Fareeha Amari didn't need a damage report to tell her that she hurt like hell.
As well as the constant aching that came from an uncontrollable fall from fifteen stories up in a metal suit, there was the screaming agony that her right arm was giving off every time she tried to wiggle it around in the minimal room that the Raptora armour gave between its chassis and the pressurized body glove she had on underneath.
Broken. Shit. At least that seems to be the only thing. Though she was largely sure of that notion, there was still a worrisome degree of uncertainty to it, what with her armour still being completely immobilized. Aside from this stupid piece of junk.
The only thing that she had even a limited amount of control over was her head movement. Despite the large crack in her visor and the headache she had from getting her bell rung, her senses were still clear enough; the constant discomfort and groans they forced out of her were grim proof of that. From her position on her side, she craned her head upwards, rainwater running out from where it had pooled in where her visor ended and around her helmet's chinstrap, and rotated it over her shoulder, a process that proved more painstaking than anticipated with her helmet weighing her ringing head down. Though unable to look far enough over to see the ledge she had been sent careening off, she didn't care about that because of what was in her field of view in front of her.
Off to her left, just visible if she stretched her neck back as far as she could past the palace wall and garden decorations and peered past an old marble sculpture, was the bright lights of the outside entrance to the ballroom, sitting less than a hundred yards away. Through the constant pattering of rain and the occasional thunderclap, she could hear the sounds of tables being upset and guns firing, a few of their rounds whizzing through the glass. She muttered several expletives in Arabic as she came to the realization that not only had she been ambushed, but everyone else had as well. She had to get into the fray to fix this crisis and do so posthaste.
Even with her putting all the strength she had into moving, doing so still proved impossible. Whomever had attacked her had been sure to make no mistakes, and as a result moving even her feet or splayed legs so much as an inch was like trying to trying to move Everest with only her pinky. It would have been extremely difficult even if her every body part wasn't providing fresh updates to her nerves on how much the fall had hurt. Lifting herself up into a better position with her arms was a good idea, she had decided, but with one arm trapped under her suit's weight and the other fractured, it was an idea quickly discarded. Trying to roll onto her back proved ineffective as well because of her suit's rocket wings, which propped her in place.
As her endeavour to achieve a more workable position continued, she heard something that was even more uncomfortable than her position and its accompanying helplessness. Though she couldn't see it through the night's black veil and the downpour, she could hear, clear as day, Junkrat shouting "FIRE IN THE HOLE!", followed up by the crashing of glass and an explosion that shook the ground she lay upon. The thought of that psychopathic demolitionist and his monstrous muscle having at anyone inside was enough to triple her movement efforts and warrant more audible curses.
Even with desperate adrenaline forcing her to carry on, she was able to do little more than roll over onto her stomach straight into a large puddle that splashed up into her face. Through her numerous disadvantages and the added unpleasant feelings of water up her nose and gravel stuck in her teeth, she forced herself to persevere, to summon enough drive to try to break the trappings of what served as a cage for a normally free bird.
Even with her every, pounding fibre of her being saying she needed to find some way to break her bondings, dark reality was casting its shadow on her. With each attempt at movement, even the tiniest, wormlike inching, failing utterly, doubt and despair began battering down her mental state. The gunfire had stopped by now, leaving an dreadful silence in the air. The only thing she could hear was the clatter of the rain on her armour.
Fareeha's head dropped downwards, the hair on her forehead wetting as water from the puddle trickled into her helmet. The pain of the impact was now beginning to subside save for her arm, the vacuum that nature abhors being filled with the unsavory truth. Her friends, the people and organization that had practically raised her and that she dreamed of working with her whole life, were about to die in the ballroom at Versailles, surrounded by a terrible monument to a final, devastating failure.
As a child, she had seen the times when Overwatch had failed, from the fiasco in Paraguay to the seeming death of her mother to Reyes' betrayal and the Battle of Geneva, but it had never taken the dream from her, the desire to follow in her mother's footsteps and join their proud ranks. Now, however, with her mechanical wings clipped and the consequences of Talon's superior preparedness taking effect, the unhappy actuality was all too prevalent. Her extremities grew limp as the notion settled in. Ironic, she thought, that the suit that had given her an advantage so many times would be her demise.
It was then that what seemed like divine intervention kicked in.
Completely out of the blue, the armour that had promised to be her tomb released its frozen joints. The wings on the back came alive with the squeal of hydraulics and the coughing of rocket engines taking a first gasp of sweet fuel and oxygen. For the first moment she was in disbelief: How had the hack that had completely taken her out of commission suddenly been removed? It didn't take her long to conclude, though, that it wasn't worth looking at this second chance too closely. With her good arm and her legs restored to full mobility, she rose to her knees before springing to her feet with rocket-boosted speed.
As the heads-up display on her helmet rebooted itself, so did her earpiece.
"Fareeha? Fareeha, can you hear me?!" Athena called.
Fareeha raised a hand to her face and wiped off the drips of water with her palm. "Back online."
"Thank goodness for that." the computer stated with evident relief. "We have no time to lose, so I will explain quickly: Talon has activated an electro-magnetic pulse in the ballroom and killed all of the Omnic dignitaries."
Fareeha's speculations were shattered; Even she hadn't expected Talon to try something so atrocious.
The computer continued hastily: "Winston and I have deactivated the EMP, but the situation is still critical and everyone left inside is in mortal danger. Get in there!"
By now the full-heads-up display had returned on her helmet, the visor illuminated by multiple pieces of information. A damage report flashed brightly saying that the suit was dented but fully operational, while another informed of sedatives and hydraulic assistance measures being taken to compensate for her broken arm. All of it now was useless to Faheera, as she had only one thing on her mind. After bending down and picking up her rocket launcher, she took off for the ceiling, vivified hope surging through her veins.
As she soared up into the night sky, the storm seemed to be nearing its time of passing. Though the rain still fell in sheets and the cold wind whipped through the air, the clouds were moving off now, and in parts the moon could even be seen peeking through, a few rays of light penetrating the dark bank. It was through one of these beams that Fareeha flew through before contorting downward towards the skylight and racing through the hole in the glass. Below her in the instant that she entered the ballroom, she could see the full spectacle of the dire straits that Overwatch was in; On top of the lifeless Omnic hulks, Reaper was intent on strangling McCree with one hand, Widowmaker had Lucio laid out on the floor to be executed like an animal, and Junkrat and Roadhog were busy taking demented pleasure in Angela and Genji's perceived final moments. Only Tracer looked to be fine, her accelerator reigniting with its blue glow as she herself looked up at where Faheera was, knowing that the tide was about to turn.
In her ear, she heard Winston shouting "Lena, get ready!". Not wasting a second of time, Fareeha's dive came to a swift halt just under the roof next to a chandelier. Her wings spread wide and several panels on her suit retreated back into themselves. It was now that she shouted out across the ballroom, her military-trained voice commanding all eyes to be on her.
"Rocket barrage incoming!"
No sooner had the words left her tongue when dozens of missiles shot forth, careening into the Talon enemies and their hired assets and striking the areas they stood in with explosive fire. Without any time to react, Reaper was tossed onto the floor by a fiery plume and dissipated into his mist before any more projectiles could lay waste to him. Widowmaker was similarly thrown away from her position before ducking behind a table. Junkrat and Roadhog were the only ones not to take any sort of evasive action, simply standing in the open like turkeys in the rain as they caught the full brunt of the barrage.
While the attackers were pummeled by Faheera's wrath, Tracer put her extended lease on life to extremely good use, zipping around the ballroom just ahead of the incoming fire and blinking out with her friends in hand. McCree, Genji, and Angela were all brought to a corner near the remains of the stage while Lucio was brought to just behind it, where he speedily readied his hard-light skates and sonic amplifier before darting over to the corner.
At the same time, Junkrat picked himself off the ground, his face covered with more soot and debris than usual and his hair singed again, and whooped at Fareeha. "Good ta see ya again, Rocket Queen! If I'd known you could do that I'd a' offered more o' the cash! Whaddaya think, Roady?"
Behind him, the hog was still trying to recover, having taken multiple rockets practically straight to the face.
"Oh quit being such a baby. A little of that stuff you snort up and you'll be good." the maniac whined before his face lit up. "H-Hey? Snort? Hog? Get it?!" he said before bursting into hysterical laughter at the poor excuse for a joke he'd just made.
Meanwhile, the rest of the Overwatch agents had huddled around Angela, looking upon her pale face and bloody torso with frantic worry. The trap that had shattered her leg had been blown off by the rocket barrage, but the hook remained driven through her chest, blood dripping off the tip that was sticking out of her torso and had torn a hole in her dress.
Over the earpieces, Winston could be heard. "All the critical systems are back up, but I don't see Angela's staff on here and the drones are all down. What's going on?"
"It's not good, love." Tracer replied with a somber tone. "Plan B was destroyed in the blast that took out the stage. All the Omnics are gone. Not even the EMP shutting off or the reboot did anything."
Winston didn't respond. Tracer guessed correctly from the sound of primal growling and flying papers what his reaction was.
It was Athena that next had something to say. "What about Angela herself? I am detecting that her life signs are fading quickly."
"She was hit pretty badly." Tracer rotated her head over her shoulder before turning to join the small crowd gathered around Angela. Genji, who had ripped off the bomb on his chest as soon as he had regained his strength, had her head propped up and a hand clasping one of hers, softly murmuring Japanese whispers in her ear that were had the distinctive vibrato of someone trying to keep emotion from overcoming them. McCree had his head turned over his shoulder, his eye nearest to her shut tightly, and his remaining hand behind her back grasped around the hook, while Lucio prepared to provide emergency aid.
With a swift but ginger pull, the cowboy removed the hook. Already weak from blood loss and her eyelids drooping, she barely moved, let alone made any audible sounds of pain. Before she could drift off, Lucio swiped at the air directly in front of him with one hand. The percussive beat from his amplifier turned to a soft techno melody. Around the huddle, a golden aura took shape, little glistenings of nanobiotic energy popping in and out of sight like fireflies, a recent upgrade courtesy of the person whose life it was now saving. As the glow grew brighter, those assembled saw as Angela's leg, mangled and bloody, readjusted itself, the crushed bones reattaching and the skin healing as though it had never happened. As for her abdominal wound, the blood that had been gushing forth went dry and the gnarled tissue and muscle formed back into its proper places. At the same time, the bullet hole in Lucio's arm, as well as the gash on his forehead and the various lacerations and bruises that the rest of the team had sustained were healed.
"Lucio's taking care of her though. She'll be alright." Tracer said assuredly as the DJ dimmed his healing tune and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Meanwhile, Reaper had reappeared on the floor, reforming again out of his ominous cloud. "Sombra, what happened to the EMP?!" he barked furiously into his earpiece.
On the other end, Sombra's wit was nowhere to be found, only shock and frustration. "You tell me. One moment it's fine, the next this pedazo de mierda shuts off!"
"Did the monkey hack it?"
The mere mentioning of such a notion made her indignant. "No he didn't hack me! Maybe you shouldn't have spent so much time gloating!"
"I don't care what you have to do, just shut up and get it back online NOW!"
Rather than an answer, what Reaper got was the sound of short-circuiting technology and a litany of Spanish curses. He shut off his earpiece and breathed out exasperatedly as he rotated around in a circle, seeing that Widowmaker and the Junkers were both recuperated enough to continue. He reached into his coat and pulled out two new shotguns. "Time to cut losses."
"I'm not near as good a doctor as she is, but she's on the mend." Lucio stated with cautious optimism as Angela's face began to regain some colour.
Just then, Fareeha landed next to the small crowd. "Is she alright?"
"I believe she will be. Lucio saved her, and for that I am in his debt." Genji said solemnly.
"Don't mention it, buddy." the DJ replied.
"Not to be the guy who ruins the moment, but I'm thinkin' we shouldn't hang 'round here much longer. The people outside mighta called in the real security by now and I, for one, wouldn't like to have gettin' arrested on top o' the things that went wrong tonight." McCree chimed in.
"I can evac Angela and get her to the dropship's sick bay." Fareeha said.
Tracer was quick to reply. "I'll get the ship warmed up. Meet you all there."
The group disbanded its huddle and booked it towards the outside exit. Fareeha had Angela in a fireman's lift as she took off for the skylight while Tracer blinked herself to the doorway in a split second with everyone else in tow. Before they could make their escape however, the hook that had been the centre of attention just before now wrapped around the door's handle and slammed it shut with tremendous force, and its owner had planted himself in their direction. When they went to make for the other exit, they saw that Widowmaker had shut it and was blocking their path, rifle barrel extended and ready to down the first thing that moved. Simultaneously, Fareeha was intercepted by a frag grenade lobbed from Junkrat's own launcher, just as crude and deadly as he was. A rapid landing prevented her precious cargo from being caught in the blast, and a reaction shot from her rocket launcher prevented the rat from sending more ordnance her way by forcing him to duck.
Before the team could make a break, they found themselves surrounded in the middle of the room. As well as the two gatekeepers covering their escape routes, Junkrat was standing in the direction of the control panel and Reaper had taken form directly behind them. As they closed in and tightened the circle, each of the Overwatch agents took positions: Fareeha in the very center, carrying Angela with one hand and holding her weapon in another, with Tracer, McCree, and Lucio covering them, their weapons raised as well.
Reaper chuckled darkly. "Nowhere left to run. You might as well make this quick and painless."
"Is there a reason why you didn't offer that same courtesy earlier?" Tracer said, a slightly cheeky tone serving as defiance.
"Thanks to your monkey friend in Gibraltar, I'm in a hurry. After this, I'll have to pay him another visit."
"Ooh, if we're blowin' up more Overdrongos, we get to charge more!" Junkrat butted in.
Reaper shot a glare at the madman, who immediately cowered back into line with a wide grin that begged not to be ripped off.
"It's not often I'm this generous." he continued. He turned his head and made eye contact with McCree. "I'm sure you can attest to that, ingrate."
"It's true, I can," the gunslinger answered. "but it don't mean that we're gonna surrender."
"You don't have many other options. You're out of position, you have personnel down, and if any of the six of you move another inch, we'll cut through you." His grip tightened around the triggers of his guns, as did those of his associates.
Lucio snickered as he made the time-out signature with his hands and turned towards Reaper. "Heyheyhey, now hold on a minute. I don't think you got your math right, 'cause I'm only seeing five of us here."
Reaper snarled loudly after counting up the surrounded targets himself, enraged by the fact that one of them had slipped away again. Before he could vent his anger by perforating the snarky musician with bullets, he felt cold steel cut through his torso and saw as Genji dashed into the middle of the circle in a blaze of iridescent green, short sword drawn. Pivoting on a heel, he turned towards Reaper and, holding the blade backhanded, raised it in a stance ready to strike again.
Reaper stooped over, groaning and clutching his torso as he appeared to be going down. He quickly revealed it to be a ruse, though, rising back up as the slice healed over with wisps of black mist and his groans turning into a wicked and hearty laugh. He raised his guns once more.
"Kill them all."
And bedlam ensued.