"You really think we're gonna find her," Sombra muttered with annoyance lining her words, "A brilliant geneticist, worked with Blackwatch for a time, which, correct me if I'm wrong- if you're having to find her, I'm assuming that means she doesn't want to be found, and knowing how you work- Oh! And let's not forget the rumors that Talon is funding her as well; the Board doesn't look too kindly on separate squads trying to uncover secrets from other groups. I'd say this is akin to finding a needle in a haystack, but I'm not one for platitudes, or mincing words."

She frowned, "I'll just call this tontería, you ghost of a man."

The two of them were hard at work, shoveling through research, in this tiny room within the Gutter, lit up only by the computer monitors surrounding the two of them, along with the mess of LEDs lining Sombra's body. Her body, long augmented by invaluable pieces of technology having been dug into her very nervous system, often presented itself in such a way, leaking soft glows of neon that echoed off these dark walls.

With a droll glance, Reaper offered her little more than a vacant glance before returning to his console, "I don't much care. Whatever word that was, this is our first stop. We're not guaranteed the services of Doomfist beyond this single mission. We're to make it count. Pulling Moira into the fold is more valuable to the Board than anything you've mentioned."

"Are we forgetting the most valuable assassin in this entire organization?" Sombra retorted, nevertheless continuing her own work at the console beside Reaper, "This Moira chick makes too much noise with her work, from what I've seen. Widow is calculating, precise- oh, and her work is instant. Talon expects results immediately; they're not gonna want to wait for her to grow her pea plants in the lab."

Reaper quietly muttered in reply, "How short sighted of you. Moira is more than whatever they work out in the future. They're also their past work."

"So, creating you? Such a remarkable specimen, indeed," Sombra shot back with a rolling of her eyes, returning focus to her screen, "She couldn't have made you less of an ass?"

A chuckle came from the ghostly form, "Nah. They're not a miracle worker."

Lips spun in vague agreement, Sombra shrugged the line of questioning off with a sigh, her fingers clacking against her keyboard with skittering taps of sounds, "I'm not finding anything. Even on the extranets."

"Keep looking," Reaper instructed, "One thing they're not is humble. They're out there."

Sombra rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "They, they, they…"

Cocking an eyebrow, Reaper replied uninvited, "Moira was a woman when I met her. The deeper into their research went, the less that was the case. On the genetic level, by now, they've ceased to belong to any particular gender."

"Really," Sombra questioned with a subtle interest, "Most people experiment on lab rats, if unable to work out solutions in computer simulations…"

Reaper admitted, "I said they weren't humble, not that they were contented with such things as simulations or testing on animals. We humans-"

He paused.

"You humans- There is much you cannot attempt to simulate on a computer. Moira was far too proud of their work not to trust it upon themselves. It just turns out that their greatest achievement was found within the genes of another."

Sombra cocked her head to the side, "This is where you say somebody else's name, right?"

"I volunteered to be greater than a human," Reaper noted with a dread in his tone, "And unless you want there to be other unkillable specters running around out there, you'll change your mind about that stupid man locked in Overwatch's most secure holding pen. Moira's potential work is worth more than eighteen clones of that doll of yours."

Sombra's lips twisted in pensive thought, "We'll see."

Unenthused by such a reply, Reaper slowly turned his head toward his cohort, his attention suddenly turning the doorway into the small room where an Omnic, clad in a silver-plated form that resembled a tuxedo, entered, one of Maximillian's mechanical mobs.

"You've been asked to meet with the one called "Doomfist", the Omnic spoke up in note, "Maximilien would like to be informed of your next plot as soon as possible."

"That's our cue," Sombra groaned, finishing with a few more keystrokes before pushing herself up to her feet, "I'll leave the macro program up and running; maybe it'll find something while we're gone."

Reaper, not requiring the same effort, spun in space while the blackness of his visage arose, finally calming itself as his skeletal face returned to the foe, stepping toward the doorway where the Omnic stood, "Let's hope so. Twiddling out thumbs won't look good to the Board."

"Keeping us waiting for an audience didn't help. With our track record, they should be giving us more resources, not limiting what little we've got to work with," Sombra complained.

Reaper bit, "It's due to our successes that they've had us saddled as we are. Only the weak need more assets given to them."

With a plaintive stare, Sombra grumbled, "Still wouldn't hurt to be given an extra hour or so. Omnic, where are we headed?"

"Back to your quarters," the machine-man replied simply and without judgement, "Maximilien will meet you there."

Sombra cocked an eyebrow, "Max will meet us? He hasn't left that boardroom since the dinosaurs!"

"He would merely like to appraise your judgement relating to his most prized asset," the droid-like butler explained before sauntering off in another direction, "I will let him know."

Sombra returned her attention to Reaper, "This Doomfist tipo is one important bastard. Guess it comes with the territory; that moniker hasn't exactly bred weaklings."

"Ogundimu has had the eye of Maximilien and the Board for a while," Reaper mentioned as the two strolled along the concrete corridors of the Gutter, between flickering blots of sickly pale light that lit the ground at their feet, "He murdered his former mentor, not just to gain that title, but his gauntlet, as well, all but ingratiating himself with Talon's higher-ups. He was superior to Adeyemi in just about every way, and Maximilien would have sold the world to keep him in his good graces."

Sombra smirked, "Perhaps we are at the top of Talon's list. A top prospect, a personal audience- We're moving up in the world, muchacho!"

With a miffed voice, Reaper retorted, "That remains to be seen. This is as much a test for us. See if we can handle such a powerful ally. Ogundimu would rather the world burn and see the last two humans birth generations of feral, brutish beasts made stronger to survive that hellscape than watch Talon working to extort change from the pockets of tech-barons. Progress, to him, isn't moving forward, but dragging this world backward."

Is cloak flittered upward as if in shrug, "That's why Maximilien will rather our next mission be acquiring the services of Moira O'Deorian."

"That's what you think, chico," Sombra smirked, still walking along the corridor, not noticing Reaper having paused his gait.

In a sudden instant, Sombra felt a force upon her shoulder yanking her backwards, throwing her off balance as she whirled around backward, pushed against the wall as Reaper cast his body in front of her, a sickly swirl of blackness reaching out toward her neck as though he were keeping her held down by strangling her.

"What..?" Reaper questioned darkly.

Sombra grinned, "You don't think I'm gonna let you just decide for the both of us, do you? I may have found you, but you wouldn't have gotten here without Widow and me. You'd still be piddling around, stalking people in alleyways like an echo without a voice, aimlessly trouncing around like a lost boy. I found you, but I made you, too- more than this Moira perra. I won't stand idly by; I'll make my own case to Maximilien for what we should-"

She felt that formless grasp at her neck tighten.

With a sickeningly wry smirk, Sombra challenged, "You think I'm afraid of you? I've lived alongside death my whole life; I saw you, every day, before I even met you."

Still, Reaper's grip grew even tighter.

"You talk about that woman making you- Well, you made me," Sombra bit through strained breaths, "Death itself was my mentor. That's why I know you won't kill me. Because Death longs for life; it's lonely without it. You'd be lost without me."

Reaper's face remained unchanged; though, between her blurring vision, Sobra could make out something of a alteration behind that pale white mask. Sure enough, Reaper's grip released in an instant, sending Sombra to the ground as she took a careful hold of her neck, taking choking breaths as she composed herself, nearly straining to gasp for breaths, but refusing to give Reaper the satisfaction. She peered up, watching Reaper making his way toward their quarters, all without a care for her well-being, forcing her to meander back to her feet to follow along, coughing in spurts as her neck throbbed.

"Give it your best shot," Reaper goaded in monotone.

"Oh, I will," Sombra assured, the defiance in her voice a characteristic she had relied on and held so deeply throughout her life, "You said it yourself, this is only business."

Reaper scoffed, "Insofar as you not being more of a hassle than you're worth."

"I think you'll find I'm rather worth more than you believe," Sombra goaded with a teasing weight to her voice.

Shaking his head as he swung open the doorway to their quarters, Reaper failed to offer anything in the way of a reply, not bothering to hold open the door as Sombra followed. She entered on her own, stepping deeper into the cold hovel while Reaper remained standing nowhere specific, simply awaiting Maximilien's arrival, much to Sombra's annoyance. She kept to herself, checking in on Widowmaker, who sat in the back of the room with a brush in her hand, a placid face reflecting off of a mirror as she stroked her hair.

"Safe and sound," Sombra breathed lowly under her breath, turning back toward Reaper and stepping toward him, leaning against a nearby table whereupon she'd had various books and notes strewn about.

She picked at her fingertips, grinding metal on metal from the metal sheathes that covered her glove, thinking blithely about any modifications she could make. She had an editor's mind, always thinking of mods, changes, improvements; not simply in grammar or in books, but in the plans of others, in established constructs of society or patterned behavior. She knew a book or two behind her had been filled with red lines, indicative of her own alterations to prose and verse.

"Say something!" she suddenly shouted, earning her a tepid glance from Widow, "Jesus! It's so quiet!"

Reaper didn't move, "I'm not your monkey, made to speak only to quell your mind."

"I don't need a monkey," Sombra fired back in annoyance, "Just looking for a conversation. I hate silence."

Reaper's mask cocked to the side, "Only one of us needs talk to quiet the bad things in their mind."

He bowed his head in quiet reflection, "-and it's not me."

Frowning, Sombra drew an irritated gasp. Their relationship had always been contentious, but it only recently felt so much more like an annoyance, especially given his newly voiced dismay with Widow. She pulled her hand to her face, massaging her nose between two fingers as her lips spun in thought, thinking, as she often did at times like these- times of silence that threatened to tear her mind apart to exhume the evils she had done to the woman not twenty feet away- about what to say to split the quiet.

"We're honest with one another, right?" she wondered.

Reaper remained silent, though with an air of surprise than malice, mulling over her question before admitting, "With the same level of honestly required for us to maintain this working relationship, I suppose. I was being honest when I said I use you, as much as I presume you're using me, though I have the same affinity for your individual presence that I might have for a clownfish, were I an anemone. Most other people down here wouldn't hesitate to lessen my ambitions, but in you, I've always seen an opportunity toward mutualism."

Her brow rising in sarcastic surprise, Sombra muttered, "So technical."

"I prefer professional," Reaper noted in a droll voice.

Sombra gave a furtive pause, dragging a thumb across her chin, before continuing, "So when you said this Moira woman…"

"I was being truthful," Reaper spoke up quietly, "I wasn't embellishing to make her acquisition any more important."

"No, I get that," Sombra nodded, "I just-"

Her eyes sharpened as she examined him, "How did- All that-"

The ghostly white mask, upon whatever there was of a face upon Reaper's body, dropped as though in examination of his body, "How did she make me more specter than man?"

"I've just always been curious," Sombra shrugged, "I make these modifications to my body to enhance my abilities. I fuse nerve with technology to make myself better; the same way we altered Widow's body to make her more efficient- Without getting into anything philosophical, we improved upon our forms. You-"

Reaper chuckled, "You think this was to my detriment?"

"Either that, or-" Sombra shrugged, "Maybe she messed up? I just can't imagine somebody giving up so much for- That."

"That," Reaper explained, "keeps me cold. Calculating. Keeps me from hesitating. I haven't a heart to race, to distract me, when the situation forces me to second-guess. I haven't a brain to formulate solutions in a millisecond- that, alone, allows error. I am instant. decisive."

His voice grew lined with vicious absolution.

"I am deadly. More than I have ever been."

Sombra eyed him skeptically, "And you miss nothing?"

"What is there to miss?" Reaper challenged, "When I became what I am, my body was addled with burns, torn muscle, skin peeled off from excessive heat in that explosion. It was a crutch, through and through."

Widow had dropped her hand, clutching at the brush there with a grip only slightly weakened as she listened in the background.

Speaking up once more, Sombra quipped, "You don't even miss-"

"I don't miss my targets, much less anything about my past," Reaper admitted with absolution.

Sombra's eyes tensed, "I don't buy that."

"The point is rather moot, whether or not you believe me," Reaper confirmed, "Your opinions don't concern me."

"Perhaps they ought to," Sombra retorted with a low voice.

She stepped toward him, her heart racing as she approached Death itself, whose form had only minutes earlier so taken her life in its cold, dead hands. As if in defiant challenge toward whatever it was Sombra was getting at, Reaper remained still, allowing her to come just up to him, his mask falling to match her stare as she eyed him with weakened eyes.

"I think you miss plenty," Sombra asserted, "You crossed that woman's name off of your list, yet she still walks this Earth."

Reaper remained silent.

"Thought I wouldn't catch that, huh?" Sombra smirked, "Widow's a sniper- you ought to have known her hawkish eyes would have seen."

A cold reply, "..what's your game?"

"No game," Sombra shrugged, reaching a hand into that mass of gaseous darkness that made up the man's shape when outside his mission attire, "I just need to make sure you're being honest."

She wafted her hand around inside of that noxious space of black clouds, "Call it a professional courtesy."

Reaper's stare grew frigid upon her, "..if you don't step away from me-"

"You'll what? Explain to Maximilien why his most recent recipient of Doomfist is dead?" she charged, "Besides- I think you want this."

"What's this..?"

Sombra's lips curled, "Me."

Reaper's head rolled along his shoulders in sarcastic pantomime.

"I think you miss the warmth of another human being. I think you miss being held- miss holding another," she asserted with a heated breath as she pulled her hand toward her chest, dark plumes of smoke following her movement until she cupped her breast, sending black air against her like a heated, smoky breath against her.

"You're a strange one," Reaper commented, coolly.

Sombra shrugged, "I'm not the one denying their own humanity."

She glanced into his formless chest, "That's why there's some part of you that remains- That's physical."

Suddenly, Reaper's voice turned sinister, ferocious like a knowingly trapped animal, "I told you-"

The doorway creaked in entry, forcing Sombra a quick step away from Reaper as she turned to watch Maximilien slink his way into their hovel, all while Reaper's stare remained chilling upon her face, almost in vendetta. The man of metal, wholly Omnic, stepped into the hovel in stride, examining the three inside without needing to watch for his hand to make contact with the door to shut it.

"To what do you owe the pleasure, indeed," he spoke in a low, altogether regaling voice, "You two must know why I sought your company."

Reaper broke from his stare, turning toward Maximilien with a calculated voice, "Doomfist."

"Yes," the Omnic nodded, his eye cooking toward the back of the dark room where Widow sat, watching him from afar, "I was pouring over what ought to be done with him. I have such immense aspirations for the man, which is why I put so many lots into the two of you; it is my great ambition to have him on the Board, as well, and, being two of my more reliable associates, I made it clear I wanted his sort of… initiation to be handled by you two."

Had Reaper a face, he would've scowled. He hadn't predicted Maximilien's prying hands to have been involved. Had he simply given them Doomfist, Reaper was largely at his own behest, but now- He knew his pit boss would want something more spectacular to signal Doomfist's entry into the fold, especially if it was more as a show for the other members of the Board.

Indeed, he thought, as his eyes coursed angrily toward Sombra, she might just win the day.

"I'm glad we think the same," Sombra complimented with a smile, crossing her arms in preemptive triumph, "If I may propose, perhaps, the most grand of entrances for your new prize?"

Maximilien's face spun in inquiry, "If I didn't want suggestions, I would not have come. What is it you were thinking?"

With a miserly smirk, Sombra shrugged, "You have beef with Overwatch, don't you? Word is they've been newly reinstated- very hush hush for the time being. Figured if you were wanting a show-"

She paused as Maximilien's eyes lit up, literally, in thought, the best indication that anybody in his audience should pause while he worked near-infinite numbers of algorithm through his null-spaced mind, the entire moment passing in nary a second before he spoke up, "Interesting. Practical, no. Strategic? Not at all. Showy…"

He shrugged, "Overwatch has only ever been a thorn in my side; an obstacle to be vaulted overtop of. I see no merit to such a venture beyond symbolism, and even then, my predecessors ensured, already, that Talon became the victor once before."

Maximilien cocked a glance toward Reaper with an almost sneering voice, "And all that cost was a varmint of a mafia boss and a few thousand dollars to every media outlet in the natural world."

"Not strategic?" Sombra confirmed aloud, "Boss, their Gibraltar base is one of the most secure sites on this planet. Don't forget, I've pilfered one wonder device from them, already, and look what that's gotten you. What if we were to procure a couple more?"

Sighing, Maximilien gave a frowning motion, "As much as I hate the criticism that others tout, I do rather enjoy stealing the work and resources of others, instead of wasting my own. So many see it as cowardly, when it's merely the work of the cleverest among us. Let's say I agree to this course of action. How does it go?"

"Easy," Sombra laughed, "We have Doomfist. Throw him down and let him perform his art."

Maximilien stroked his chin with a groan, "Quite uncivilized."

Then, a chortle, "I like it."

Reaper rolled his head along his shoulders in disbelief.

"At the very least, it gives the Board an opportunity to appraise the man in an enclosed environment against somewhat competent pests, so long as it's not a repeat of him against that zippy girl," Maximilien doled out simply, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt. Were you a lesser faction within Talon's grasp, I wouldn't be giving nearly this much freedom, however- You two have not steered me wrong."

He eyed Reaper, "...yet."

Reaper raised his head in some show of defiance at the insinuation, causing Maximilien to chuckle as he turned to leave, "Report back after you've returned. Doomfist will be awaiting your call."

"Yes, sir!" Sombra declared with a hearty start, dropping her shoulders as the door shut behind their majordomo, smirking toward Reaper with a sinister smirk, "See? Easy. What I lack in leverage, I do make up in charisma."

Throwing his shoulder backward, Reaper turned to step away, stomping deeper into the hovel as Sombra snicker, "Sore loser."

He stopped.

"I'd watch your tongue, woman," he seethed in challenge, "Watch your hands, too. Don't you ever come near me again."

Sombra's nose scrunched upward as she unveiled a mischievous simper, "Was it because you don't want me close? Or perhaps I wasn't close enough."

With that, Reaper went into his room, not having to open the door but merely dissolving into a vaporous, black breath of air that seeped in between the cracks on either end of the barrier, leaving locked the only way in and out for any typical human. Sombra laughed mutely to herself, rather proudly, as she strode toward Widow, sitting behind her and taking the blue-skinned woman's hair into her open palm, stroking along its sinewy lengths with her opposite fingertips.

I'd say I won this round," she goaded in triumph, "We'll probably be leaving soon for our next assignment."

Widow failed to reply, lost as she was in the mirror, staring deeply into her own eyes, still captivated by whatever spot was there beside her lips that she couldn't seem to find any appreciable difference. It was such a dull, pain- not even that, but a deep-seated irritation, like a less-than-mild ache beneath her teeth. It was more a curiosity than anything, yet there it was, poking at her mind in thought, as if there were more of her somewhere she hadn't been able to find.

She couldn't unravel it from her mind, that that thought. That thought of a life she once knew and that now eluded her memories, but not her senses. Skin resting atop her, lips pulling at her body-

"Chica," chimed Sombra, wrapping her arms adoringly around Widow's body, "Fret not. We're gonna make you forget again. Alright? It won't hurt anymore."

Widow heard those words. She understood the meaning behind them, the sympathy and benevolence that lined this woman's tone. and, yet, she couldn't help but think that-

"Soon," Sombra confided in quiet reverence.

She had no reason not to believe her.