Angela hadn't gone far, even if her cutoff of communication had given the impression otherwise. With the only pilot gone, there weren't many options for her anyway; though, by now, she remained hidden more out of shame than anything else. While she was indeed upset by everything that had occurred, she had begun to put the pieces back together.

She had been a part of enough conspiring when she was actually involved with Overwatch, and given that she was no longer a part of the team, it really shouldn't have come to a surprise that it might have continued. She had always considered it a sort of compliment, that her ideals were so strong and her views so powerful that the others would be forced to go behind her back.

She had curled up with herself within the labyrinthine crossways above the hangar, hiding from any prying eyes, even if she knew full-well that the most prying of eyes here had undoubtedly found her out immediately. Inevitably, the deep, grumbly voice of Winston broke the air as his feet lightly stomped into the hanger.

"Hey, uh, Athena was sure to let me know you were in here," he muttered aloud, a slight nervousness to his voice, "If you like hiding, I suggest not stepping over the energy siphons; Athena's to alert me to any tampering."

Hoping for a laugh, and not finding one, Winston unsurely pattered about, "Look, I apologize for being so, I guess, underhanded. I couldn't have guessed you would have stuck around long; I guess the longer you stayed, the more entangled the situation became."

Angela's voice lightly came about, causing Winston's ears to flutter lightly, "I haven't exactly been used to people."

Chuckling, Winston nodded as he turned to where her voice had come from, "Yes, and despite our peacekeeping persona, I know we're not exactly the easiest people to get used to."

He sighed, rubbing his face as though not wanting to continue on, though he did anyway, "You know that she's not Torby, or her mother for that matter, right?"

A loud enough sigh came from above him as Angela groaned, "That's what I've been spending four hours sitting here trying to come to terms with, so yes."

Winston grinned, "You could have fooled me. Not only did I hear that hit; I played it back and it easily could have been meant for one of those two."

He couldn't see, but Angela's head sunk farther down her legs as she pulled them closer to herself. Finding her silence an indication of her falling back into sadness, Winston grabbed at a nearby support beam, lifting himself up and into the rafters, finally making it up onto the crossways that he'd figured Angela was on. He didn't have to walk far before finding her in a corner, halfway surrounded by boxes, shaking with tearful regret.

"Oh, come now," Winston spoke softly as he approached her, sitting beside her and pulling her over into him, "This place has seen far too many tears."

Angela wiped away her face with her sleeve, "I told her I wouldn't be easy; but she just…"

Winston couldn't help but chuckle lightly, "As I recall, you mentioned something similar your first day here. You got up, all haughty like, placing your fist on the table, "You guys aren't going to like me when I say what needs to be said, and I won't like you all, but at the end of the day, we have a common goal!" or something like that."

Angela laughed lightly through her tears at his impression of her, "I like to think I made some sort of difference. You can't espouse peace while rampantly destroying omnics or killing humans."

"We all had that in mind," Winston assured, "Just not as powerfully as you did. And if I recall, again, Fareeha was performing her preparations as though violence wasn't allowed."

He patted her on the back, gently, "You've made a difference for one person, at least."

Angela sighed, covering her face with her hands, "How much do you know..?"

Winston laughed, "Well, you can't have an all-seeing AI and not be all-seeing yourself. If you didn't want to be noticed, you shouldn't have made so much noise so late; Athena alerts me to any noises made when dark rolls around."

Now embarrassed, Angela made sure to remain hidden as Winston chuckled again, pulling out his small communication device, "Speaking of…"

He pushed at a few buttons before his face contorted in confusion, "Huh…"

Continuing on through his newer files, Angela couldn't help but become curious, lifting her head and watching him, concerned, as he muttered to himself. Finally, he spoke out loud, his confusion pouring out into his voice.

"Athena, this report must be old. The UN didn't report any Talon activity in their briefing on Ilios."

Angela's eyes grew wider as Athena came to life, her monotonous voice breaking into the air, "Preliminary checkups on the Splitstream indicate 9% of code in the communication systems stemming from Talon systems, still under the necessary threshold of 10% needed for alerts."

Winston turned to Angela as he stood up, trying to keep an even voice, "Okay, uh, I'm not about to risk anything, all things considered. I'll contact Tracer and-"

"Alert," Athena spoke lifelessly, resulting in Winston's face dropping with a sigh, "Splitstream communications disrupted. Attempting to reconnect."

Winston jumped down onto the ground, his weight crashing into the concrete as he began back toward his computer, Angela's voice just catching him, "How long will it take to quarantine the virus?"

Winston thought quickly as Angela carefully hopped off of a large container, joining him on the ground, "Uh, maybe two hours? At the earliest? It just depends."

"I can get there in one," Angela spoke up, catching Winston off guard.

"Wait, you-"

"I'll take the G-53," she went on, "If I get close enough, I can get word to Tracer and offer support for Pharah if she needs it. For such a petty conflict to have Talon operatives involved, I wouldn't be at all surprised if they're using it as a trap."

Winston sighed, shaking his head, "I can't allow you to do anything when you're not my responsibi-"

"I'll come back on," Angela spoke, heatedly, with a serious air coming from her piercing eyes, "I'll join again."

Watching her just as seriously, Winston replied instantly, "Valkyrie Mk. II is where you left her. Same rules apply."

Angela nodded as she started running up the embankment toward the headquarters, sliding to a stop as Winston shouted out at her, "Hey! Rookies need an escort!"

She whipped around, shooting a stare at him that was as sarcastic as it was malicious, giving Winston a nervous grin, "Kidding! Kidding."

As she ran off, he rubbed the scruff of his neck, eyes closed in meditation. He began again toward his office, sitting there in his whirly seat, undoing the clearances needed to board the G-53 as he shook his head, still surprised by Angela's request. Still, he had a job to do, his fingers suddenly firing like pistons against his keyboard.

Pharah stood at the open door of the Splitstream, her arms outstretched to brace herself against either wall as she stared down toward the Greek landscape beneath her. The wind whipped at her ears, and even with Tracer shouting loudly, it took some concentration to fully understand her.

The plan was a simple "drop and pop", as Tracer put it: Pharah was to drop in, hopefully on top of the UN envoy's location, secure a single soldier, and then pop back into the air where Tracer would recover the extricated soldier. The problem, however, was the Splitstream's speed, which allowed it to avoid any anti-aircraft fire, though also made it incredibly difficult to sync up Pharah's rocket bursts.

Still, Pharah was sure the plan would work, and she confidently peered ahead through narrow eyes. Tracer would fly in circles around the extraction point, and as she made another round, she lifted an arm, revealing a thumbs up, and Pharah hopped out, the air suddenly licking at her entire body, furiously. She focused her thrusters to keep her level, though she didn't have to worry about her speed; her legs were fitted with enough compression material to make most any sudden drops a lot less dangerous for both her and the ground beneath her.

As she reached the ground, she turned up the thrusters at her torso, swinging her legs down and underneath her, and as she slammed into the ground, kneeling down, she leaned forward, catching her balance as she breathed deep, eyes wide in shock that it had actually worked.

Tracer's voice crackled in her helmet, "You're just off the extraction point. Head due east; I've let them know you're coming."

Pharah silently acknowledged the report by nodding and began running to the correct location, careful to keep an eye out for any hostiles. At every corner, she'd crouch down, back against the wall, as she slowly peered around before running off again, between the shining white architecture of the city.

Finally, she arrived, her eyes open wide at the condition of the soldiers there. The ones that were actually standing were sparse, and the ones laying down could easily be taken as the same as those no longer alive. She walked patiently toward the barricade that had been erected, the single soldier guarding the post turning to report to somebody else behind him.

They had taken shelter in an old warehouse against the coastal cliffs, giving them far less of an angle to defend. While Pharah couldn't see any rebels, or nationals for that matter, she figured they couldn't be too far off, probably off on their own quarrels. Still, she kept an eye out until the guard waved to behind the barricade, the dumpster that had been serving as a gate being pulled away from the other piles of furniture, sheetrock, and other torn pieces of infrastructure.

As she squeezed her way through, Pharah was caught by the man in charge, suddenly wrapping his arms around her and burying his head into her armor, tearing up at the sight of help, his croaking voice eeking out in quiet Greek, "[Finally, God has answered our prayers]!"

As he wept, Pharah looked on, watching the other soldiers watching her with extreme reverence, even the ones laying near-death on the ground doing their best to present themselves with respect toward her, various chatterings flying through the air in whispers.

"Βασίλισσα πυραύλων…"

"πάνω από παρακολουθώ…"

Pharah couldn't quite make out all of it, her Greek a tad rusty, but thankfully, another soldier approached the two of them, patting the crying man on the shoulder before helping him away from Pharah, whispering something in his ear, probably a reminder not to do such things, and the man tried his best to compose himself.

"My apologies," the man spoke with a think accent, "He'z not 'xactly, eh… our cha'n of comman' haz been, er, dezimated?"

Pharah nodded slowly in understanding, "I understand. Look, the injured ones, can they stand?"

Instead of answering, the translator waved her along to follow, along with the man in charge, the three careful to avoid stepping over the few dead bodies they came across, the leader pulling his coat up tighter onto his shoulders, shiffling to clear his airway, "[We were simply attempting to transport supplies, and went down. We had very few guns and very little medical supplies. I suppose both sides saw our crashing as a hostile act; they've both been taking pot-shots outside of killing each other]."

He wiped his face before covering it with his arm, avoiding the stench coming from the warehouse as they entered, "[The worse ones have] γάγγραινα [but they should be okay for extraction]."

Pharah couldn't understand the word, but figured it was better not knowing. Instead, she knelt down to one of the men who could only stare up at her in a delirium, her face softening into sadness. She pulled off her helmet, suddenly afraid of what her Anubis head could be implying, and reached down to check the man's pulse.

"[Okay]," she began in rough Greek, "[We'll need a, uh…]"

She turned to the translator, "You know 'triage'?"

The man nodded, clearing his throat as he turned to his commander, "eh… διαλογή ασθενών?"

As if understanding, the man nodded rapidly, snapping his fingers toward a group of others, giving instructions as Pharah patted the shoulder of the man on the ground, "[Can you stand]?"

His eyes closed, his head just barely shaking, "[I'm done. Leave me for the others]."

Watching him his intense eyes, Pharah couldn't help but think back to something Angela had said before. She winced at the thought, but knelt further down, grasping at the man who was unable to struggle he was so weak.

"[You don't know me]," she spoke, commandingly, "[We're getting you out]."

She walked out, carefully, into the small square outside the warehouse, clicking on her communicator, "Tracer, you coming?"

"T-minus fifteen seconds!"

Quickly, Pharah turned to the two men, nodding confidently, "[Weakest first. I'll come back for the rest]."

The two looked confused, the translator stammering, "W-Where…you go?!"

Pharah grinned as her rockets suddenly burst into an explosive cavalcade of flame, her body moving so fast upward she could have easily vanished if not for the trail of light smoke she left behind, the exhaust needed to ascend high enough for the Splitstream.

Tracer came in hot, sure to slow steadily as she approached Pharah's location. Catching just a glimpse of azure blue bursting through the sky, her hand moved over above a large purple button, eye narrowing as she squeezed her tongue between her lips, focusing greatly as the Splitstream, in a split second, froze in space as her hand pushed down on the button.

Pharah's leap concluding, she viciously grabbed onto the railings around the door as Tracer rushed to the interior side, ripping the door open and helping get the soldier into the craft, her eyes watching Pharah with worry.

"One down," Pharah panted, her voice as shallow as her eyes looked.

Grimly, Tracer replied, "Just be careful. We've got nothing but time."

Pharah nodded slowly before letting go, acrobatically flipping backwards as she descended back down to the ground below, leaving Tracer with a worried expression as she began securing the soldier now in her care. After doing so, she made her way back to her seat, her hand nervously rubbing her chin as she gently pressed the same button, the Splitstream not evaporating into the stratosphere, its movement restored.