Chapter 4: Communication
Lena awoke with a start. The room was dark, dimly lit by only a few flickering lights. The cargo was secure and undisturbed, stacked expertly on top of each other. She gasped. Had they already passed Gibraltar? Lena gingerly walked up the stairs of the ship, most of the staff having already gone to sleep. Wary of the floor not being as solid as below, her feet seemed to sink through the metal platform partially. The sky was clear, with stars twinkling up above. The moon was almost full, though Lena didn't know if it was waxing or waning. The sounds of the ocean were drowned out by the hum of the ship's engine. She took a deep breath, realising with a pang of sorrow that she couldn't smell the undoubtedly salty air.
She looked around frantically, hoping for some sign of Gibraltar. Much to her dismay, she couldn't see anything in the dark. With a frustrated shake of her head, she jogged up a stairwell, through a wall into what she could only assume was the captain's room. A lone man sat lazily on an office chair, staring idly at several monitors and buttons. A steaming mug coffee threatened to fall on the floor, being propped precariously on the desk.
Deciding to drop subtlety, Lena walked directly up to him and analysed the screens. One of them was a coordinate grid, displaying the location of the ship. She knew the precise location of Gibraltar by heart, having memorised the exact location of all the old overwatch bases back in her piloting days.
Relief flooded over her, realising there was still roughly two hours before they passed Gibraltar. She pumped a fist, a huge smile forming on her lips.
"Wh-what the heck are you?" The captain grunted, his eyes wide. His white hat had fallen off, revealed scruffy grey hair. Lena held up her hands in a surrender pose until his expression changed from that of terror to wary curiosity.
"Tracer, right?" he demanded, his expression cold. "From Overwatch?"
Lena gulped and nodded. Clearly, this man was not one of the five percent the guard back in London mentioned. She instantly identified him as someone akin to the cops that pulled her harness off of her. She would need to smile for this man. No tears. No Lena.
Tracer smiled and gestured towards the coordinates, hoping he would understand.
"What, you tryin' to get somewhere?" He demanded, exchanging glances between her and the map. His mouth made a small, brief "O." I think there was some kind of building we'd be passing soon. Built into the cliffside and whatnot. You goin' there?" His voice was hostile and confused. "Any reason I can see through you?"
Tracer waved the question off. Her eyes widened at the sight of the man moving to press an alarm button. She shook her hands wildly at him, begging him not to. Seeing she did not deter him, she turned and ran, directly through the wall as alarms began to blare. Thinking quickly, Tracer decided to use her noncorporeal form to her advantage.
When he could no longer see her, Lena dove to the ground, her momentum carrying her through the floor that could barely support her. Her condition did have a few benefits for all the cons.
She searched frantically for a hiding place. If they got her on cameras, Overwatch's reputation could be damaged before they even got back together. Seeing one of the cargo crates, a large, pink one with a label Lena didn't bother to read.
Without thinking, she forced her way into the box. It was jam-packed with items, but she was able to remain in it. It was oddly uncomfortable like she was submerged deep in the ocean, with the pressure threatening to crush her. Regardless, she remained where she was, listening to the muffled sounds of guards and other men searching for her frantically, shouting orders to each other.
After roughly thirty minutes, the guards were much more calm, checking every nook and cranny for her in a much more sophisticated manner. Lena's heart almost stopped as two guards approached her hiding spot, only to lean against it nonchalantly.
"D'ya think the cap actually saw somethin'?" One of the men asked warily, in a hushed voice. "'Cause I think he's off his rocker."
"I couldn't tell you. Assuming he did, I wouldn't be surprised. I mean, I have no idea how an Overwatch agent could stow away on a ship, but assuming Tracer did, and she's here somewhere, it makes sense."
"Why d'ya think that?" The other asked curiously, beating his fingers against cargo absently.
"Well, there's an abandoned Overwatch base on our course. Right in the Straight of Gibraltar. She probably needs to get there," the second guard explained pensively.
"But why? Overwatch was shut down. They'd be in deep trouble if they got back together."
"To be fair, the world is already in deep trouble, what with the Omnic attacks in Volskaya, the recent assassination of Mondatta, and the Vishkar issue as well. Somebody has to do something. I'm not sure how I feel about the organisation on its own, what with Blackwatch and whatnot, but I can see where they're coming from," the man continued, standing upright and pacing in circles.
"Blackwatch?"
"Jeez, Mike, you're clueless."
"Sorry, Thomas," Mike didn't sound very sorry. "Anyway, what's Blackwatch?"
The one dubbed Thomas explained. "Bottom line, anything Overwatch couldn't do legally, Blackwatch did illegally. Granted, most of it had decent justifications, all things considered, but it wasn't exactly humane."
"Oh."
"Yeah, no kidding. Their less moral methods were reserved mostly for the terrorist group, Talon, but it's still not pretty."
Lena winced. Most of the more "valuable" agents had always known about Blackwatch, heck, she'd been on missions with them previously, but their interrogations, in particular, felt a bit too much like they were imitating Talon for her liking. The way their captives were isolated, gagged, deprived of almost all stimulation that was pleasant hit a bit too close to home for Lena's liking. She often found herself sneaking little things to them, such as a pillow or some decent food. While it had gotten her into hot water on some occasions, most people turned a blind eye to her actions.
"Regardless, how do you think Tracer could have ever gotten onto the ship?" Thomas asked curiously.
"I remember reading an article written by a supporter of Overwatch, theorising on how she got her time powers. Seemingly, before she fought on the front lines, she was a pilot, mostly aimed towards dogfighting. Then she abruptly went off the grid when flying some 'special' jet. The public didn't know what happened to her for about a year. Then she suddenly showed up with her powers, the glowing machine on her chest, and fought on the front lines. My guess is she has some sort of illness. A condition that makes her need that device. The captain said she didn't have it, meaning that maybe, just maybe, she is here, but we can't see her."
Mike looked sceptical. "What in the world could a jet do to make her incorporeal or invisible or something?"
Thomas answered quickly. "Rumours were floating around that the ship was able to teleport, though the sources on that are few and not very credible. It could have malfunctioned and messed up her body. The captain did say he saw her run through a wall, after all."
"So you think she's a ghost, in a manner of speaking?" Mike summarised, sounding both in awe and doubtful.
"Makes about as much sense as any other theory that has been floating around the Internet."
"Theories such as?"
"There was one I saw that said she was a time-bending demigod." Both of the men let out a hearty laugh. "Anyway, Mike, go get some sleep. I'll keep watch down here, alone." There was a strange emphasis on his words, though Lena wasn't sure if she just heard things. Her head was fuzzy and throbbing dully from being in the crate for so long.
"Thanks, Thomas. You're a saint." With a yawn, Mike strode away, his footsteps disappearing. Several seconds later, Mike called out to the room.
"Tracer, if you're in here, everybody else is gone. I won't report you or anything like that."
Lena thought for a moment. Should she risk showing herself, or continue staying in this crate of pain? After a second's pondering, she decided to step out.
She forced her way out of the crate, rubbing her pounding head. She much preferred the cold tingle of her skin touching her head as opposed to a headache from being in there.
She smiled and waved to Thomas, who quirked his eyebrow in surprise. He was somewhat young, likely in his mid-twenties, and wore a pale grey uniform that contradicted the life that flooded his eyes. "Can't say I expected you to be in there," he admitted. "We have about an hour before we reach Gibraltar. How about a chat? Nobody should bother us on this floor, so you should be okay.
Tracer's smile wavered, and she gestured to her mouth and made an "X" with her fingers.
"Can't talk? Peculiar. Tell me, then. Was my theory completely off-base? You probably heard that after all.
Tracer nodded, running her transparent fingers over where her harness should have been sitting comfortably.
"Really? So everything about the jet, the condition, and your device was accurate?" He was fairly excited, now pacing back and forth actively, his eyes trained on her.
Tracer nodded again, this time quirking her eyebrow.
"Oh, I spend quite a bit of time researching topics like this. While I don't agree with everything Overwatch did, I have to admit they had a positive effect on the planet. So are you guys getting back together?"
Tracer nodded once more.
"Great! I won't mention this to anyone until it goes public, by the way, so don't worry. Where is your device, though?"
Tracer's smile faltered, and she shrugged. Thomas flinched.
"Oh- oh jeez. I'm sorry, that was inconsiderate of me. Can you not touch things? Eat? Sleep? That's just... terrible. I should have been more sympathetic. Forgive me."
Tracer widened her grin and waved off his apology. She was used to it.
"Sorry for asking, but while we wait... Is there any chance I can ask you more questions? It's not every day someone gets to encounter an Overwatch agent.
Tracer silently laughed and nodded happily. A distraction was welcome.
The next forty-five minutes were filled with her answering yes or no questions from Thomas. The sky was barely beginning to light up when he interrupted himself mid-sentence. "Oh! We should be passing Gibraltar soon! Let's go up to the deck. I'm not sure how we can get you there, but we'll figure something out."
Tracer sprung to her feet, and followed him up the steps, keeping an eye out for anybody that might spot her. True to his word, the Gibraltar base was sitting on the cliffside in the distance, the buildings looking as pristine and elegant as ever. The hangar entrance was obscured by the rock formations that sported several control centres, most of which had their doors left open to make way for the beautiful natural sunlight.
Swimming. That was how she'd get there. It was her only choice. She could run for hours without tiring. What were a few miles of swimming?
Her eyes lit up as she turned to face Thomas, who was smiling kindly. She bowed curtly as a thank-you.
"No problem. Sorry, I can't take you there myself. I'd give you a life raft, but, y'know... anyway, take care!" He waves to her, and turns and walks away without looking back. He was kind, and Tracer could agree with his views for the most part. Having a nice, long conversation was pleasant.
She glanced down at the waves lapping the side of the boat. Heights never bothered her, and she didn't have any other choice. She closed her eyes and dove. It took her a few seconds to realise she hit the water, as she swam to the surface. There was no pain, of course. While that was a plus, it felt isolation, to be in your own plane of existence. She shook her head, and began to swim, forcing out her negative thoughts.
Gibraltar was a few hours of swimming away. Then she'd be with Winston. Excitement blossomed in her chest. She could get her harness back soon!
...
Winston and Angela sat across from each other, Angela looking exhausted, with her head resting on her crossed elbows, while Winston covered his eyes with his large hands. They were in the main debriefing room. The table Winston had used as a workbench had all its contents thrust to the ground in a heap. He was sitting in a tire while Angela rested in a foldable chair. The tension in the room was palpable, as both the heroes were at a loss as to their next move. Talon captured Fareeha, and for what? They gained nothing from her loss.
"Two alerts for you, Winston," Athena broke the silence, making both of them jump.
"What is it, Athena?" Winston mumbled, barely paying attention.
"Jesse McCree has transmitted a message that he should be arriving in a day or so."
"Good, good," Winston absently murmured. "And the other alert?"
"A slight energy anomaly has been travelling up the cliffside. As of yet, we do not have visuals, though."
Winston didn't even realise he had gotten to his feet until he noticed Angela having snapped to attention. They looked at each other, eyes wide.
"L-Lena! But how could she have-" They both bolted out of the room without a second thought. The door burst open, flooding the room with sunlight. Sure enough, as they approached the cliff, a certain agent was climbing it, struggling to gain a foothold. "Lena!" Winston declared joyously, startling her. She flinched, and almost lost her grip on the cliffside, which she was struggling to grasp properly. She was transparent and flickering in the ghostly form Winston remembered her as for months on end.
Poor Lena," Angela grieved, halfway into the process of stretching her hand out to help Lena up, only to recoil with dismay when she remembered Lena couldn't grasp her hand. "I had hoped to never see her like this again."
Lena finally crawled to the top, grinning wildly, though bouncing up and down as though she wasn't sure what to do with herself. She seemed to wish to run right into them with an embrace, yet she kept her distance.
"Lena! I'm so glad you're safe! Oh, my... just... thank goodness!" Winston stuttered awkwardly, rooted in place as well. All at once, his expression grew sombre. "About how many hours ago was your last vanish?"
Lena shrugged and held up six fingers.
"So we may have time until your next one to debrief you. Come on; we need to get you to the stabilisation chamber. We'll talk there. We have a dilemma on our hands.
...
The two soldiers huddled in the shaggy building, intently listening to the com device they were sharing. One of them had snow white hair, a red, white, and blue jacket with a "76" printed on the back, and a glowing, scarlet visor.
The other wore a grey and blue soldier's outfit, complete with hidden ammo pockets, a belt with her nanotechnology grenades, and a hoodie covering her hair. Her biotic rifle lay next to the other soldier's heavy pulse rifle, ready to be grabbed at a moment's notice. The com device was hooked up to a scrapped together computer, attemting to intercept a signal from Talon.
"Ana, are you sure this is going to work?" Soldier 76 asked for the third time, full of scepticism.
"Honestly, Jack, have a little faith in me," she joked back to him, adjusting settings on the scrap heap that was their radio transmitter. The room was incredibly cramped, barely fitting their weapons, rations, and machine, but they were in no position to complain. It was one of the best places they've had all month.
The comm blared to life with some static, as voices spoke on the other end. "Sombra, do you have the target?" They both winced, recognising the voice as Gabriel Reyes.
"Of course I have her. Come now, you know me better than that," another mysterious girl retorted playfully in an accent. "Of course I have her, plus a new toy. Hey! Come here for a second!" The girl called to someone else near her. Shuffling was heard as someone new was given the mic. "Why don't you say hi to your mother, little Fareeha?"
Jack felt Ana stiffen as a shiver went through his spine. They had already been compromised. This person was skilled.
"My mother is dead," was all the unmistakeable voice of Fareeha Amari said, emotionless.
"Oh, I'd think twice about that. Now, off to Hanamura with you!" she declared in a singsong voice. "Boop!"
Silence echoed through the room as the comm was interrupted. Quickly, Jack began dismantling the contraption, storing the pieces strategically in various pockets. When he was done, he turned to Ana.
"Come on, we need to move," he tried and failed to convey sympathetically. Ana was shaking, which was unusual for her.
"Jack! We need to save her! We need to save my daughter!" Ana commanded in a hushed whisper. Her back was turned, and her head was bowed.
"We can't risk that. You know it."
"But it's Fareeha! She's in Talon's hand! They said Hanamura! We need to go there!"
"Ana, this isn't like you," Jack admitted, uncomfortable at seeing his partner break down.
"What if it were your siblings?"
Jack was silent for several seconds. "I hate it when you're right. Even still, you know we can't risk it."
"That's what we thought last time."
"This isn't like last time."
"How is this not like Amélie?"