Out of control vehicles, dissociation, small dark cold places, being trapped in said place
A Real Author's Note for Once
Alright at this point I officially realized my little story had grown and mutated far past the original ten chapter Widowmaker and Tracer Get on Each Other's Nerves and Help Each Other Grow as People Fic into something much bigger.
So I feel obligated to warn you that the plot is not going to be anywhere as polished or connected as I want it to be. Also the tone is going to change depending on the chapter and I wouldn't classify this as a pure comedy fic anymore.
[STREETS OF ROME – 09:12]
Widowmaker keeps her eyes locked straight ahead watching the stone road and buildings flash by. Besides her Tracer sings happily along to some American pop song on the radio. Tanaka sits in the back of the self-driving taxi as far away from her as physically possible. He his head remains bent over his phone, but his eyes keep flickering away from the screen, watching her, making sure she keeps her distance.
Tracer somehow convinced him to get in the car with her. They'll guard him back to the plane, and then Tracer will fly them out before anything else can go wrong. Widowmaker has never been so relieved to see the end of a mission in sight. Not even when Sombra blasted You Spin Me Round on loop for an hour.
Tracer nudges her arm. Widowmaker turns and is greeted by Tracer's exaggerated smile. The woman is dancing in her seat, swaying with the music. Tracer nudges her again. Widowmaker stares, not knowing what she wants.
"The song's a duet," Tracer explains. Widowmaker's brow furrows in confusion. "I want you to sing it with me!"
"No."
"Oh, come on. It'll be fun!"
"No."
"Pleeeeease?"
"I said no," Widowmaker says and turns away.
Tracer admits defeat and turns to face the other passenger.
"What about you Mr. Tanaka? Don't be shy; we won't judge."
Widowmaker scoffs.
"I won't judge," Tracer amends.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Tracer but I rather not," Tanaka says curtly.
The song ends, and Tracer deflates. Widowmaker hears her grumble about how at least Winston would try to sing along. Tracer leans against the window and watches the scenery. After a few moments, she starts switching between the car's touchscreen and her window. Widowmaker closes her eyes in frustration. Can't this girl ever sit still?
"Hold on just a tick," Tracer mutters, "This isn't the Strada Statale."
This statement is followed by more shuffling and movement.
"We're going the wrong way," Tracer says her face scrunched up with worry.
Widowmaker gives in and decides to humor the Annoyance.
"Are you sure you haven't just misread the street signs, ma chére? I know you tend to skip over important details. Besides," she taps the touch screen, "the map shows we are heading in the right direction."
Under her finger, a cartoon version of the taxi follows a purple line out of Rome back to the private airport. Tracer frowns.
"But it's wrong don't you see? We didn't pass that plaza on the way in and the side streets are all wrong. We're going north-east not south-east!" Tracer says getting more and more agitated.
Tracer starts fumbling around searching for her phone.
Widowmaker compares the digital map and the road they are traveling. She doesn't see any obvious problems, but she's used to viewing cities from above.
"Ah-ha! Look! We're way off course," Tracer announces.
Widowmaker looks at Tracer's phone. There is a glaring difference between where the phone and the car show them to be. Tracer starts poking at the taxi's screen attempting to reset their destination.
"What's going on?" Tanaka asks Tracer.
"Now no one panic but we seem to be going the wrong way-"
"What."
"-and I can't seem to override the auto-lorry."
"What?"
"Everything's frozen," Tracer says pushing at the screens and the physical buttons below it. "I can't even make it power off. The whole system is malfunctioning."
"Or hacked," Widowmaker mutters.
"What!"
Tracer stops hitting the screen and looks at Widowmaker. Understanding flashes between them.
"Cover us, I'm going to see if I can activate the manual override," Tracer says producing a multi-tool with a little too much glee. She presses her earpiece, calling headquarters. "Winston, luv, we've been hacked!" Tracer exclaims stabbing a blade of the multi-tool into the seams of the dashboard.
Widowmaker pulls the compacted Widow's Kiss out of her bag, slaps her visor on, and slides into the back seat. She pushes Tanaka into the floorboards and points her rifle out the back window. There is a sinking feeling in her stomach that this might be because she dropped Sombra's call. Hmm. Dropped her call.
"What did you do for Talon?" Widowmaker asks the Informant, not taking her eyes off the street behind them.
"Excuse me?" he stutters from the battered carpet. "I don't think this is the time to discuss my job experience!"
"Talon will only send what is necessary to kill you. I'm asking so I can better know what to expect. What exactly did you do for Talon?"
"I am a licensed psychologist."
"Never pegged Talon for the touchy-feely types," Tracer interrupts from the front seat and quickly follows up with, "I'm focusing, I'm focusing. Yes, Winston, I'm giving you my full undivided attention."
"And what did you do for Talon?" Widowmaker repeats.
"I worked as a mentalist and interrogator for several years."
"Bloody- Hold on to something!" Tracer yells.
The car swerves violently across multiple lanes of traffic. Tracer slides around the front seats with a mess of wires in her hands. Tanaka pushes himself into the floor and shuts his eyes. Widowmaker braces herself keeping her sight steady. She feels her hair whip around behind her. The sound of muffled horns and angry shouts filter through the windows. Human, Omnic, and AI driven vehicles give way to their car. The taxi continues to veer widely with minimal damage thanks to a combination of luck, practice, and safety technology.
"But..." Widowmaker prods.
"But what? You already know that Talon isn't going to send a SWAT team after a man with little combat training," he snaps.
"You felt it was necessary to have superhuman bodyguards and how many attempts have there been on your life so far? We both know Talon doesn't waste resources. What aren't you telling me, Monsieur Tanaka?"
The taxi swerves again; this time crossing over onto the other side of the freeway. Tracer lets out a volley of curses and presses stripped ends of wires together forcing the car to do a 180. In a corner view-port of her visor Widowmaker catches a glimpse of a stylized purple skull on the touchscreen.
Sombra. Joy.
More angry horns and curses from outside. Metal grinds on metal as another car kisses the side of the taxi. Tanaka lets out a cry of distress.
"If Winston and I can't get this under control within a minute or so we're going to have to jump! Okay? So just be ready for that!" Tracer announces.
Tanaka looks like he might throw up again. Widowmaker hopes he doesn't. She'll smell the vomit for hours.
"Talon wanted me to analyze this group of soldiers," he squeaks out, "Something had gone horribly wrong. Said that their experimental psychological training had backfired. They wanted me to find out why and fix it." He swallows hard and curses in Italian. "But they lied. Once I started the project. I couldn't continue- I just couldn't- what they did to you, to them-"
Widowmaker freezes and then all but flies across the backseat.
The next moment the side door is open and Tanaka is dangling above the freeway. Widowmaker kneels on the backseat, left foot planted in the floorboards, one hand firmly gripping the roof handle, the other locked on to Tanaka's shirt collar and bulletproof vest.
The Informant screams out profanities and digs his heels into the doorframe. His left-hand latches onto Widowmaker's forearm; his right stops the door from closing on his face.
"What the? Dammit, Widowmaker."
Widowmaker barely hears Tracer's words over the roar of the wind. All that matters is what Tanaka knows about her. The multiple view-ports of her visor pull away so she can see Tanaka's face with her own eyes.
"You have thirty seconds," Widowmaker hisses.
"They were all sleeper agents!" he screams, "You all underwent the same experimental neural rewriting! They started spontaneously failing! Agents vanished overnight, turned on their handlers, even killed themselves! No one knew which one would go next! The file said they were all exterminated!
But Talon still wanted to bring the program back! I wasn't going to be a part of that! So I ran! But then you found me! Talon had found me! But you're not Talon now? But it doesn't matter because you're going to kill me anyways! Ha! Oh god, oh god, oh god."
His voice rings true. His eyes plead with her, not to drop him, to have an ounce of humanity. Widowmaker pulls Tanaka back inside the car. She closes the door, locks it, and sits down.
For months she had been trying to figure out what she had done to make Talon abandon her. Had she not been good enough? Did they suspect her loyalty? Had it all just been some mad power play?
No. In the span of one phone call she had transformed from one of Talon's most prized agents into an expensive liability.
Tanaka pulls out a compact pistol (P380, short range, shaking hands) and points it at her face. She should get that away from him. Her rifle is still on the backboard, only a hairbreadth away, but there's no real reason to shoot him. She'll just redirect his aim into the floor if he fires.
"You're insane, shi'ne," Tanaka spits out.
His finger tightens on the trigger. Sloppy gunmanship. You always keep your finger outside the trigger guard until absolutely necessary. At least he remembered to turn the safety off.
"Hey!" Tracer exclaims sticking her body into the backseat between Widowmaker and Tanaka.
"Tracer-" Tanaka says moving so he can see Widowmaker.
"Hey," Tracer says putting her face right in front of the pistol.
"Just-" He leans to the side.
"Ap." Tracer mirrors him blocking his line of sight.
"Move-"
"Nup."
"Let me-"
"Un-un."
"Ms. Tracer, please move your face so I can shoot her," he growls.
"Sorry sir, as much as I want to I can't. Mercy would have my head."
Widowmaker can hear the smile in her voice. Sunlight glints off the piercings in her ear. She shot them off once, took off the entire ear. Tracer recalled obviously, but the earrings didn't return. It was the first time she had seen the Speedster angry. Apparently the earrings were hard to find.
Tracer turns to face her, still using her body to separate her and Tanaka
"Widowmaker, apologize," Tracer says evenly.
"Pardon?" she asks confused, not as an apology.
"Apologize to Mr. Tanaka for threatening him with third-degree road burn," Tracer clarifies.
Widowmaker looks over Tracer's shoulder to see Tanaka still aiming at her, but his digits are outside the guard this time. He has lost his sunglasses sometime between the safe house and now. The gun still shakes in his hands. His hair is saturated with sweat from heat and fear. He wouldn't last an hour in the field.
"Peut-être," she pauses mentally readjusting. Her handlers don't speak French. "Perhaps I could have handled that better."
Tracer lets out a small sigh resigning to the fact that is the best she's going to get out of Widowmaker.
"I hope you don't think I'm going to accept that," he says with a definite edge.
"No," Tracer says rolling her eyes. "But I might ask you to put the gun away."
Tanaka frowns but lowers his weapon.
"Are you going to try to kill me again?" he asks.
Widowmaker considers reminding him that when they first met, he begged her to end his life and if she had tried to kill him, he would be quite dead now. Tracer's face tells her not to say any of this.
"No," she says.
"I'm keeping my gun. And I want to sit in the front seat," he demands.
"Sure thing luv, but we're not driving anywhere else right now," Tracer says sounding tired.
Widowmaker blinks and looks around. The taxi is parked in a small back alley. Buildings surround them, blocking out the sun, like an artificial canyon. The back alley is deserted except for the car, trashcans, and a few stray dogs. When did they get off the freeway?
"Right!" Tracer exclaims and claps her hands together, "New plan! We are going to walk to the train station where we are going to take a train out of Rome. Next Mr. Tanaka will be handed off to another Overwatch agent who will escort him into Switzerland. Any questions?"
"I refuse to spend several hours trapped in an enclosed space with her. Besides, she's blue," Tanaka says.
"Yeah, I might have something for that. Widowmaker, I need you to follow me. Tanaka, sir, just sit tight for a few minutes. Please."
Widowmaker follows Tracer down the alleyway to a backdoor.
There are, were, more like her. Others who had undergone the same reconditioning. Others who had felt what she had felt. Had they also been sleeper agents? Were some snipers? Gunmen? Had they even been field agents? Could you even recondition an asset to do a desk job? They would have done whatever Talon had requested of them. Filled whatever positions needed to be filled. They owed Talon everything, after all. Didn't they?
"Almost got it. Shop should be empty. Phone said they'd be closed now," Tracer mutters as she picks the lock.
There's a soft click and the door swings open. The women enter the backroom of a deli. White tile lines the floor. An industrial sink near the door is full of pans, skewers, and knives. More blades and cutting boards cover the wooden counter space. Up at the front cheeses and meats are displayed in a glass case. The air smells richly of aging agents and spices.
Widowmaker isn't sure what Tracer is going to accomplish here. All she needs to blend in is her Nanomask. Tanaka will, how did that ridiculous child say, "just have to deal".
Spontaneous failure. What exactly did that entail? In the first few months of hiding, she accepted that some deterioration and errors were probable without her bimonthly tune-ups, but now she is forced to admit things had started to go wrong much sooner. She disobeyed a direct order and willfully deserted her squadron. Plus she faked her death to ensure her survival. Had she already broken down? She didn't feel like it.
And in there lay the problem. She wasn't supposed to feel. She wasn't supposed to disobey orders. She wasn't supposed to be spontaneous about anything. She most certainly wasn't suppose to demand information from a target while threatening them...
She just endangered the life of an asset.
There were over fifty ways Tanaka could have died in that situation alone. A bump in the road, a careless driver, Sombra, she could have slipped. The possibilities were almost endless. And all because she wanted answers. What had she been thinking? She had just endangered the entire mission. This outing was a test. The first time she had been allowed anywhere without Soldier 76 breathing down her neck. What is wrong with her?
She had to fix this. She couldn't fix this. She had to try. She is not going back to living in Overwatch's basement.
Ella est idiote.
Widowmaker takes the new information, compartmentalizes it, and shoves it to the back of her mind to be reviewed later. Like she should have done in the first place. She turns to Tracer to say something, to make amends, to piece words together in a way that will stall the looming catastrophe.
"Tracer, I-"
She stops when Tracer holds up her hand.
Widowmaker feels relief, she never was good with words, and dread, she isn't even going to get to plead her case. Her verdict has already been decided. How predictable.
Tracer closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose.
"I don't want to hear it. I don't know what happened back there and frankly, right now, I don't care," Tracer says, her breath making large white clouds.
The exasperation in the speedster's voice creates a spark of pride in the rolling mass of shame and dread in Widowmaker's gut. Wait. She can see Tracer's breath and her own much smaller clouds. And the cold. She can feel the cold seeping into her suit. Widowmaker's eyes leave Tracer's face and sweep the new room she is in. Shelves are lined with frozen dairy products, a few pieces of meat hang from the ceiling, and frost coats everything. There is only one exit. They are in the back of a walk-in-freezer. She followed Tracer into a walk-in-freezer. (Since when did she blindly follow anyone anywhere?)
Widowmaker refocuses just in time to hear, "-I can't risk you mucking this up again. Sorry, luv." Tracer does not sound the least bit sorry.
Widowmaker takes off tearing between the rows of shelves towards the exit. She's only gotten in a half a dozen strides when Tracer recalls and flies past her backwards in an effortless streak of blue. Tracer covers the room in a split second, stopping just inside the door. She unholsters a pulse pistol and fires at the door's safety release destroying it. She never did have any finesse.
Tracer starts pulling the door closed. Widowmaker drops out of her sprint and fires her grappling hook. The hook neatly embeds itself into the steel door, right as it slams shut. The room plunges into complete darkness.
Widowmaker follows her line until she feels the hook jutting out of the steel. She yanks it out and lets the line reel in. The black of the room rapidly fades as her enhanced eyes adjust. She steps away and turns on her comm.
"Open the door," Widowmaker demands, her voice deceptively flat.
"Hmmm. Let me think about it," Tracer says, "Nah."
"Consider what you are doing-"
"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist. I'll be back before you know it!" Tracer chirps and then ends the call.
Widowmaker redials.
"Tracer."
"Agent Tracer has blocked all calls from Trainee Widowmaker," Athena says formally in her ear.
Widowmaker drops her finger from the comm and clenches her hand into a fist, preparing to drive into the ice-lined walls.
No.
Calm.
She takes a deep and shuttering breath, holds it, and then lets it flow out. She needs to be calm. Widowmaker takes a step back from the door. She needs to prioritize her many, many problems and deal with them accordingly. First, she needs to get out of this freezer. Then later, much later, she will deal with... everything else. She stalks further back into the freezer giving herself distance.
The sniper her rifle, aims, and fires. She shoots three times: once at the door, the wall, and the floor. Each hole is despairingly shallow. The walls of the freezer are easily penetrated; the stone beneath them, not so much.
Widowmaker considers her options. Escaping through the AC unit would only end with the ventilation shaft collapsing at best and her being stuck in a humiliating position at worst. She could try removing the hinges of the door, but it is thick, heavy, and locked. In all likelihood, it would just jam. And then she would have to rely on Tracer's ingenuity. The only option is to go through the door.
Widowmaker carefully reviews her memory of the shop, calculating possible ricochets. She brings the stock to her shoulder, aims, and fires ten times. After the ringing from the last shot fades she walks over and examines her work. She now has a quarter-sized hole in the steel.
She stares at the hole. Useless.
She thumps her head against the door.
Widowmaker lets her bodyweight shift, so she's leaning on her forehead. She expected some sort of punishment for her actions. To have privileges revoked by 76 or solitary confinement or to be put back on dish duty. She had accepted it. But this? To be locked in a meat locker for an unknown amount of time by Tracer of all people. She couldn't even say that this was a punishment. It certainly wasn't protocol. My God, she hopes this isn't protocol. She has no idea what to classify her situation.
Who even cleared this mission? Who on that group of God forsaken imbeciles could have ever thought this was a good idea? Her and Tracer on a stealth mission for crying out loud.
What even is Overwatch?
This would have never happened back at Talon.
Spontaneous Failure - the sudden and complete break down of a system due to accumulated stress
Shoutout to BlueSey17 for translating anything that was longer than three words.
Translations
ma chére - my dear
Shi'ne - die
Pardon - pardon / excuse me
Peut-etre - perhaps
C'est une idiote - She's an idiot
As always, let me know if you spot any mistakes spelling, grammar, translation, or otherwise.
Thank you to everyone who commented. Comments make my day! Seriously you guys have no idea.
FYI both chapter lengths and the update schedule are going to change after this. Chapters are going to be longer so the breaks feel organic. Fall semester of college is starting up and I'm going to have less free time to write/edit/post. I'll be switching to a once every two weeks or once a month update from here out.
/Well, that was all very dramatic. I'd love to hear what you guys thought about that.
Talon lied. Imagine.
Tanaka: I may be a liar, a thief, and a cheat but I have standards.
So the brain washing thing use on Amélie? It work well, really, really well. There's no way that it wasn't perfected before with human trials or used again afterwards.
Program Widow_Maker 3.0 has crashed. Please stand by.
Here bimonthly means once every two months.
So the idea for the meat locker scene came from me asking the question - What is the worst possible situation Widow could get her self into that hasn't been done yet? I hope it was as much fun to read as it was to write./
Edited 3/2/18