cost for taunting her, as she wrapped her leg around the back of his as he lifted her back over solid ground and brought the pair of them crashing to the ground with a thud.

"Was that really necessary?" Mused Omega, having noted the expression on her face was not one of irritation, more relief.

"Come on and get off me you daft bugger, we need to get moving. Those bastard 'bots will be here like moths if they aren't already.". Unfortunately for Tracer, despite Omega being about equal in height and weight to her, he was trained in some elements of unarmed combat. Namely, being able to throw off most people pinning him down.

Tracer yelped. She hasn't realised he was that capable. She wondered how many more secrets he had...

"Come on, let's get going already before those spam cans on legs find us!"

Watchpoint Gibraltar. 1030 hours GMT.

1 hour after shoot-down

"Well, Commander, the dropship came under fire around an hour ago and crashed approximately 70 kilometres north-west of the landing zone. Tracer and the rookie, Omega, haven't been heard from since."

Morrison nodded, his brow furrowed. This was most definitely bad news. Losing an agent like Tracer-or her new companion- was not something they could afford to do at this point. Worse yet, if they were captured by hostiles- Omnics or Talon, or arrested by the Brazilians... it didn't bear thinking about.

"Sir, might I suggest that we-"

"I know what you're about to suggest, Winston," Morrison cut him off, "and you should already know the answer. This operation is out of our jurisdiction, AND we still don't know whether either of them are alive."

"But-"

"No. I'm sorry Winston, but we can't risk anything more. As it is, they're over 200 kilometres inside Brazil, well withing scanning range of government radars. The first ship disintegrated, luckily. If we sen another and it left anything to trace us, it'd be one giant political shitstorm for us. Even without support, they will hopefully be alright. From what I've been told, Omega was one of the best that British Secret Intelligence had. And a great survivalist."

"From what you've been told, Sir?"

He handed Winston a holodisk.

"Here. This is his dossier. You might find it useful reading."

"Thank you sir. " As Winston turned to leave, Morrison called after him "And Winston?" "Sir?"

Morrison smiled. "Don't do anything stupid. The last thing we need is another King's Row."

Winston gave a gruff laugh. "Naturally, sir. I'll see myself out."

Winston turned the disk over in his palm as he trudged back to his workshop.

As much as this new agent was supposedly something, he couldn't help but worry about Tracer. I hope she's alright.