Mei-Ling Zhou arrives near Gibraltar with a bang.

"What? She's being tailed? By who? The bloody hell's going on?"

Tracer plants her hands on the smooth surface of the tactics table and glares at the projected holograms overhead. Her hazel eyes hold a fierce fire, her spindly form roping with tension and fury, and her accelerator glows with its usual sapphire burn around a loose tee-shirt and pale shorts. Satya isn't sure if it's the dimness of the room or the images' brightness toying with her eyes, but its vibrance is to the point of blinding.

"I don't know. All I know is she's very close, and she's under attack. There was some sort of explosion at the end of her call." Winston is perched in his usual chair, concentrating on his monitor with a serious stare and his fingers clacking on the keyboard in his lap. "She didn't have time to provide details. She gave her coordinates and an expected trajectory, but that's all. The channel closed before I could do anything else. I tried my best to reestablish it, but something must have happened to their comm link. There was nothing but static."

"What are we going to do?" Mercy stands at the edge of the conference room by Genji and Zenyatta, her lab coat draped across her shoulders. Her stern stare focuses on Winston through the frames of her glasses, her mouth pressed into a firm line. "She needs assistance, and quickly. If they're pursuing her this late in her journey and caused her to go off course, her ship may run out of fuel before we can reach her. We must take action immediately."

Satya peers up at the crisp holograms with a narrowed gaze. A three-dimensional map of the region has been modeled in the center of the room, marking both Mei's current location and her projected path in a series of brilliant red lines. She appears to have been fleeing eastward toward Gibraltar, but her route took an unexpected turn, and now she's headed along the shoreline a couple hundred miles to the west. Mercy raises a fair point: depending on when her pursuers swooped in, the craft may be dangerously low on fuel.

"What time was this communication received?" Satya combs over the region map and tries to trace a mental pattern of where the ship might have originated on a global scale, but without further data, her extrapolations would be pure guesswork. Winston mentioned Eco watchpoints when it was announced she would be joining the team, but Satya knows nothing about where they might be located. "Is there any threat of her ship running out? When did she leave?"

"The call came in at about 1300 hours, just before Athena made the announcement." Winston's brow is wrinkled with concern, the soft black of his fur alight with an azure sheen beneath the holograms. "Mei didn't mention anything about fuel or what time she might have left, but the channel wasn't open for long. I only had the chance to get a few words in before it was cut off. She said the trip here was delayed due to whoever's involvement, and now they're following her and trying to sabotage her transportation."

"Well, we cannot just sit here." Teeth gnashed and squared jaws clenched, Reinhardt unfolds his arms and slams an enormous fist upon the table, shaking the projected images in a jagged jitter. The sound is too harsh, too abrupt, and Satya joins the entire room recoiling in a collective flinch. "She is in danger. We must help! It is time for action, my friends. We must deal with this threat ourselves."

"Reinhardt's right," says Tracer. She zips toward Winston's end, engaging him in a fierce stare. "We can't just let her hang about up there with whoever's after her. She might be killed!"

"I agree, but this is a dangerous situation," says Winston. "We don't know what will be waiting for us once we respond."

"Oh, come off it."

Farther to Satya's right, Junkrat shifts his back flush against the wall, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his patchwork shorts. Judging by this morning's events, she had been certain he would still be sound asleep, but it seems as though Roadhog has managed to drag him out of bed in time. He looks significantly less drained than before, she notes, although there is still a weary countenance written across his features; the light from the holograms etches dark hollows beneath his eyes, down the column of his throat, and along his collarbone.

"Not like this's no different from nothing else," he says, working his neck in a stretch. The timbre of his voice somehow holds an entirely different air than it had hours earlier when she'd met him in the workshop, and it wedges something foreign between her ribs. "What you think shoving us all in that little tinny and skipping us halfway 'cross the world's doing? Got some pretty beaches, yeah, but it's sure as hell's not some holiday."

Roadhog shadows Junkrat with his massive form. While his weapons are not on his person, he doesn't need them for intimidation; the black eyes of his mask glint in the map's glow, offering an unsettling, almost malevolent sort of gaze that Satya wishes she could avoid. His impressive arms crossed over the girth of his chest, he claims support for his charge with a guttural grunt and a short nod.

"As much as I don't like it, the boy's right, Winston," says Torbjörn. He sits in one of the wheeled desk chairs, one hand clutched upon an armrest, eyes squinted at the digital map. His great blond beard rests upon his chest, thick braids twirled about by an idle finger. "This shouldn't be any different. So what if there's a bit of danger? We need to rescue Mei. She answered your little recall, didn't she? If she hadn't, she might still be safe at whatever watchpoint she holed herself up in."

"I am in agreement." Genji's visor radiates an eerie green as he steps in at Mercy's side, the thin form of Zenyatta tucked close behind. "She has sacrificed much for our cause in the past. This would be a poor way to repay her kindness. She has placed herself into danger at our expense."

"I understand," says Winston, "and I'm with you, all of you, but we must be aware of the risks. We'll be going in blind and straight into combat without any preparation other than the ride there. This isn't like our other planned missions; there won't be any setting up camp or taking time to scope out the enemy. As soon as we reach her, we engage."

"She sent a distress call," grinds Genji behind the faceplate of his helm. "It is our duty to answer it. We must go after her, regardless of what may lie in wait!"

The old Overwatch members sink into a heated squabble, rough and punctuated voices pervading the rigid atmosphere. Reinhardt's is powerful, coarse, overwhelming, pushing up through the strength of his diaphragm and welling up over Winston, Tracer, Genji, Torbjörn, and Mercy. Satya finds herself slinking backward under the pressure of the intense commotion, her fingers cupping over the shells of her ears. As she backs away, she notes that the junkers remain silent against the far wall; Roadhog stares at the thick of the group behind the bulk of his mask, and Junkrat taps the heel of his boot against the wall out of what she perceives as boredom.

When she catches his eyes in the gentle gleam of the holograms, his right hand curls in a fist by his hip and he uses his prosthetic to wave a wordless hello. The vivid image of him hunched over the back tables in the workshop pries up underneath the edge of her mind, and the hard shape of his back and the sounds of his soft snores imprints in places they never should. The feeling of the empty casing in her palm lingers across her lifelines, and it's more difficult than it should to raise her hand in reply.

"Everyone, listen!" Winston's voice crashes over Reinhardt's din and the rest of the quarreling team, echoing off the walls of the room in a clashing shout. The bickering tapers off into awkward mumbles, and heated stares shift to fixate in his direction. "Listen," he says. "I need all of you to focus. Please. This is an urgent matter, and as urgent as it is, we need a plan if we're going to rescue Mei."

Winston raises a hand as if to quell any dissenting arguments, scanning a steely gaze about the length of the room. While all of Overwatch's members seem agitated and angry, Satya admits that Winston does a decent job at reining them in. His leadership has been a trial and error process thus far, but he seems to adapt with little issue.

"We will help Mei," says Winston, "but we can't jump headfirst into a situation we know nothing about. She didn't have time to tell me how many were pursuing her before the channel was severed, so your assumption is as good as mine on the identity of her attackers. Other than the small pieces of information she gave us, we have nothing else. Our forces number ten in total, and that's all of you—" He sweeps a finger around the room, "—and myself included, all against an unknown aircraft. Between the ten of us, we have only one ship. Just one. If something should happen, all of us will be in danger, not just Mei."

"Well, it's my ship," says Tracer. She crosses her arms beneath the blue churning of her accelerator and thins her mouth into a frown. "I say we go for it. We've got no time to waste, Winston. She could be spinning to the ocean right now, and we've just been sitting about having a chat over whether or not to step in and save her!"

"Lena, that was never up for debate." Winston's tone is calm yet firm, and he gives her a pointed look behind the lenses of his squared spectacles. "We are going after Mei. Leaving her is not an option. Do you really think I'd do such a thing?"

Seeming deflated, Tracer glances down to her feet. "Sorry, big guy. Didn't mean it like that. Really. Just… worked up, is all. It's Mei, right? She's brilliant. We can't lose her to something like this."

"All the more reason for a plan." Winston turns to the rest of the group. "All right, hear me out. The ORCA is ill-equipped for air combat and without any formidable weapons, but Lena is a fantastic pilot. She's our ace. A surprise attack is possible because of the ship's size, and we might be able to out-maneuver them with her in control, but with that being said… we need a way to extract Mei. And any other survivors that might be with her."

The room is still with amping tension, wrapped among itself in a shaking sort of heat. Silence, thrumming machinery, and heavy breaths crush the air, the weight of everyone's eyes crowding around Satya's shoulders. Watching the cluster of her teammates' grim faces as they pry themselves apart in hopes of stitching together half-sensible ideas to save Mei-Ling Zhou steeps her blood in the starting threads of adrenaline.

"I have an idea," says Mercy. She slides off her glasses and cleans them with the hem of her coat, her brow knit together in uncertainty. "It's very risky, but we might be able to send one or two of us down to her ship by way of cables and harnesses. We have a number of dense fiber cords available, and there should already be harnesses aboard the ship. I wouldn't recommend it, but a chase mid-air with an unknown enemy and an aircraft with little firepower…? We don't have many options available to us."

"And should we choose that route, how might we breach the craft's hull?" Zenyatta clasps his hands together, drawing up beside Mercy with slow steps. The wood of his sandals scuffs the floor as his golden prayer orbs circle his throat in lazy pirouettes. "She will either be the cargo or the pilot—neither of which is ideal for such a perilous situation. Depending on where she is located within, it may prove difficult to extract her."

"Leave the breaching to me, scraphead." Satya's heartbeat pulls into her neck at the sound of his voice. Junkrat bites at his lower lip in a manic grin, and a delighted laugh coils out from his chest. His hands flex back and forth in anticipation, as if each held a detonator he were just itching to press. "Blasting open some wall? Oh, that's got me name written all over it. Nothing's too big for a couple of my lovelies. Get me in close and I'll pop it right open for you."

"We would prefer to keep Mei intact," says Genji, clipped and in a condescending edge. "Your toys will only pose a threat to her safety."

"Oi, you wanna come over here and say that?" In a fearsome twist, pleasure melds to enmity across the sharp features of Junkrat's face. He pushes himself up from the wall by his elbows and steps forward, fingers pinched into fists. "I ain't seeing you offering up no ideas with them fancy swords of yours. C'mon, you bloody clanker, I've got a bomb with your name on it right here and I can show you right where to—"

Before Junkrat can elaborate any further, Roadhog engulfs him by the shoulder with a heavy hand and drags him back toward the wall. Junkrat growls in his throat and quakes in frustration as Roadhog holds him still, but his giant bodyguard shows no signs of relenting. Satya breathes an internal sigh of relief; she's glad Roadhog has the sense to snuff out the fight in his friend. An altercation breaking out in light of such a dire situation would prove detrimental to all parties involved, Mei included.

"Right, so, we've got a way in." Tracer ignores the scuffling junkers and glances to Mercy, her countenance soft and unsure. "But what if the cords or harnesses break? What if something else goes wrong? Whoever goes down there won't be able to get back. Then what? What do we do? Just let it happen? Let them crash?"

The solution has already been mapped in Satya's mind. A thought meets its mark, and there is a tight feeling of pride that swells behind her breastbone. There is no better person suited to this position; without question, this has all been by design. This is her place, her purpose, and it solidifies her choice in suspending her involvement with Vishkar to take up arms with Overwatch: Recall.

Drawing a steady breath, Satya steps forward and focuses her concentration within herself. She brings her hands together in delicate spins, webbing her fingers in intricate patterns, and she begins to conjure a beaded wireframe between them. It is from an older schematic, one she remembers from her fifth year; it isn't perfect, but it is the crude prototype of a teleporter base, and just enough to garner approval.

"I will go," she says, drawing the translucent body apart for the group to see. "If we use Junkrat's explosives to breach the ship, I can open the path. Placing a teleporter on board will allow us to return to our aircraft without the use of harnesses. It will be safer, more secure, and it will also ensure we rescue any surviving passengers, should that be the case. It is our only option of a seamless transfer."

A pleasant murmur of agreement spreads throughout the room. Mercy and Tracer share a gleam of hope, and Reinhardt flashes her an approving smile from behind his thick white beard. All eyes are on her, on the floating construct woven among her palms, and the intensity thrums hotly in her blood. A part of her is compelled to glance in Junkrat's direction, but she reins in the urge and crushes it beneath her marrow. Nothing will prevent her from doing her job—not even mad bombers with nice shoulders and pleasing grins.

"All right," says Winston, offering Satya a grateful nod, "it looks like Symmetra and Junkrat will be going aboard. This will let us both board the ship and leave it. It might be pushing it, but I think we might be able to use one more, just in case things get hairy. Is there another volunteer?"

"I will accompany them." Zenyatta emerges from beside Genji, aurum robes draped about his slender frame and golden prayer orbs gliding about the roping cords that sculpt his neck. "I have been sitting idle long enough. I think it is time I proved my usefulness here."

"Master, don't." Genji swirls about and holds an arm out before the Omnic monk, effectively blocking his path. Shoulders tight, head inclined, he stares at Zenyatta through the glow of his visor. "Please reconsider. Is this truly necessary? You cannot go with the likes of—"

"I will go where I am needed, Genji." Zenyatta presses a mechanical hand to the forearm of Genji's armor, maneuvering it aside in a gentle swipe, and traverses past him with scuffing steps. "And it appears I am needed in this endeavor, so I am answering the call. One must learn to put aside one's differences in the light of peril, even if there is disagreement." He performs a light bow toward Satya, fingers laced and head dipped. "I will contribute to the best of my abilities, and I will see Mei to safety."

Junkrat bites curses beneath his breath somewhere behind Satya—still restrained by Roadhog, she assumes; he can't be happy about Zenyatta's involvement—but the rest of the team seems to pay him and his prejudices no mind. The holograms wink out as Winston disconnects his computer, saturating the room in a cool darkness, and footsteps start to resound against the walls. Despite the situation, the air is rife with anger, anticipation, and hope.

"All right, everybody, time to suit up. No time to be sitting around; we've got ourselves a ship to catch!"

Tracer skips to the conference room door, the blue of her accelerator setting her eyes alight. The group echoes various cheers at her, their voices a raucous clang in Satya's ears, and she finds herself clutching at the metal of her left arm in expectancy of the encounter ahead.

"Let's let Mei know the calvary's on its way!"