Symmetra led the group to a room not far from the presentation room. The room's perimeter was filled with more of the computer screen projectors like the one Dell had been seeing around the base, and in the center was a large table with a blanket covering it. Symmetra stopped in front of the table and turned around, and she had told him and Torbjörn to come up with her to unveil their surprise.
The Indian woman cleared her throat. "During the last day, I have been working tirelessly on a solution to a problem I noticed during that scuffle in the complex. Namely, the equipment of you mercenaries is woefully outdated and insufficient for the enemies you will be facing. With the input of your Engineer and Overwatch's weapons expert," she announced, deftly removing the large cloth, "I believe I have created suitable upgrades."
Dell surveyed his team's reactions, and he saw looks of uncertainty, caution, and mistrust. It wasn't all that surprising, really. They had, in general, been much less accepting of this new world than he was. He knew that most of them had lost a lot more than he did as well, but avoiding sentimental conflicts of interest was all part of being a trained killer. Right now they needed to keep moving forward and keep the Australium out of anybody else's hands.
After a moment, the other mercs began approaching the table at varying speeds. The first ones to reach the table were Sniper and Scout. Also not surprising, as the Scout would never turn down a fancy new way of killing people, and Mundy was a professional and would best understand the situation, along with Spy. He'll come back eventually…
He decided he ought to give some encouragement. "I know, they're very different than the stuff we're used to, but it's necessary. Our old arsenal barely held down those goons back at Nucleus, and they likely had consumer-grade equipment. We wouldn't stand a chance against a more serious foe, and without Mann Co., there ain't much we can do to patch 'em up."
The next to arrive was the Demoman. He still found it miraculous that, well, that he was alive with all that liquor in him, but also that he appeared to possess the ability to sober or drunken up at will. He was drunk only a minute ago, but now that it was time to handle equipment, he looked to be perfectly in his capacities.
"No need to worry, though. All this gun was made with input by yours truly, and I tried my best to make 'em familiar to our old gear. Even managed to include some functionality from our alternative weapons."
Finally, the Soldier, Heavy, and Medic approached their gear. He had taken extra measures with theirs to make them look similar to their current items, as he knew they were very attached to it and may not even want to switch. They began scrutinizing the new weapons, and Dell felt an uneasy feel to the air as his joint products were judged by some of the few people who truly understood quality weaponry. Even years of the questionable content Mann Co. provided couldn't stop seasoned eyes like theirs.
"Hm. Future weapon…" the Heavy said, picking it up and feeling its weight. "Will need testing. Worthless if can't kill like Sascha. Where is firing range?"
"That's… a good question," Winston answered. "The main practice facility when Overwatch was active was in northern Russia. It wouldn't be too hard to get there if we had the vehicle space, but alas, we were not prepared to have this many people join operations at once. I managed to find a deal on an ORCA, but it won't be here for a couple of days."
Torbjörn let out a guffaw. "I suppose you wouldn't know this because you coop up in your lab all day long, but every Overwatch facility is equipped with a basic training area for soldiers to use to keep in shape while on standby. Give me about five minutes and I will have it ready for you."
The Scout whistled as he jogged with his new Scattergun down to this training room. The gun felt surprisingly natural, though not nearly as smooth as the ones he was used to. He couldn't really blame Engie since he had to eyeball it, though. He had also been supplied with a new bat and two fancy pockets, one of which magically created baseballs and the other of which somehow refilled his Bonk! Atomic Punch canister. Lastly, he had been given a few cans of a special new soda that Engie had warned him about.
"I don't know how he did it, but the Swedish engineer was able to replicate that radioactive soda of yours. He also gave me these," the Engineer told Scout, showing him a can that was a strange orange and purple combination.
He looked at the label again. "NEW Crit-a-Cola" was plastered on it in a font that looked nothing like the usual stuff.
"Says this stuff is just like those other sodas you used to drink. Gives you the speed, the crits, and the jumps. That being said, be careful. We don't have respawn no more, so I don't want you dying of ARS, ya hear?"
The stakes were high. Higher than how he usually felt when drinking the stuff. He would have to hold back until he knew he needed it. In the meantime, he could still kill people with his baseballs.
First come, first served, they say, and naturally, he called dibs on getting the training room first. He entered a room that was long, rectangular, and completely empty. There were two sets of windows near the top, presumably the control room and the observation room if it was anything like the Walkway place back at base. The wall behind him had all sorts of gizmos and gadgets, but he was quite confused about how he was going to shoot things if there was nothing to shoot.
His answer was soon answered as the wall whirred to life. He covered his eyes as the devices shone blue lights sporadically. He turned around and saw that the blue light was forming into a variety of human-shaped targets, obstacles, and scenery throughout the room.
"Impressive light show, eh? Welcome to the training room!" a voice called over the intercom. The Scout recognized it as the Swedish engineer guy. His name was, like, Torsion or something.
"Yeah, I guess. Yo, is there any way to make these targets look like real humans and not cutouts? It feels better to have 3D target practice, if you know what I mean."
"Ehm… 'Fraid not, there."
"Aw, dat's boring."
Scout's heart skipped a beat when he heard a new voice from behind him. "Boring? I thought you loved killing people?" it said. He could recognize Tracer's sexy accent anywhere. Time to get his charm on. He ran his right hand through his hair real quickly and spun on his heels to see Tracer stretching in the doorway.
"'Sup, sweetcheeks. Couldn't resist saying hi to your favorite new compadre?"
Tracer laughed. "Ha! I wouldn't be down here, especially with you, if I had anything better to do in this base. No excursions allowed while we're gearing up for a mission, though, so I thought I'd come relieve my boredom with a little game."
"A game?" The Scout grabbed his baseball from his magic pocket and tossed it in the air. "You wanna play ball?"
"Maybe later. I guess exercise is the better word for what I want to do. Basically, you and I compete to see who can hit more targets in a certain amount of time."
"Alright, I'm down. How long will I be kicking your ass for?"
"Oh, you think you're clever? I'm gonna send you home with your tail between ya legs. Let's say… five minutes, starting now. Cheers!" she exclaimed, blinking away immediately to get a head start.
"H-hey!" he exclaimed, taking a moment to register what just happened. So that's how you wanna play? It's go time, tuts.
He ran into the simulated field. It was almost surreal, being surrounded by all this real-looking grass and rocks and such, but he had a mission now. All the nearby targets had been destroyed already, and he could see Tracer zipping around, a good sixth of the field already cleared. Without stopping, he lobbed his baseball into the air, jumped up, and gave it a solid smack from his new bat. It cracked satisfactorily and the Scout, still rotating from his momentum, entered into a roll as he landed while simultaneously switching to the Scattergun.
A split second later, a shatter could be heard, followed by Tracer screaming. Right on target, the Scout thought amusedly before shooting another of the two-dimensional humans. What he had done, a product of his own genius of course, was simultaneously kill steal and use scare tactics. The ball had sailed straight into the constructed skull of the target nearest his competitor, and the speed of the impact showed that his bite was as bad as his bark. It worked a lot better than warning shots, especially with the short range of his gun.
The trick had only bought him a few seconds, but that was all he needed to make up what she had gained at the start and even the score. He could feel the adrenaline running as he sprinted, jumped, and climbed his way around the practice battlefield, destroying any targets that sprung up or that he discovered. His pulse raced every time he looked over at Tracer to see her keeping pace with him, travelling like blue lightning. He hadn't had this much fun in a long time, and killing the same old dudes over and over had gotten really stale. Maybe being in the future wasn't so bad after all.
Soon, the field had been entirely emptied. The Scout tossed aside the last spent shell from his Scattergun and looked around for any more as he caught his breath. On a rock not too far away, he saw Tracer was doing the same thing. Her time warping thing wasn't looking too hot.
He then noticed a single target near the middle of the field, which proceeded to duck down behind a pile of wood it was next to. Against his better judgement, the Scout flashed her a sly grin before running off towards his victory. He was halfway there when he looked back and saw that she was pursing him on foot. Too easy.
He jumped on to the wood pile and cocked his gun behind it to see the glowing figure. Tracer shouted something that he wasn't really paying attention to, but he probably should have because he suddenly found his feet swept from underneath him as he was tackled at full force.
The two of them tumbled a few times down the incline the wood was on, before coming to rest as a couple of ragdolls. Both were panting and exhausted. The Scout could feel the heat of her breath, but more importantly of her chest device, lying very close to him.
"Call it… even…?" he exhaled.
"Sure… thing…"
The Scout didn't have the energy to respond any further, so he contented himself on the virtual dirt floor for a bit. Once he had calmed his breathing, he sat up and looked over to see her still on the floor.
"You all right dere?"
"Yeah… overdid my accelerator a tad. It needs some time to cool down."
"'K."
It felt like minutes before she stirred and sat up next to him. He had interested himself in the fake grass, but stopped when he noticed her.
"Y'know, you're not all bad," she said, "especially for an American."
He snorted. "Same to you, Brit." The two of them stood and started walking towards the entrance. "I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot."
"I mean, yeah, you hit on me before you were even walking in a straight line. Not a good first impression."
"Hows about we start over?"
"Look, Scout, I…" she responded with a pause. "I'm sorry, but I have a girlfriend already."
"A girlfriend? Wait, a GIRLfriend? I, ah, uh, I see. Well, uh, guess I should probably, uh, stop. Yeah, I'll stop talking now."
They passed through the doorway, but the Scout stopped walking. Tracer turned towards him.
"I don't think it would've worked anyway. Never date a coworker, and all that."
"Right, um, yeah. Hadn't thought of that. Well, see ya around, I guess. Nice working out with you," he concluded quickly, turning and jogging away without waiting for a reply.
The Soldier hated hand-outs, shiny weapons, strange gizmos, and non-Americans. If it wasn't pried from the cold, dead hands of one of those eastern hippies and killed things by pressing a trigger, it wasn't a real gun. Yet he found himself impressed with the smooth, transforming rocket launcher given to him by Lumpy the Dwarf. Engie said it had some variable launching crap that allowed him to make his rocket fly faster at the expense of blast radius if he held down a button over time. It was like his old Direct Hit and one of the Liberty Launcher models, and the ability to control it would be a huge buff to his murderability. They also gave him back his Equalizer, his B.A.S.E Jumper, and mashed all three of his banners into one.
He was also pretty sure that they were trying to distract his team from their conspiracy with shiny toys. The joke'll be on them when they use their new stuff to send them packing to Jamaica. In the meantime, he was practicing in the practice room. Commander gets first priority, of course, other than that twitchy Scout who got there first.
A curse swore out as he watched another of his rockets sail over the head of one of the fake blue targets he had knocked into the air. Having two buttons on his rocket launcher with his neck-snapping man hands was a bad idea. Who would think of such a terrible way to fire rockets?
"I remember having troubles with Overwatch weaponry as well," a deep voice said from behind. The Soldier turned around to see the black man with his oversized dirt shooter hefted onto his shoulder.
"You again," the Soldier grumbled.
"We are not enemies."
"That doesn't mean I like you."
"You don't like anyone."
"In MY army, soldiers must EARN my respect!" he said, marching up to Bahrān. The two stared each other down for a few moments.
"Fine. You want me to earn your respect? Athena, set the practice range to colosseum mode."
The Soldier watched as the entire room turned into cyan, then lost its color and became a giant mesh of lines, then disappeared entirely, leaving behind walls and a floor covered with strange contraptions glowing with the same light. What followed was an obnoxious light show as another jumble of lines formed around the room, filled in, and became colored. The two men became surrounded by faded brown walls, enclosing the room in a large circle with the exception of the room's entrance. To Soldier's left was a several-story building with windows and a balcony, and on the right was a bunch of nondescript, angular masses sticking out of the ground in such a way to create a couple of disconnected passages through the middle. They sat on opposite sides of the arena, and along with two white circles made a square with an edge facing the entrance.
"You. Me. Fight. First one unconscious loses. No holding back; I have confidence our healers can fix any damage we do."
"You're on, sissy!"
Without another word, Bahrān turned around and walked to the far end of the colosseum to step in one of the circles. Soldier likewise marched to the other circle, and the two faced each other down.
"On your marks, Athena."
"Doctor Ziegler will not be pleased to hear about this," a robotic, yet female voice echoed around the room. "Attack commences in 3… 2… 1… Fight!"
The Soldier already knew where to go. From atop the building, he could rain rockets down on this punk while remaining out of range of his pebble peashooter. As he walked closer to his destination, he noticed that his foe was mimicking his position. He didn't know if the building had an easy way up from the first floor, but in his experience, the answer was typically no as random people don't like having their houses busted into. Luckily, he didn't have to care about random people anymore because he's not going to hear shit from the Administrator about it anymore. The building was too tall to rocket jump straight to the roof, so he was going to need to bust in through one of the windows.
When he reached the foot of the building, he didn't hesitate in lining up his shot and firing. He braced for impact as he was sent flying with a trail of smoke and fire straight towards the third story. The glass easily shattered at the impact and he fell through, rolling as he hit the ground. He stood up and didn't even bother removing the glass shards his skin and clothes had picked up from the collision.
He didn't really have time to, either, as not long after he stood, the whole building shook and knocked him off balance. The entire area around the window was blown to smithereens as a boulder flew straight into it, creating a huge cloud of dust and sending chunks of debris everywhere. He covered his mouth with one arm and used his other hand to secure his helmet over his eyes and shield him from the dust.
Gathering himself off of the floor, he looked around for the stairs and was pleased to find that they were nearby. He had only taken a few steps when another crashing impact happened somewhere below, and he found that the world around him had become slanted towards the corner. That crazy idiot was planning on taking the whole building down with him inside, and it wasn't going to last long so he needed to think of a Plan B. Escaping from the hole that was just made would be too obvious and likely too time-consuming. He was pretty sure the stairs were just collapsed, too. There was only one other way out.
"AAAAAAIIIIIYAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, firing a rocket straight at the wall. It exploded outwards and he didn't hesitate in jumping right out of it, ignoring the heat and the smoke. By sheer coincidence, his foe was positioned right in front the spot he had made his improvised exit, and he seemed to have been startled by it. Perfect. As the Soldier fell, he released the charge button he was holding, launching a rocket that travelled at lightning speed. He could see Bahrān's eyes go wide, and he loved every second of it.
That love quickly turned to hate as the rocket soared over his enemy's head and exploded into the dirt far behind him. Of all the times for this damn gun to fail… He landed roughly on his feet. For a moment, he locked eyes with the enemy, and the animosity between them could practically be felt. The Soldier quickly adjusted his helmet and it fell back over his eyes.
"You look tired. Act first, think later doesn't appear to be working out well for you."
"Why, you little…"
Keeping up the offensive, he shot the last rocket in the clip. The explosion could potentially hit him at such short range, but there was no way that fool would be able to get out of the way this time. Instead, the rocket exploded short of its target in a cloud of fire and a large amount of dust. He braced for impact and was knocked a consider distance off his feet, but he didn't fall over when he hit the ground again.
Now it was time for Plan C. He tossed the empty rocket launcher aside and whipped out his Equalizer. He ran straight through the lingering particles, taking advantage of the cover it provided to launch a surprise attack. He swung his pickaxe as hard as he could, the blunt edge of the spike colliding with Bahrān's cheek and providing a satisfying crunch as the impact knocked him to the ground.
"How's THAT for not working out well‽"
There was a groan from his opponent as he turned from his side to face his body back forwards. He turned his head to the side and spat out blood from his mouth.
"Not bad…" he answered, continuing to get back on his feet. "But you have still… forgotten something."
"Yeah yeah, knock you unconscious. Look, pal, I don't know the meaning of that! Do I look like some sort of ugly, cutesy, unconscious-knocking rabbit to you‽ No, I am a killer rabbit that kills! You're lucky I didn't cave your skull in with the first blow."
"Not that… You forgot your gun," Bahrān finished, heaving his rock shooter back into firing position under his arm. It began spitting a bunch of fist-sized rocks right into the Soldier's chest, and he could feel each hit knock him back and bruise his skin. He soon got knocked to the ground, continuing to get pelted until the gun ran out of ammo. He pushed the rocks off of him and stumbled to get up, but saw that Bahrān had scooped more dirt into his barrel and was now standing between him and his rocket launcher.
"I suggest you give up and save yourself the humiliation of being knocked out."
"Only spineless worms forfeit a battle! I am a killer rabbit THAT EATS WORMS!" he shouted as he started to run and tried to pounce onto his foe. The black man took a step back, held the end of his weapon with both hands, and smacked the Soldier aside with the barrel, like the Scout would do. The Soldier rolled onto the ground, clutching his definitely broken ribs in pain on the floor. He looked up to his foe standing over him, pointing his gun right in front of his eyes.
"How about now?"
Before he could respond, another voice interrupted the match. "Mein Gott, what were you thinking?" Mercy exclaimed from the doorway.
"I'm naw usually a fan o' beer, but I mus' say, Torby, this is goooooooood," the Demoman said in his drunken Scottish accent.
The practice range was put off limits after the fight between Soldier and the black Overwatch guy. He didn't particularly mind, because his new gear was just a grenade launcher that doubled as a sticky launcher and a flimsy version of his Chargin' Targe. From his impromptu and likely not-allowed test outside, the grenades bounced the same. While he was waiting for something to do, he decided to learn about modern alcohol with the short, bearded member of the team. He wasn't very good at names when he was drunk, okay?
He had tried a few different kinds already. Some scotch, some whiskey, now beer… He couldn't remember the names of the brands either, though. He wasn't concerned about mixing his liquors because his liver was more than powerful enough to handle any amount of alcohol you could imagine.
"It's a bit higher end than a lot of the usual selection. Used to be my drink of choice, back in the ol' days when I had the paycheck to afford it. That means, please don't drink the whol- oh, you already did."
"Wha?"
"… never mind."
The Heavy sat in one of the floating armchairs in the library of the base. His immense weight pushed the chair down to the point that it was barely avoiding touching the floor. After the long last couple of days that he had, he wanted nothing more than to read some literature to ease his mind. It took some time to locate where this place was, and even longer to find something in Russian. As he was searching, he had thought about the new Sascha Engineer built for him. He had to admit, it was remarkably similar to the original, with the sole exception of not having a place to restock ammo. Apparently, the bullet reservoir was capable of replenishing itself, but he was very skeptical of that fact and kept his usual belt of custom-built bullets worn like a sash on his person. He still needed to field test it to see if it really was as good of a replica as Engineer said it was, but he supposed that could wait for a few chapters.
His quiet reading time did not last long, as he heard a mechanical shuffle. He glanced up from his page and saw the green-glowing, robotic man had chosen a book of his own and had sat on the floor with his legs beneath him.
"I must say, it is unusual to have company in this room," the man commented in his semi-robotic voice. Looks like he wasn't going to get his thinking time for another while.
"What? Is crime for Heavy to read?"
"Not at all. I have read many a good novel myself in the last few years. I actually wanted to discuss our literary interests, as no one else in this building contains an interest in this area of study."
"Metal man have point. Heavy's teammates never read books."
"My name is Genji. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"Da, Genji. Rhymes with Engie. Should not be hard to remember."
Genji chuckled metallically at that comment.
Meanwhile, the Engie himself was enjoying a cold drink on the shore of the Mediterranean. After all the work he did making those guns, he deserved a break. He didn't build anything for himself, either, so there wasn't any training he needed to do.
The climate here was quite enjoyable. He was used to scorching summers, and the humidity was a nice medium between wet Texas and dry New Mexico. Maybe once this was all over, he would go travelling. It was never something he had considered that much, as he was perfectly content working on his machines in the quiet countryside he was from. Now, he did travel all over the world back when he was working for Helen, but that was a whole different story. There was no sightseeing, no camping, no fun on those trips, only attacking or defending whatever backwater base happened to be hidden in the area. He was definitely not going to enjoy having to go back and do it all again to keep it out of the hands of these Talon folk.
The idea that he had been locked away for a hundred years and that Ms. Pauling was dead still didn't sit right in his stomach, and he knew the rest of the team felt the same way. The evidence was right in front of him, but there was a voice in the back of his mind that told him that this was all some big lie. Australium could've created this society in a couple of years if it went public, and he knew that better than anyone having worked with it so long.
He was brought out of his thoughts by the clicking of boots. He looked over his shoulder to find the cowboy, McCree, approaching him with his own open bottle.
"Well, howdy pardner," he greeted.
"Howdy to you too," the other man responded, taking a seat beside him.
"What kinda liquor is that?"
"Oh, it's root beer. Figured smoking's bad enough for my health, don't need to add alcohol to that mix."
"Fair enough. My old boss smoked damn near continuously, and I can concur, she was very ragged in her old age." Granted, it took about twice as long and therefore twice as many cigarettes as it was supposed to for her to get there…
"I'll keep that in mind…"
"So what brings you down here? Surely it ain't to see me."
"Actually, it is. You see, I'm a New Mexico native myself, and it's nice to have someone to talk to 'bout things other than work for once in a while."
"I'm from Texas, not New Mexico, but I reckon they're close enough. There ain't much to say 'bout either of them."
"Heh. Not wrong there. What I'm real curious 'bout, though, is how you got into the killing business."
Dell paused for a moment. He chose his next words carefully to obfuscate the truth without drawing suspicion. "Ah, well, always been a hobby of mine. My daddy taught me to shoot when I was little and I got real good at it. Learned how to build 'em while studyin' engineering in college, then spent time in a not-so-nice part of town where you gotta learn to defend yourself. Got real good at that too, it seems, because I was offered a contract for a mercenary company, and the rest is history. What about you?"
"I started off in that not-so-nice part of town. Your options were join a gang or be killed by one. Both, if you're unfortunate. Got picked up by Overwatch here until they shut down. Been working as a merc myself since then, but I figured this Recall thing oughta be worth a shot."
The Engineer raised his bottle. "Well, here's to not dying for a few more missions."
McCree raised his as well. "At least that's one thing that's so far so good."
"I really must insist zhat I gain clearance to zhe medical facilities!" the Medic repeated. Doctor Ziegler had wanted nothing to do with him since he mentioned the incident with the organs, so he had no choice but to go to her superior. Said superior was currently walking, or whatever you call a gorilla's movement, briskly down the hallway.
"I told you, that is out of my jurisdiction. Doctor Ziegler requested that the medical wing become her exclusive operating zone as part of her agreement to rejoin Overwatch. As the current leader of the organization, I will abide by her wishes," Winston replied.
"Vell, I vould like that as part of MY agreement as well! Surely zhere's room enough for two doctors to share an entire wing?"
"I don't disagree with you, but you will have to take it up with Angela, as I said before."
"She iz not talking to me! Can't you make zhe request on my behalf?"
"I don't have time for that right now. I'm trying to secure transportation so we can protect your Australium in more than one location at a time."
"Schweinhund…" he cursed, inaudibly to the gorilla's ears. "Fine, I vill ask zomeone else."
"Thank you."
Winston entered a door and it closed automatically behind him, leaving the Medic alone at the entrance. He sighed and pushed his glasses farther up his nose. He had had a hard enough time tracking down the monkey, let alone anyone else in this forsaken place. Fortunately, the door opened again and another person stepped out. This one was slightly smaller, though that may have been because of the large amount of clothing, wore a lighter shade of blue, and wasn't a gorilla.
"Eeep! Uh, hi, um, sorry. I was not expecting, um, a guest," Mei stammered, looking down.
"Ah, no worries, fräulein. Zay, could you do me a favor?"
"A favor? What is it?"
"I vould like to speak vith Frau Ziegler, but I am… far too busy with… other affairs and cannot ask her myself. Vould you kindly ask her to come find me vhen she gets a chance?"
"Certainly! I am a bit busy myself, but if I see her, I will definitely let her know of your request. Leave it to Mei!" she answered, giggling at her terrible pun.
The Medic did not laugh. "Danke schön. Anyvay, I must be going now," he finished curtly, then turned and left immediately. If he was going to lie, he should at least act the part. The Engineer had attempted to spiffy up his projectile shield and create a device that could disperse his Medi-Gun's stream. While he didn't doubt the man's skill (he DID help tremendously in diagnosing those bread tumors), as the originally inventor of the Medi-Gun, he also didn't trust anyone but himself to make anything that utilized it. That was, in part, why he needed the med bay so badly, but he supposed he'd have to make do elsewhere until he could figure out why his darling Angela was so offended at his story from earlier.
He nearly tripped over himself as he had to suddenly stop to avoid something that popped into his path. It was a small, cap-shaped robot with eyes and three small rockets keeping it afloat.
"Snowball! What are you doing?" he heard the Chinese woman say from behind. He turned to see her rushing to catch up. She could move pretty quickly for her height and with all of those heavy clothes she was wearing.
"Sorry about that. This is my little helper robot. I think it stopped you because I actually have a question for you. It is something that has been bothering me ever since I heard about you."
"Oh? And vhat iz zhat?"
"Did your cryostasis really last a hundred years?"
He shot her a mildly confused look. It was a rather odd question, especially because he wasn't the one that built the preservation chambers. If it didn't last a hundred years, would he be standing here?
"Vell, I vouldn't call it, 'cryo'-stasis, because it does not freeze zhe body. Rather, it keeps zhe body healthy in a way zhat avoids typical aging. You see, zhe body can only reproduce cells for so long, ja? But my invention keeps it going."
"I see. However, I suspect that there has to be something more to that, though. Does it have anything to do with your Australium?"
The Medic turned his head away conceal his grin, though he knew the action would give away the truthfulness of her hypothesis all the same.
"Very insightful, fräulein. How did you figure it out?"
"Myself and a few of my colleagues went into cryostasis for a few years. They… did not make it out alive. Their stasis pods malfunctioned. Something that worked for ten times as long sounded too good to be true."
"Ah, vell, so sorry to hear zhat. I do not know vhat to tell you," he lied. Well, it was true that he didn't know what to tell her, but that was more because he didn't care enough to formulate an appropriate response. Although he was a Medic, his interests were always in pushing biology to the limits of possible. Any 'life improvements' he made were simply results to record in his notes, and he couldn't care less if they could be used to help other people. In that way, he was more of a scientist than a doctor. He just chose to operate on the real deal instead of some filthy lab rats.
"It's okay. I cannot change the past, only fight for the future. I think your team would do well to remember that as well."
"Perhaps."
The Sniper stepped out of the bathroom. Unfortunately, a hundred years in stasis hadn't mellowed his Jarate-boosted urinary tract at all. It was a small consolation that he would still have enemies to use it on in the near future, at least. As far as his other tools went, he had only his new rifle, but that was all he really needed. The rifle felt very natural in his hands, and it was capable of converting his regular rounds into the larger ones used by the Machina at the flip of a switch. He had also been told that he could activate a feature similar to his old Hitman's Heatmaker that had assisted reloading and cancelled the recoil from his shots, but it needed to recharge after use.
He was bored out of his mind. The Soldier had to go and try and kill a member of Overwatch, and they shut down the practice range because of it. There was no wildlife near the base to shoot, and Winston had forbidden him from travelling anywhere else to go find some because apparently it ran the risk of attracting unwanted attention. His loss, really, because the game would help supplement their stretched food supply.
With nothing else to do, he was meandering through the base. To keep with his philosophy of always having a plan, he thought it wise to familiarize himself with its layout as much as possible in case things went south. He was taking diligent notes on his old notebook, and he made sure to hide them whenever he passed someone by. There were so many screens around the damn base that he knew the use of pen and paper would attract suspicion, not that he particularly trusted them in the first place. It was very surprising that they had been so hospitable to a bunch of mercenaries they found. If it was the other way around, those people would have been either killed or coerced into working for them… and then killed.
Life in the outback has disillusioned him to the idea of a selfless act. Everyone always wanted something out of you. Even when he was with Team Fortress, it was more of a mutual toleration and enemy's enemy situation than truly trusting anyone else. He supposed this could be much of the same. They want to stop Talon, whoever they are, and the team needs the Australium back. If the team got along this long without backstabbing each other, then perhaps Overwatch wouldn't backstab them.
At least, it wouldn't until they actually got their hands on some Australium. He fully expected that all bets would be off once it hit the field, just as it did with Gray Mann and the mercs' predecessors. For that reason, he was going to continue charting every inch of the base and developing a strategy to safeguard the Australium… or maybe even destroy it.
Annecy, France, was a town the Spy had never heard of until a couple of days ago. There wasn't much of a reason to go to somewhere like this, even back when he lived in France. Today, however, he found such a reason: It was the residence of Gérard Lacroix, the former Secretary of Criminal Investigations who was murdered alongside his wife Amélie in his home by Talon agents. The house had been preserved after the police investigation as a memorial to him and later to the era he represented. That meant there was a chance he could find a lead on Talon's whereabouts, assuming Overwatch hadn't purged them all. Otherwise, he would have to break into one of the archives, and that may alert his old colleagues to his presence.
He had purchased a hoverbike for transportation, and while it lacked the usual class he desired from his tools, it was his only option as there was simply no way he would be able to drive a wheel-less car. The speed, mobility, and size of the motorcycle would be beneficial as well.
The Lacroix manor was located alongside the beachfront of Lake Annecy, south of the city proper. The quiet hum of the hover motor things was the only sound that accompanied the birds and other local wildlife as he drove down the smooth dirt road leading to the residence. All the green, quite frankly, bored him, and he sped along until he saw a particular sign next to the gate attached to a wall surrounding one of the houses. "Lacroix Residence and Memorial," it read. Perfect. There were a few cars parked inside of the fence in an area that had been cleared for such visitors. While it would appear more natural for him to use the front entrance, it was undoubtedly being monitored and that would not bode well for entering unnoticed. Instead, he opted to turn off of the road and park his bike on the other side of the woods near a mountainside, in front of the neighboring house.
His hoverbike lowered onto the dirt as it powered off, and it was a weird sensation. He quickly shook it off and made his way back towards the house through the woods while on the watch for other vehicles. When he saw that the coast was clear, he cloaked from behind a tree, walked across the street, and entered the property.
Finding the cameras' blind spots was second nature to him after having spent so long in espionage. After doing a visual sweep to make sure none of the humans could see or record him either, he uncloaked to allow his watch to recharge. He inwardly sighed, knowing that this was going to take a lot longer without ammo packs lying around. Note to self: Find an infinite invisibility device after this. They had better have something better than the Cloak and Dagger by now.
A short sound notified the Spy that his Cloak was charged, and he proceeded to disappear and hurry into the house proper. He continued this game of proverbial leapfrog, hiding in a bathroom or behind a couch or in whatever nook or cranny he could find while avoiding contact with the few other guests.
Eventually, he found his way to Gérard's study, and the entranceway was shimmering. It was clearly some sort of booby trap, perhaps a laser-triggered alarm or whatever equivalent to it existed in the new modern day. Such protection meant that something valuable had to be inside. Its source was a small black device sitting on the floor just inside of the room. His mind started racing at how to disarm it, as he only had a few seconds before his Invisibility Watch needed to recharge again. The obvious choice was to shoot it, but that would definitely alert the other visitors. A second idea came to mind and grew a smirk on his face. He knelt to the floor and attempted to nudge the device with the end of his Revolver. The barrel came short as the shimmering field solidified on contact, creating a faint layer of overlapping hexagons that stopped the gun's advance.
The inward sigh was upgraded to a curse, as he quickly retreated to the closet he had hid in last to recharge. He didn't even want to know what muggy old supplies had been stored in here, or for how long. All he knew is that it smelled awful.
He was interrupted from his thoughts by a faint voice. It was very slight – only years in the field learning to discern even minute footsteps to alert him to an enemy presence allowed him to hear it. The whispered musings of the house's other visitors had long been tuned out, but this one was unmistakable. Only once before had he heard her sweet vocals, but once was enough for him to recognize it anywhere.
"Sombra, you are sure he is here?"
The Widowmaker had arrived.
This was a double-edged sword for him. He no longer needed to go to Talon because Talon had just appeared on his doorstep – technically Gérard's doorstep, but the metaphor was still apt. On the other hand, she was likely there to kill him. He had outmatched her before because he had the element of surprise with his Dead Ringer. Now she knew about it, and since she could see through his invisibility with that strange visor of hers, it wasn't much use. He knew next to nothing about the rest of her arsenal. If all she had was that rifle, then it would be easy to outgun her. However, the last time he called out a sniper for lacking in variety, he was rewarded with… that. He shuddered involuntarily from his crouched position. Respawn after respawn, he had to start avoiding being drenched in that unspeakable liquid. He doubted that she possessed something as utterly horrifying as that, but he could never be certain about what the future had created. There was the possibility of her carrying a sidearm as well, though given how snug her outfit fit her, it didn't leave a whole lot of places for her to hide it. At the same time, he was carrying a flash grenade, a lockpick, and a cyanide pill in his fake teeth. Anything was possible.
The Spy realized he was wasting time thinking about this. He wasn't planning on attacking her, and it was more important for him to get outside without getting caught. He pressed the vanish button on his watch and snuck out, turning in the opposite direction of his original target and quietly entering what appeared to be a guest bedroom. A guest bedroom with a window. Locking the door behind him, he crossed the room and peered through the slats. What he saw was very pleasing. Beneath the window was a greenhouse jutting out from the house with a slanted glass roof that would tremendously cushion the two-story fall. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it was certainly not the worst escape he'd ever made. As a plus, he couldn't see Widowmaker nearby, though that wasn't going to last long if she could see him right now.
With that in mind, he quickly ran to the bed and nabbed a pillow from it. Rushing back, he raised the shade, opened the window wide, and jumped out. He curled his legs up and placed the pillow underneath his feet. When he landed on the glass, the cushion burst from the impact, but it did its job and kept him stabilized. He sledded down the pane on the pillowcase while activating his Cloak. He took a moment to land and began to make a break for the fence. No sooner than he moved, he heard a distinct crack and a bullet whizzed by where he had been standing. He kept running, making sure to erratically zigzag back and forth to prevent her from up a shot. Quickly, he climbed the fence and vaulted over the top, hoping the unusual maneuver would stop her from catching him while he was at the top.
His Cloak ran out shortly after he had ducked under the fence to catch his breath. He idly noted the small circles of sweat that had formed in the armpits of his suit with a small frown. One of the advantages of respawn was that it restored his suit to its pristine state every time, regardless of how soiled it had become due to flamethrowers or blood or… that. Another shudder racked his body.
Refocusing on the task of not dying, he looked around. He was in someone else's yard, and if his memory served him right, it wasn't the one he had parked his hovercycle near. And that was assuming it would still be useful and hadn't already been destroyed by Widowmaker. His goal wasn't really to escape, though. He needed to find Widow's camping spot and show that he was on her side.
He heard a door open and saw the owner of the house step out, likely to investigate the shot. A quick check showed that his Cloak was only at half charge, which wouldn't be enough to find cover from Widow. While theoretically, he could keep himself unknown if he sprinted to the back of the house, that would likely expose him to her for much longer than he was willing to gamble on. He procured his revolver out of his jacket and shot the owner in squarely in the chest. The man stumbled back, but he hadn't died. Long range shots weren't the Spy's specialty. A few more shots fixed that problem swiftly.
As he crept along the fence, he thought more about the problem. He knew she would likely shoot him the moment he poked his head into the driveway. He needed some sort of distraction to allow him to run into the woods.
That distraction become apparent when he heard the sirens. He peered his head away from the fence and saw a full military van and two police cars driving towards the house. Clearly, one of those tourists had the half of a brain to recognize a sniper shot and reported it. Once again vanishing from sight, he ran out just as the train of vehicles passed by the neighbor's house, knowing that any action from Widow would expose her immediately. He hid behind a tree again, scanning the treetops for a glimpse of blue or purple. The moment his Cloak refilled, he immediately disappeared and kept moving towards his hoverbike. As he passed by the entrance to the Lacroix manor through his cover in the woods, he heard a rustling sound. He quickly drew his revolver again and began checking for its source.
A heel connected with his face and sent him sprawling to the ground, shorting his invisibility. He looked up to see the sharpshooter standing over him, and she quickly pinned his gun hand down with her other heel.
"And what might you be doing, breaking into my house?" Windowmaker spoke, in French.
"Your house… you are Amélie Lacroix?"
"I was Amélie Lacroix. But she was a foolish girl, hopelessly optimistic about Overwatch, Omnics, and the world. Talon saved me from that naivety and made me into the woman I am today."
"Well, perhaps Talon can save me as well. No doubt, you have noticed that my colleagues are nowhere nearby. I have abandoned their silly group and wish to join your league of superior talent and morality."
"You are far from the first person to beg for your life by asking to join us," Widowmaker commented, extending her gun into a sniper rifle and pointing it at the Spy's head. She chuckled at the growing expression of fear on his face.
"I-I am not begging. Do you not remember our encounter at that dusty old base? I believe my skills speak for themselves. Surely, your boss would be disappointed for you to pass up an opportunity to gain a valuable member with inside knowledge on the metal that you seek."
She laughed louder, and brandished a vial of some strange yellow liquid. "We could torture that information out of you."
The Spy's composure was lost at the sight of that vial. The liquid looked too much like… that. Impossible! he thought, as he began to panic. How could they know‽
"O-ho, it appears I touched a nerrr-rve." she purred, kneeling down and holding the vial close to his face. "Afraid of needles, are we?"
Suddenly, the vial disappeared and Widowmaker removed the barrel from his forehead and holstered her rifle on her back.
"Okay, I think I've had my fun for the day," she said, stepping off of him. "I am feeling generous. Not really, of course, because I do not feel the emotions that have hindered you. But I will not sedate you. Perhaps your little stunt earned you a favor."
The Spy collected his revolver and returned it to its pocket before standing. "Then why did you put up that charade about killing me?"
"Did you really think you could get away with slipping a business card into my clothing?"
His snort-filled laughter continued even after she had held him close and shot up the side of the mountain.
Author's Note: This is still June! At least, in my time zone it is. I want to apologize for the long delay. I'm not a terribly prolific writer, so even excluding all the distractions with new games and stuff like that, it takes me a long time to get chapters out. Doesn't help that this one is three times as long as any of the other chapters, or that there was a part of the chapter that I wound up moving to the next one. Seeing the evolution of my writing as this story progresses is quite remarkable. It's the only reason why I don't think I'll ever go back and make some of the earlier ones longer. Anyway, I wanted to let you guys know that I never forgot about or thought of abandoning the story.
Speaking of next chapter, I hope you're ready to see more characters.