Notes: Okay, so quite the chapter. We're starting to explore deeper things, keep an open mind, start picking out the details. Most are put in with a plan in mind, some aren't. Either way, man, it's a ride. ALSO, headcannon/cannon for this story: Right now in the story, Lucio and Tracer don't look the way they do 'in game'. Later developments will explain :D


The call comes in the dead of night.

A violent riot in Luxor down the river, police have been beaten back. Dozens already dead on both sides. They've taken the city hall, a lot of the local military there have joined their cause.

Everything is in Arabic, we don't know exactly what's going on.

The police have asked Overwatch for aid, the big wigs give it them.

The watchpoint there is down to one squad with the rest already deployed elsewhere.

The order trickles down to us.

By the first teasings of morning sun, Lucio's squad is loaded up into a transport. Routine he says, he's responded to so many of them in Mexico he's practically pro at it.

I tell him to make them dance 'til they calm down.

And he gets on the plane, straps himself in, and waves.

I wave back

The door closes

The plane takes off

And so he's gone


Only in the morning do the news reports come in on why they're protesting.

Overwatch

In a sick turn of events, the riot was specifically aimed at pressuring officials to shut down the watchpoint in Luxor. I watch the news with a ball of terror lodged in my throat. Lucio hasn't responded to any of my calls.

My heart leaps when I see his green shirt comes into frame.

The mess hall is deathly quiet with all eyes locked on the screens. They don't usually let us watch these things but after we learn the circumstances of the riot, Ashan and Pardenilla give in.

It might be the last time we ever see our friends.

The camera is close enough to pick up Lucio's music drumming away from his speakers. It zooms in on his face, streaked with worry and dirt but still smiling.

Nguyen is next to him with a large energy shield held up; not quite the same as Reinhardt's but it keeps the rocks from hitting his squad. Slowly, step by step, they push forward, moving towards the still bodies of two police officers in the street.

The mob is shouting and chanting, tossing everything from sandals to burning pieces of wood. I can see Murcat flinching when they hit the shield. He's holding his signature orange pulseround rifle he built with his dad when he was first accepted into Overwatch.

Without needing to understand what they're saying, I can see the anger and guilt they have pinned onto our lads. Some spit on them before they're shoved away.

Finally, the squad gets to the pair and hunker down.

The reporter is going off rapid fire as if commentating on a sporting event.

Lucio leans over the two, checking their vitals with the help of another soldier with an red and white armband. A second passes. Nguyen looks down at them and they shake their heads.

Everyone picks up their equipment and they press on.

It doesn't look good, the shouting dies down, the windows of the city hall empty. Like the entire street is holding their breath. Protesters scatter like roaches, ducking into alleyways and busted store windows.

For a moment, it's quiet and the dread builds.

They need to get out of there.

Everyone in the squad keeps their eyes open and searching for new threats.

Suddenly, the speakers of the tele blast with the sound of a battle cry and gunfire. The camera shakes, rapidly panning the view from the squad to the doors of the city hall that are now busted open, uniformed soldiers pouring out.

I think that they're going to help but it's a false hope as they open fire our men.

Small little shadows land around Lucio's squad. Everyone ducks down with Nguyen's barrier on top, huddling, shaking, holding their breaths.

The ground erupts with explosions.

It's a warzone, not a city street. Where's the military, where's our backup? Why are we still trying to help if we're the reason why they are protesting?

They scramble to their feet, Lucio helping another up before pointing the blackened remains of a car. A soldier falls as they run for cover, they don't get back up, Lucio trying to help him but it's too late.

The frame changes to an aerial perspective, looks like they've got a helicopter overhead by the shadow it casts. No one else is there, just our squad and the mob of Egyptian uniforms staring them down.

I can't believe my eyes, wanting to look away, but if I do; it's a very real possibility that this might be the last I see of any of them.

My communicator buzzes, it's Lucio.

"Lucio?!" Everyone around me looks to me, gobsmacked that I'm talking to the man who is at the moment huddled behind a smoldering wreckage on the tele.

"Trace. You seeing this right?"

"Yeah, mate…'

I hear someone on his side barking out updates as we see them happen. The soldiers have fanned out, blocking off side streets, taking up positions behind low walls and digging themselves in. Gunfire is exchanged but they are well trained, armed to the teeth, and fighting as if they had nothing to lose.

There's only one way out and that's backwards to the clearing they were dropped off at two streets down.

"You gotta get outta there, mate. Us being there is only making things worse."

"This is nothing, you should've seen what they did to us in Mexico."

It's a strained joke, a lie, he's trying to keep up.

Another round of explosions, the sound of rubble raining down onto the barrier. It's designed to stop bullets, but even with that, it won't be able to stand up much longer before needing to recharge. I know what he's going to saying before he responds.

"We've got orders to push through, they've got hostages in there that need their butts saved." He tries to sound positive. When he pauses, doesn't have to say it but the thought hangs in the air, heavy and there.

That he won't be able to save everyone

But damn he will try.

That he might die today.

But damn it won't be without a fight.

And by the looks of it...

I'm doing my best to hold back tears, how do I say goodbye to a friend who has been with me since the start.

Good bye

All the smiles and laughs. Snorted beers and spilled secrets.

Farewell

Late night jam sessions, avoiding our commanders.

Be safe

Double dates and those horrendous taco boxers.

It'll never be enough

But he hasn't died yet.

"Remember what we always say." I choke on the words.

Maybe for the last time

On screen, the light of the shield flickers and finally gives out. They'll be exposed for 30 seconds before it's fully charged again. Crowding around the right side of the car, I can see Lucio in the center with the familiar whine of the pack on his back charging up for a sound barrier.

"We do good work, fight the good fight." He chuckles, the words bitter.

I am nodding and I know he can't see it, wringing my hand and I know he can't feel it. Can't find the words stuck in my throat, just watching the news as they get into position, ready to charge into whatever lies waiting for them inside.

If they make it inside.

"I love you, Lucio."

I can hear his smile in the cracking of his voice.

"I love ya too, Lena."

The comm ends, my heart is heavy.

"Oh, let's break it down!"

A green wave of light ripples out from Lucio, kicking up dust and debris. In an instant, they all rush forward behind Nguyen, sprinting faster with the help of Lucio's music. Gunfire pelts them from all sides but they keep moving undeterred.

10 meters until they reach the open doors.

A few of the rioters fall as the squad fires back. There's no blood under their bodies but they don't get back up. Concussive rounds, non lethal force.

5 meters

Some of them start flinching and tripping, the sound barrier wearing off leaving them vulnerable. Two more fall and Lucio stops to help them up, pressing his glowing yellow speaker to their bodies. A bullet rips through his side and he stumbles back.

He can't die.

he has his music.

we can't die, because 'heroes never die'.

Another shot to his leg, he gets the two onto their feet and shoves them into the building before falling to the ground. Someone is running back out, eyes trained down the sights of an orange rifle and firing anyone who dares to peek up. Murcat literally scoops Lucio into his arms and sprints them into the building.

My stomach churns at the blood trail they leave behind.

A wave of uniforms rush in after them and then bounce right back out with the sound of a loud bass that even rattles the tele. They all writhe on the dirt clutching their ears, down for the count.

I smirk, soundwave, nice thinking. A small sigh of relief, at least I know he's still alive.

The shot hovers on the scattered forms on the ground before cutting to a man at a desk. A sudden burst of anger rushes through me, they can't just leave it there; I need to know that they get out alive, that they'll walk out with new scars and a wicked story.

They need to keep covering it.

But then I realize that it's pointless and that just makes me more upset. The fight is inside a building and no sane reporter would follow after them. All any of us can do is wait for updates.

The tele is shut off, everyone is silent. We have to keep on with our day.

Pardenilla is quiet and quick at the briefing. Usual assignments, bag of things to run, she sends me on my way with a soft 'stay safe'.

The first time I've ever heard her say that to me but she's an arse anyways.

Zandra is waiting for me teary eyed and pulls me into a hug. She says she's glad I wasn't deployed, kissing me.

I wish I was.

She takes my hand and asks me to bow my head. We stand in the middle of the street as she whispers a prayers for the safe return of Lucio and Murcat and everyone else.

Never been the religious type.

But I find myself praying with her.


The day seems to drag on with the sun now high in the sky. I keep checking my phone, looking at teles in stores for any news. All they show is a shot of the shut doors of the city hall and the empty streets where the bodies used to lay. Can't understand what they're saying.

I don't dare to ring him. Any distractions could mean death.

People in the streets keep looking at me when I pass, some with sneers, others with sympathetic eyes. News spreads fast and parents pull their children away when they see me. I grit my teeth, my head spinning with everything I don't want to deal with right now.

My bag has one last thing to deliver, the list says "Pharah".

Must be from her mother if it's going through Overwatch.


She's reading a book outside the library when I approach even though I'm 15 minutes early from the set time. Her eyes are blank with the usual stoic face. For a moment we just stand in front of each other, not really knowing how to act.

Let's just get this over with and go for a run 'til I pass out.

"Here you are." I wince at how deadpanned my voice is.

She takes the white box, tucking it away in the bag slung over her shoulder. I turn to leave, not expecting much from the reserved soldier. Like she would be troubled by the death of strangers.

"They'll survive." She says as sure as day.

I whip around, hairs bristling, not knowing why her comment is bringing me anger instead of comfort. What does she know, she's only met them once. Lying through her teeth she is, taking me for a poor sod in need of pity. Pity won't keep them safe, won't bring them home.

We should be out there helping them.

"They have a good team, their commander is strong. Lucio and Murcat are strong, they will protect each other."

But that's the thing! Both would gladly die for the other and I feel so much guilt hoping that it's Murcat that takes the bullet for Lucio.

There's a hand on my shoulder, she's looking down at me, her face just a hair softer. It isn't quite a hug, more like an arm pressing my face into her collarbone. I want to hit her, make her stop pretending to care. A few tears escape, burning hot and warring.

Soldiers don't care, we just follow orders.

I don't move. Just standing still until she lets me go. I want this day to be over already.

Without another word or even a look, I blink as far away as I can and sprint the rest of the way to the watchpoint.


During midday mess, Ashan calls the hall to attention in our seats. I can't stand it, I hate military customs.

Everyone is rigid in their seats, our hands in front with palms to the table. We stand, those looking the other way about face to face him. Little tin soldiers lined up, standing sharp, tools for killing.

And then they toss us away.

Why did Morrison even tell them to go in, didn't he know before hand. Even if didn't, he should have told them to pull out after the news got translated. No, Amari would've understood every word of the broadcast, she should've warned him.

Why then

Why

Why

The squad should've been withdrawn, we should've kept our noses out of it.

I get myself worked up before Ashan's announcement. My knuckles ache from being clenched so tightly at my side. He better have good news or so help the Queen.

"In regards of Nguyen's squad being deployed in Luxor, I have been sent a report in which the details are to not leave this room until further notice, understood?"

A chorus of 'Sir yes, sir!'. I keep my mouth shut, feeling a bit rebellious and bitter. It's probably some propaganda bullshite anyways.

"The mission was to extract city officials from city hall controlled by the rioters. It was a success with all but one surviving, however, this comes at a loss."

The blood rushes away from my head, tempting my body to sway and ease the feeling. I will stay standing, be strong for my lads. They'll be alive, I know it.

"We must not lose sight of our goals, we are peacekeepers, protectors, avengers. The enemy has ties with Talon, their motive is unknown, only that they wish harm upon innocent lives and those who fight to protect them. We will stand strong and fight for the sacrifice that our brothers and sisters made today."

He's infuriatingly calm for all this. Does he not feel for them; does he not care that they were just sent to their deaths?

But we all know what we signed up.

"Of the 20 in Nguyen's squad, 12 were injured. They are being tended to at the watchpoint in Luxor and are expected to survive. 4 have lost their lives and 1 is missing in action."

I can feel the air in the hall shift over and over again at the numbers with the same question in mind; who?

"Of the uninjured: Bear, Bishop, and Penko."

Okay, maybe they're just injured. Please let them be injured.

"Of the injured: Arrow, Ceallach, Celtic, Digger, Hall, Hammer, Knight, Lucio, Luna, Mursang, Nikanor, and Rupert."

Oh bloody hell, it's like a weight off my chest. Though I'm not ecstatic about him being hurt, just to know that he's alive makes me want to jump for joy. Don't care if I just let out the loudest sigh of relief, my lad is alive!

But Murcat…

"Of the killed in action: Chariot, Neptune, Nguyen, and Tahmid."

My stomach drops.

"Of the missing in action: Murcat."

The happiness drains away in an instant. I can't imagine how Lucio feels. To be stuck in a med-bay, however hurt he is, unable to go out and look for him; not even knowing where Murcat is...or if he's even alive.

"Do not try to call any of them, let them contact you over comm when they are ready. They will remain in Luxor until further postings. As for Murcat, his photo is now on the post board. Keep an eye out for him and lets bring this soldier home. Company, as you were."

The entire hall collapses into their seats, half with a rapid chatter, half with solemn looks. I want to smile, I think I am cause bloody hell Lucio is alive.

But it drops

Cause his lad is not.


The full story gets translated by evening mess, I listen to it on my phone as I eat the tasteless lentils.

"-made matters worse by coming to break up the protest. While local law enforcement were formulating a plan to defuse the situation, a squad of Overwatch soldiers stormed the city hall-"

I switch to a different channel.

"-adly hostage situation in Luxor, Egypt earlier this morning. Things were made even more complicated when Overwatch entered-"

Another. Bloody hell does the whole world hate us? Is there just that much propaganda against us?

"-story, 4 brave souls have lost their lives today in Luxor, Egypt when a squad of Overwatch agents lent their aid to local law enforcement to help contain a violent riot turned hostage situation. Chariot, Neptune, Nguyen, and Tahmid pictured on the screen died to save the seven city officials held at gunpoint after rioters forced their way into the city hall. 12 more have been injured along with dozens of civilians and police. Here are a few eye witness accounts on the incident:

'-Bang bang bang. I pull my mother into the bathroom and tell her to stay there. Then I hear music outside-'

'-massive man with a shield and another with a flaming lance behind him. It was bloody awesome-'

'-green shirt. My daughter goes; 'Papa, it's Lucio, Lucio from Overwatch. The one that goes "You gotta believe!"-'"

I smile, it's nice to know that there are some people in the world that still see us as heroes, or at least humans. As I listen to broadcast after broadcast, a sickening pattern emerges.

About half of them are negative towards our involvement, going as far blaming us for provoking the peaceful protest into a riot.

And none of them mention Murcat being missing.

Is Overwatch trying to hide the fact one of our agents is gone. Is he captured, runaway, something worse?

about the soldiers 'not making it through the operation'.

There is so much speculation around the ordeal that it's hard to find a neutral story on it. Tosh, even the reports they read to us are biased. Just have to wait 'til Lucio buzzes me to straighten things out.


It's been a day and he hasn't called. Either they're lying about him being alive or he's hurt bad.

Don't know which I'm gunning for.


Zandra hugs me tight this morning with an enormous grin, excitement literally oozing out of every pore. I give her the best smile with the anxiety about Lucio trying to keep my lips turned down.

"I know we're both worried about Lucio and Murcat, but I think we're both in need for some good news, habibi."

Her hands clasp over my eyes and she uses her body to guide me into the shop. Though I'm not the best of moods for a game, her happiness begins to rub off on me and I follow without question.

"Tracer of Overwatch, let me introduce you to Zandra Salam of Heka International; Egypt's band of top dog engineers and scientists."

She uncovers my eyes and on a coat hanger is a clean, pressed navy blue uniform with a key card clipped to the front. My hands fly to my mouth that falls open, my chest swelling up with pride and happiness, pushing the sadness away.

"You did it. By the Queen's knickers, you did it, love!"

I shout and throw my arms around her neck. She laughs and it makes me forget all the troubles in the world for just a moment. Strong arms lift me up, my legs come around for support.

"No, we did it. I couldn't have gotten this far without you."

She kisses me. Or maybe I kiss her. It don't matter, we meet in the middle, it's sweet, and just what I need. She got her dream job and we're smiling and things are looking up.

"Blimey, there's a thousand questions racing through my noggin right now."

Our foreheads rest against each other, settling into a rather comfortable position with her hands under my tush and my legs wrapped around her waist. Her eyes are so bright, hair in a ponytail that I toy with.

"Mmm, let me try first. I start next week, moving out into my own apartment a couple blocks down, my brother is coming up to take my place so have fun passing him each morning, it's a government job so I get all the cushy perks with an impressive paycheck. They even have a project already lined up for me to work on."

With every thing she lists off, my smile grows wider. It's a bit bittersweet knowing that I won't see her on my route anymore, but it isn't about me. It's never about me with her, she deserves the world.

"And what's that?"

"It wouldn't be top secret if I told you, now would it?"

"You're such a tease."

Warm lips on mine, one hand moves up to my back on top of the 'sleek fluctuator'. With a squeak of surprise, she dips down and I'm parallel with the ground. I'm not afraid that I'll fall, not when I'm in her arms.

"Takes one to know one."

And we laugh, letting ourselves dance about when she sets me on my feet. I can't dance, she knows this, but with each other, it doesn't matter. To see her making a name for herself, following her dreams; it makes all the hurt worth it.

Bittersweet it is.

To know it will end at some point

And what will become of us.

Maybe it doesn't have to

But right now, this moment, I let myself be happy.

Because we are here

And it feels so right.


On the fifth day of nervous fidgeting and late night chats on interior decorating, Lucio calls me while I'm on the phone with Zandra, trying to get her to say yes to orange curtains.

"Lucio! Zandra, Lucio's on the line, I'm sticking it on conference."

"Actually, Trace, mind if I talk to you alone. No offence Zandra, Overwatch stuff."

Even with the light tone in his voice, there's a serious undertone that I can pick out. Something is off and it takes hold of my throat. I'm not sure if Zandra picks up on it.

"I take all the offense, Lucio. It's good to hear you're alive and kicking. I'll talk to you tomorrow, ya amar."

She doesn't.

"See ya, love."

The comm prompts me with a video call request to which I immediately accept, Lucio's face being broadcasted on the left side of my vision. He has an oxygen tube taped under his nose but looks decently well enough.

"How you holding up, mate?"

I can tell the trouble brewing in his face. It's the look he has when he don't know what to say.

"I'm alive, so I can't complain" The words come out more bitter than I've ever heard him be.

Hurts to see my lad like this, it's hard to get either of us down. What happened in there?

"Trace, ain't no easy way to say this." We both take a deep breath, Bracing for the impact. "Things got bad, man. I stepped on a trap they set on the stairs. I...I lost both my legs from the knee down."

It's a good thing I'm already on my cot cause I feel myself sink down, jaw going slack. I want to slap myself thinking of what Zandra had just said before hanging up. That would explain why he hadn't called me for five days, why he wanted to talk to me alone.

I swallow thickly.

"I'm sorry, mate."

"I ain't." he smile, not a big as they usually are, but he's still there, the little ray of sunshine. "It would've been me or the mayor behind me. Besides, maybe now they'll fit me with hover legs like the ones are cars so I can whizz around."

The image is hilarious, Lucio cruising around blasting music, finally being able to outrun Morrison complaining about said music.

"Waste, get jets legs, much cooler."

It gets easier as we swap outlandish things he could have for prosthetics. I'm amazed how quickly we turn a sad situation into a string of jokes.

"Could have Zandra build you whatever you want, she's working for Heka International now."

"Whaaat, she gets a government job straight out of school. Mad props to her, man."

His face suddenly shifts and falls, looking off to the side with a grim expression. It's what we've been avoiding the whole time. I have a hunch on what just crossed his mind.

"Don't worry, love, we'll get him home safe."

Lucio sighs into his hand, fighting back the tears. He takes a moment before speaking in a small voice uncharacteristic for him, eyes staring down.

"I said goodbye to him on the transport, and again behind that car, and for the last time when he pulled me into the building. Told him he was crazy for running out for me like that. He...he kissed me in front of everyone to shut me up. Heat of the moment ya know."

He chuckles, recalling the events with a sad smile.

"It blows, man. We had it all planned out, take the summer off, head to Brazil so he could meet my folks, go to Iran to meet his. Settle on the beach, get a kid, teach 'em how to climb a tree."

Choking on the joke, another stake through the heart. His hopes and dreams, gone in one mission.

"Worse part is not knowing. We cleared a room and bam, he was just gone; don't know if he got caught, if he ran off, I dunno. They said his comm is offline so the can't track him, copter in the air didn't see him leave the building. I just-!"

His teeth clench, the sound of his fist striking the hospital bed. Defeated tears falling from his face that I wish I could wipe away.

"I just hope he's alright, man."

I stay with him, telling him that I'll keep an eye out on my runs. But it's bleak, especially when Overwatch won't admit that he's missing for some bloody reason. The name Morrison feels like poison on our tongues. Whatever the commander is doing, it's not with us in his best interest is it?

Lights out is called, he promises to call when when he can.

I promise him to hold down the fort while he's gone.


It's strange for something to change after staying the same for eight months.

Not too different though, turns out her sector works nights, something about offsetting power consumption. So she still meets me at the fruit stand but in casual wear instead of the stained overalls.

A change I have no complaints about.

Lucio calls me about every other day, they stick him on paperwork duty while bedridden. I tell her about Lucio after he gives me the greenlight, saying that she deserves to know too.

Zandra gaps in horror, also remembering the off hand comment she made that night. It'll be something we'll look back on and laugh about over a pint. Right now, however, she hangs her head in shame and swears she'll make it up to him somehow.


A month goes by without major incident or really anything. The news seems to move on quickly, something that shocks the three of us. Another scandal arises, our story gets pushed aside and forgotten. No word on Murcat.

Lucio says he'll be getting fitted for prosthetics soon.

I don't tell him but Zandra is working on hardlight skates after remembering him going on about ice hockey.


Another month, Lucio sends a vid of him walking and then promptly falling on his face.


Pardenilla has be running more recon missions as of late; scouting out warehouses, eavesdropping on people, occasionally picking up and dropping off little envelopes. Again, why me; I'm a Brit in the middle of Egypt with a flashlight strapped to her chest; not the most inconspicuous of agents.

It doesn't sit right with me, this sneaking around. It reminds me of Mongolia.

But they are orders and in the end, I'm still a soldier.

It don't mean I can't do a little snooping around myself, built quite a name for myself with some of our informants.

There's a gang on the East side of the city that seems to be giving the police trouble. The only reason it catches my attention is the code 'Meerkat' that I start seeing scribbled underneath their tags.

It's a slim chance but I take it.

Murcat had gotten drunk on one of our double dates and was very convinced we were all spies behind lines. He said we needed a codeword for things if we ever got caught by the capitalist pigs. Wanting to hog the spotlight in his drunken stupor, he dubbed the word 'Meerkat' as the warning code, like how the furry little things call out to warn the rest of the clan.

I didn't think anything of it, barely even remembering it myself, but when I saw the oddly out of place word written in chalk, my gut told me it was him.

Over the next week, I start asking around the informants about the gang that called themselves the "Beloved of Ma'at". After a bit, I begin to think that I've stumbled upon a cult more than a band of criminals.

They've got their hands everywhere in the city, sort of like a club that everyone whispers about but never flaunts membership. No one can tell me why the word 'meerkat' begins to pop up beneath all of their tags.

I don't tell anyone of what I'm doing, not Lucio, not even Zandra. It's better that they don't know, keeps them safe.

Shite, what am I becoming, Reyes?

I learn bits and pieces of them, most of it vague. Soon, I have a data chip of the all the tidbits of knowledge I've scrounged together. Informants tell me that the gang's looking for info on the 'Angel of Mercy'. A weapon maybe, a person.

Angela?

Nutters, not everything is about her, just a coincident.

They're mostly nonviolent and not really big on crime so how they operate without proper funds is completely beyond me. Maybe they're connected to Talon, maybe to the riot in Luxor.

All I have is a whole lot of maybes.

And it keeps getting more dangerous the deeper I dig.

One of my birds calls me up during my morning runs, saying he has details of a scuffle the Ma'at had with Talon operatives a month ago. Tell him I'll meet him at the square when my route is done.

Scruffy man with darting eyes and a beard that hides his small chin. 'Meters' is what he has named himself to us. The payment is coming out of my pocket today though, a personal inquiry.

"What'cha got for me love?" I greet him.

He grunts, glancing everywhere and gesturing me to follow him down an alleyway. If I hadn't been working with him for months, I would never been doing this without Lander next to me. But I sort of trust the man and I still have my pistol in my pants if something goes to shite.

Which it does, like always.

We barely make it out of the crowd then a thunderclap rips through the marketplace. Everyone scatters and I draw my pistol, searching for the sniper.

"Meters, get behind-"

I look over and he's on the ground with a hole in his head.

I didn't feel for the man, but the fact he just died, maybe because of me. It makes my mouth dry, my heart a bit heavier. Perhaps I should just drop this. I search his body, looking for a chip, a slip of paper, anything on what he might've told me.

Nothing

A waste of time and a life.

I take a lot of heat for it back at the watchpoint.

"This was an unscheduled, unsanctioned meeting with an Overwatch informant that resulted in his death. Explain yourself."

I tell them that he buzzed me with info about Talon, that it couldn't wait and he needed to pass it before they caught up to him.

"You should've called it in, we could've sent people to protect him."

No time, didn't think it would lead to this, he didn't sound at all concerned, just a bit hurried like he needed to piss. Routine, he always sounded like that.

I feel a bit of guilt with the lies, but it's not like Pardenilla really cares either. She's going to have the talk same with her boss, then the one after that, until Morrison gets a watered down version of it to wipe his arse with.

People die, that's what they do.

Just wish I knew who killed him and why.


"Are you alright, Tracer, you've been really quiet."

I freeze up, snapping out of my daze. I'm at a coffee shop near the fruit stand, spending my free morning with the love of my life, sipping on a magnificently spiced coffee.

And all I can think about is the word 'Meerkat' scrawled on the wall behind her.

"Yeah, just tired is all." I want to tell her. If not to ask if she knows anything about the word, then to get the lump of worry out of my stomach.

Just two days ago, a week after Meters impromptu assassination, another informant by the name of 'Sim' called me up with the same line; info on a scuffle between Ma'at and Talon. Called it in and even took Lander with me.

Another thunderclap

Another informant dead

A tragedy

But I can't tell her, just a reassuring smile, a graze of the hand, a witty comeback to make her laugh.

"But never tired of seeing your beautiful face."

She giggles, kissing me across the table.

"Honey tongue."

With the world falling apart around me, her smile makes it easier to hold it all together.


It begins with an offhand comment that Zandra makes one morning as she walks with me on my round of simple drop-offs. Safe, I'm little more than a paper boy on these days.

"News says military is getting sent in to deal with a gang over on the East end."

"Tosh, they must be bloody good if they've got boots after 'em."

"'Beloved of Ma'at', I see their tags everywhere but it's like I don't see them."

My hands freezes half way through dropping a letter through a mail slot. Letting out a nervous chuckle, I try to gloss over the fumble.

"Ma'at? Lived here for nine months and never heard of them."

She stops, looking at me with those sharp eyes. I know I've been caught, she always was so blasted observant.

"Tracer, what's going on?"

I'm torn, fear building in my chest.

"Can't tell you, love, Overwatch business."

It's not the first time I've used the excuse.

I can see the hurt flash in her eyes and I want to take it back. It's bloody hard, I want to keep her safe but I want to tell her everything and ugh now I'm just pushing her away. Taking her hand, I come up with an idea, curious myself, and...it might be about time.

"Actually, how about dinner this Saturday, your place. I'll get leave and tell you all about it and you can tell me about this super important project you've been working on. Then we can do other super important things that require a lot less clothes."

She rolls her eyes but smiles nonetheless. It's hard on her too, with a government job on experimental tech, but we'll make it through. If we can't trust each other with the secret heavy on our souls, then we'll have to trust each other to bear it alone.

But I try not to think about it

not forever, I know, but for just a bit longer.


Flickers of archaic torchlight lighting up the dark.

I'm moving, but I am not. A gust of air damp and cold, underground, alone.

A dream, it has to be.

My vision swims in and out, a vault of sorts, a sign above in Arabic with a picture of grapes and a wineglass. A vineyard?

"-out safe and sound"

My voice, but I'm not talking.

It's all dark, weightless, like swimming but feeling the ground beneath my feet. A pull, gunshots, the sharp smell of blood and I'm jolted awake.

I'm seated at the desk in our quarters, hunched over my laptop where I was streaming with Zandra during her break. The screen's black now but there's a tab open and a coordinate pulled up on the map. I don't remember us ever talking about visiting a vineyard.

It's already past lights out, Umali softly snoring away on her bunk. Can't believe she let me sleep hunched over the desk like that, what a twat.

I can't shake the feeling of my dream, how vague it felt but deathly real and confusing. Maybe I just need to sleep, yeah. My numb feet try to carry me back to the bunk when a wave of nausea hits and sends me to the floor.

Warm and dusty, tickling my nose as I gasp for air. My stomach retches, I barely keep my dinner down.

Blood and bodies everywhere. Tart wine, mold, decaying flesh.

I choke, hearing my bunkmate stir, keep it down, get a grip, can't have her seeing me like this.

To the left, a face in the dark, I can feel ropes in my hands, warm steel.

A voice, an orange rifle.

Murcat!

I come back to my senses, on my side with a puddle of drool under my face. Don't know how long I've been passed out. Checking the clock on the laptop, it looks that I've been on the floor for only 10 minutes.

I should just brush it off, this happens too much to pull concern from me. A night's rest, maybe a nice dream about Old Blighty. But every time I decide to crawl into my cot, the world lurches and the thought remains.

If these visions are real and not just dreams…

I punch the coordinates into my phone and gear up.

Worst case scenario I find a bunch of rats and bad wine, best case scenario, I bring Mr. Pretty Boy back home.

Please let it be the latter


Sneaking out isn't too hard, not when I've practiced doing it for so long to get the good snacks into base.

Sun Winery, it isn't too far off from the watchpoint a quick jog, couple of blinks, and I'm weaving through a field of grapes. My hair stands on end, the air feels like electricity is running through it and heavy with the stench of rotting fruit.

Harvest is over, the rest is left to die on the vines.

I follow my feet that somehow know where to go. It comes to my mind, back to my mind, like I've been here before? A brick entrance, the door wide open, staircase leading down into the darkness.

Blimey, I can handle the dark, I can handle tight spaces; but dark tight spaces bigger than my fingers?

No thank you.

My feet urge me forward, my hands gripping tight around my pistols. I click the flashlights on them on, holding them in front to light the way. The path is illuminated in the harsh white light a few meters before me. There's an empty chair with a pile of cut ropes just right of the bottom of the stairs.

A face, whose face?

True to my dream, there are torches lit on the walls, strange to see such a thing. Dangerous they are, could burn someone, or eat up the oxygen of tight spaces like the one I'm in right now.

Bloody hell, I need to stop. Let's just get this done.

It's just barrels and barrels covered with dirt and spiderwebs.

It's all coming back; tart wine, mold

I wrinkle my nose, almost gagging

Decaying flesh

No voices, just the stillness of the damp, musty air and the soft cracklings of the torches. I can't call out, what if I alert whoever's in here of my presences. They might have a hostage, might raise the alarm, things could get real bad real fast.

Take it slow.

The sharp smell of blood.

Looking down, I notice what I've been tracking for a good distance; bright red footsteps leading back to the staircase. There's puddles of it everywhere, but no bodies, no drag marks; far too much to be from a single person.

The fuck is going on?

I press on, trying to keep a lid on the sea of dread endlessly churning away in my gut. Wet splatters decorate the walls, bullet holes, the smell of pulsemunitions; all the signs of a battle except for the distinctive lack of bodies.

No sound, no one is here.

I decide that it can't hurt to call out.

"Overwatch agent, is anyone down here?"

I shout into the darkness, hoping for a response but at the same time, hoping it's just rats and I can just go home. A second passes before a soft moan comes in the distance. It sounds so far away, so weak.

Shite, how big is this place.

My heart leaps, it sounds like a human, could be a zombie like them in the vids, but those are just silly vids. But then again I'm a time traveler, so really, who am I kidding.

It's no time to joke, however, I have been told it's a defense mechanism of mine.

Steel my nerves, I have to be ready to pull the trigger if someone or something comes charging out.

"I've got guns so unless you have a face full of pulsemunitions, you best come out with your hands up."

I slowly step forward, the flashlights not reaching far enough to find this mystery person.

It's muffled but a distinctive 'help'

My blood runs cold, it is a hostage. I click to a different mindset, get them out safe and sound.

"Don't worry, love, the cavalry's here! Keep making noise so I can find ya."

I might be playing to a trap, the whole scene ringing alarms in my head; but I am always one for diving headfirst into danger. I think about it, ain't any guards, ain't even a lock on the door and if someone's hurt bad, I have to find them quick.

Especially if that person's Murcat.

Another groan, a garbled 'here'

I sprint and blink towards the sound, wildly waving the light around me. The chamber is a massive maze of barrels. I try to call it in but my communicator just draws up static. I'm too far underground.

Or there's a jammer nearby.

Heavy gasps of air

Okay, well, I'm getting closer.

I turn a few more corners but they all look the same. With all my blinking about, I can't even follow my bloody-

Wait

Another set of footsteps, just like mine. Have I been here before?

No, I haven't, what?

Am I walking in circles?

I start to panic, is this just another dream, another vision. I've lost it haven't I? I'm stuck down here in a random wine cellar, there's blood everywhere, hearing voices, don't even know my left from right. At least they'll see the coordinates pulled up on my laptop. Hopefully find me down here before I turn into-

'-cer'

Oh fuck, and the voice knows my name.

I push the fears away, calming my mind. I need to find the source of this voice, it's about them, getting whoever the poor sod is out alive. Maybe if I follow my footsteps they'll lead me to where I left off.

Deeper and deeper I go, following the red tracks that get lighter with each step and then darker and then light again; as if they keep dipping themselves back into blood. None of it makes sense, how are these tracks doing this, who, bloody hell.

They don't have breaks in them where I've blinked, so they can't be mine. They don't leave the same pattern as mine, but I've got tiny feet and they're just my size.

I don't understand.

I don't know how long I follow them; left turn, forward two rows, right, 5 rows, another left. Whoever is down here keeps grunting every now and then, it helps to know I'm closing in.

And the dread builds

The smell of piss, puke, and decaying flesh

Until I turn the corner.

And my lungs locks up

And there stands Fareeha 'Pharah' Amari strung up to the ceiling by her wrists covered in head to toe blood, a rag knotted in her mouth.

"Holy fucking shite, Pharah."