Winston, apparently, had lost contact with Dr. de Siebren, with whom he had been communicating regarding the creation of a smaller, portable chronal field for Tracer. Still, he cast his worries about his new friend aside and focused on the design that he thought was promising to say the very least.

And in the meantime Mercy continued to work with Lena, cutting off the constant flow of scientists to her chamber when all but Dr. O'Deorain had proved unhelpful and only made to stress Lena (and herself) out.

This particular week had been a busy one for Mercy and Winston, Winston working tirelessly on his new device and Mercy's time split between Tracer and caring for patients that had been injured on a recent mission. Focused on those patients during the day, she worked with Lena all night, and consequently neither Mercy nor Winston had gotten very much sleep.

And this morning, while Mercy delivered Tracer another blanket (as she was still inexplicably cold), Winston jumped in fright when a polite knock sounded at the lab's door, which was already ajar.

In poked a head that Tracer could not quite see from her place in the chamber, bundled up beneath blankets.

"Dear Winston," said an accented voice, "How do you do? I wondered if Angela was here."

Then Mercy emerged from Lena's chamber, hot coffee in hand, "Gerard? What—Oh, scheisse, we had a meeting, didn't we?"

"In fact yes," said Gerard, "But maybe my coming here was for the best. I do believe it would behoove us to have Monsieur Winston join us, would it not? Mr. Winston, we'll be discussing production and, erm, uses, of Angela's theorized Caduceus Staff—did you not help in designing the hardware?"

"Oh," said Winston. It seemed like such a small priority to him with everything going on, "I did. I suppose I could be included. If that's alright with Angela."

Mercy nodded emphatically, "I think that's a great idea! Winston, join us please." She gave the gorilla a look that said clearly: Agree with everything I have to say. Or else.

Tracer listened to the conversation, intently but only so as not to listen to her own chaotic mind. Certainly she'd met that man, Gerard Lacroix, before. Yes, before her flight! She mentally prided herself on remembering him successfully. But she felt mournful when she looked at him and that confused her as much as anything else did these days.

"Gerard," called another voice, this one feminine, and even frencher than his. In walked a woman so tall and in the highest heels Lena thought she might hit her head on the doorway. (Winston never did, she realized a moment later, so the thought seemed rather idiotic).

"Ah, yes!" said Gerard, too much pride in his voice, like he was presenting his own award, "You two have met my wife, Amelie."

"Yes, of course!" Mercy blurted, too excited, almost uncharacteristically so. She cleared her throat after that, flashing the woman a sheepish look. Amelie met the look with what to Tracer seemed like a rather flirtatious grin. "Um," said Mercy, "Gerard, Winston, why don't we speak in the next room?" She glanced at Tracer, as if asking for consent to leave her alone, and Lena answered with a goofy thumbs up.

"Amelie," said Gerard, "Would you wait here pour un moment? We are discussing some rather sensitive information."

"Of course, mon cher. Do not be long," said Amelie.

They started to go, but not before Winston could add, "Just… don't touch anything."

Then Amelie was left wandering the lab alone, and she considered that it was certainly rather unprofessional that they'd let a civilian like herself explore such a top-secret laboratory without supervision. Then again, Gerard brought her to work often and she was trusted among Overwatch's agents. Some more than others. Some much more than others.

She supposed the doctors were sleep-deprived and that made for their rather lax security. And she knew that security cameras and Winston's AI would certainly stop her if she tried to do anything uncouth. Not that she would—she loved her husband and respected his work greatly, after all.

She wandered into the still-ajar door to the chamber, which to her seemed empty. She thought she'd take a seat on the comfy-looking bed while she waited, but was considerably startled when the pile of blankets atop it shifted to reveal a young woman.

"Merde! Pardon, I did not realize that there was anyone here!"

"Trust me, I'd leave if I could," said Tracer, but at Amelie's apologetic face she rephrased, "That's alright, luv. Always nice to have company." She stuck out her hand, "I'm Lena."

"Amelie Lacroix."

"Gerard's gal?" Lena said, "What a lucky bloke. Whatcha doing here?"

"Only visiting my husband. But as it often does with him, le travail comes first. His work, I mean. He was to give me a tour of this place, of some newly built facilities. But his duties distract him."

"I'd give ya that tour, but unfortunately I'm not too familiar with anything outside of this cage."

"Oui," said Amelie, "What happened to you, cherie? You're so young."

"Oh, I don't think I'm supposed to tell you that, Luv. I'm all top-secret. I think Mercy and Winston were just too conked to even realize they left ya in here with me."

"You're shaking," said Amelie, "Are you cold?"

"Yeah," said Lena, "But that's okay. I usually am."

"Is there a thermostat around here? I can make it warmer for you."

"Didn't I hear Winston say not to touch anything?"

"Well, no doctor should be keeping his patients uncomfortable," said Amelie, handing Lena a blanket that had fallen onto the floor.

"Thanks,"

At that moment, the raised voice of Dr. Ziegler penetrated the walls: "I don't want this technology to be used in combat," she said.

"But the fight against Talon!" Gerard shot back, "The greater good. We could save more lives."

"My answer is final," said Mercy, "And Winston agrees."

"What?" came the Gorilla's deep voice, "Ah, yes. What Angela said."

"Fine," said Gerard, "This isn't over, but I know you two have work to do."

"Ah," said Amelie, an impossibly warm smile on her lips as the sounds of footsteps sounded through the hall, "Our friends are returning. Looks like the party is over."

Lena froze at that, the hairs on her arm standing up as she felt what she could only describe as a physical manifestation of deja-vu. Her heart-rate quickened and her ears rang with the sounds of… screams? Gunfire? She stared at Amelie, eyes wide with recognition.

"Cherie," said Amelie, "Are you okay? You're shaking again."

It was as though Tracer didn't hear the question. She dug her way from the blankets, standing on shaky legs and nearly collapsing but catching herself on the bed. The recognition in her eyes turned to hate, "You!"

"Lena?" Amelie started to step backwards, not sure whether she should be afraid for the girl or of her, "I will get the doctor."

But before she had the chance to call for Angela, Lena tackled her with more strength than she thought the frail girl had in her. "Why?" asked Tracer, a horrible look of betrayal and rage in her eyes, "Why would you do this?"

Amelie struggled, about to call out until Tracer began crushing her windpipe. "Cherie," she choked, "Lena…"

"Not this time," Lena muttered, "I'm not letting you get away. After what you did." Her eyes looked crazed, deep circles underneath them. Tears formed in them, too, dripping onto Amelie's face below her.

It was at that moment that the three Overwatch agents returned, their leisurely (if argumentative) conversation cut short when the picture before them became clear.

"Scheisse, Lena!" Mercy called, bolting for the chamber.

Gerard followed suit, "Amelie!"

Angela tried to pull Lena off of the other woman, as gently as she could, but Lena swatted her away. "Lena, what are you doing?" Mercy asked. She turned to Gerard, "I can get a sedative."

But Gerard was able to grab Tracer underneath her arms and restrain her, though she still struggled.

"Lena," Mercy said, preparing a needle from the medical kit on the wall, "Hey, hey. It's me, it's Doctor Ziegler. It's 'Ange'. Calm down. Please, I don't want to do this to you."

"Let me go!" said Lena, thrashing wildly in Gerard's grip, trying to kick his legs, "Who—?"

"Lena," said Mercy, "Stop struggling. That's Gerard Lacroix, he's a friend."

"Gerard Lacroix is dead!" shouted Lena. And with one worried look at Gerard's furious eyes Mercy went ahead and administered the sedative.

"Stop!" Lena said weakly after a moment saw her struggles weaken, "I can't let her get away. She killed him… She killed Mondatta…"

Mercy frowned at Tracer, who drowsily squirmed in Gerard's arms. Then Mercy knelt down to investigate Amelie's injuries, and though the woman's neck was black and blue she seemed largely fine. "Amel—Mrs. Lacroix, I'm so sorry."

"I'm fine," said Amelie, shooing Mercy away lightly.

Gerard passed the dizzy pilot off to Mercy while he helped his wife up himself, "Is this what Overwatch is funding instead of new technologies to fight Talon?"

Tracer mumbled something unintelligible and Mercy lowered her awkwardly onto the bed as she lost consciousness.

"She's sick," said Mercy, "I had no idea she would do that—she never has before. We're still researching—"

"She just attacked my wife," said Gerard, "Overwatch isn't going to fund this thing forever, you know."

"Gerard, please," said Amelie, "She seems like a very sweet girl." She looked at Mercy, a sweetness in her eyes, something loving about them, "We were having a conversation, and she was perfectly polite. But then, I don't know if I said something to her or what. She seemed very ill, in the head I mean, all of a sudden, like she'd gone mad. Then she attacked me. She looked at me as though she knew me, or I was someone else, and she said 'Why would you do this?' I think she would have killed me if I'd let her, if you all hadn't showed up. I don't know if that helps you, docteur. Please do what you can to help her, the poor girl."

There was a grave look in Angela's eyes. "Trust me. We are."