Name: Unknown. Occupation: Los Muertos Member. Status: Deceased.
Name: Sombra. Occupation: Hacker. Status: Opportunist.
Widowmaker strolls out of the kitchen and into the living room, cutting through multiple holoscreens that fill the air. At the center of her, web Sombra sits curled up on the couch, face pinched in concentration. Her fingers flash through the air while lines of code roll down the screens faster than Widowmaker can track. Widowmaker moves into the corner of Sombra's vision and waits.
Her relationship with Sombra is complex. Widowmaker trusts the hacker about as far as she can throw her, but it was nice having someone around to talk about things other than revenge and combat strategies. Sombra made a distinct effort to interact with Widowmaker, badgering her with questions and jokes, sometimes just to get a rise out of her, and other times Sombra showed she remembered Widowmaker's responses. But, well, Widowmaker was too big of a threat for Sombra not to have a contingency plan for.
Sombra stretches, shaking herself out of her haze. Her eyes flick to the form standing at the end of the couch.
"Araña!" Sombra closes a window and waves her over. "What brings you to my little comer of Overwatch's terrible hideout?"
"A few things," Widowmaker says. Sombra perks up smelling blood in the water. "I have information for sale," Widowmaker continues.
"Now you're speaking my language. But first," Sombra holds up a finger and pulls out a disk. A spherical shield expands from it creating a surveillance-free bubble. "Now, whose information?"
"Overwatch."
"I'm already keeping tabs on them," Sombra says dismissively, "Their security isn't as tight as they think it is. Their AI is a real fighter though, keeps things interesting."
"I suppose you already know about Captain Song."
"Pink Tokki battle mech, rabbit gimmick, decent strategist, face paint," Sombra rattles off characteristics like she's reading from a dossier. "She has a YouTube channel."
"And their new leadership?"
"The ape? He's doing better than I expected at keeping everyone in line, but he thinks too small. I don't need to worry about him."
"I was talking about his advisors." Sombra's laissez-faire posture stutters. "And of course," Widowmaker says examining her fingernails, "you must already know all about the cyborg's new friend and what Torbjörn has been up to."
Sombra gives in, taking a swipe at the shiny bauble Widowmaker is dangling in front of her. "How much do you want?"
"An 'I Owe You' will do for now."
"What level of IOU are we talking?" Sombra asks, "Bronze? Gold? Diamond bedazzled Palladium?"
Widowmaker resists the urge to rub the bridge of her nose, she knows Sombra just made those up.
"I'm going back to Gibraltar," Widowmaker reveals, "in six months to a year I'll be leaving permanently. I need you to keep an ear to the ground in case things go sour before that. And resist the urge to kick the hornet's nest when I'm near it."
"And if the merry band of misfits decide they want you back, do you want me to do something?" Sombra probes.
Overwatch may not care when she up and vanishes one day but if they want her back or dead McCree and Ana will be the first on her trail.
"Just do what you normally do and come up with a plan that's more sophisticated than shooting them in the face," Widowmaker says.
Sombra thinks for a second then nods. "That's fair." Graphs and web charts flicker into existence around her. "Now spill."
Widowmaker was originally assigned to Reaper and Sombra to keep an eye on Talon's latest investments. She never said anything; heavens no, but it wasn't exactly difficult to figure out. It caused some issues.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
She crosses her arms and reports, "Winston is still attempting to lead the group but it appears the younger Amari is acting as his unofficial second-in-command. Dr. Ziegler is also a confidant and seems to have an unusual amount of sway. All outgoing missions continue to focus on improving relationships with Russia, Korea, and generally reducing human/omnic tensions."
Sombra types furiously, bullet point notes appearing around her and new connections springing into existence on a webchart.
"Song has become a semi-permanent feature to the offensive team, which means her mech is available for almost all missions. Her presence suggests Korea has some interest in the group?"
"Probably," Sombra says not really answering her question.
"Zenyatta was at Gibraltar when I left. Omnic, humanoid model, Shambali monk; it appears he's been teaching the cyborg his philosophies."
"Are the Shambali working with them?"
"I don't think so. There hasn't been any attempt at regular communication with the monastery. Zenyatta might be nomadic. Regardless, he seems to have been accepted as an unofficial member."
"Does he float?" Sombra asks.
"Pardon?"
"There are rumors that the Shambali have weird mystical powers," Sombra clarifies pulling up some images, "I've seen a few vids but that doesn't mean anything these days. Can he really float?"
"Yes," Widowmaker confirms.
The omnic floats, his prayer necklace beads float, sometimes they glow, sometimes he glows. Nothing about the omnic makes any sense. How is she supposed to come up with a decent strategy for that?
"Coooool," Sombra says drawing out the word. "He'll be fun to hack."
"Lastly, Torbjörn has located and recovered a Bastion unit."
"A Bastion?" Sombra chokes out. "You're joking. You gotta be joking, right? Tell me you're joking. Mierda, you don't tell jokes."
"No," Widowmaker says sounding tired, "A real, online -albeit covered in shrubbery- Bastion unit. But, it's not being used as target practice. Torbjörn keeps it hidden on private property. The weapons designer has been making parts and smuggling them off base to repair or handicap it. Apparently, it's programming has been corrupted to a certain degree."
Sombra stops swearing and looks at her.
"I overheard him discussing it with Reinhardt," Widowmaker says, "It's reported to have childlike behavior patterns. That's all I know about it. You'll have to forgive me for not learning more, but I have my limits. I'm trusting you to come up with something for it."
"Well, I can't say you don't deliver," Sombra mutters as she finishes typing her last line in all caps. "One Palladium IOU on the books."
Sombra saves the documents and gives Widowmaker her full attention. "So what was that other thing you wanted?" she asks, "Please, don't tell me you also know about an upcoming apocalypses or a gang of super mutants."
"I want to put in an information request," Widowmaker says.
A Cheshire grin slides on to Sombra's face. The screens change with a flash. Purple nails drag through reports on military movements, personal bank accounts, stock numbers, scandals, gambling rings, and social media accounts. Always such the show off.
"So, what do you want to know?" Sombra purrs.
"Everything on Amélie Lacroix."
Sombra stops her flashy display, hands hovering in the air. She looks at Widowmaker, her eyes questioning. Widowmaker stares back, expressionless as always. Sombra nods. She snaps her wrists and the screens change, articles replaced with blocks of text and rifle schematics.
Sombra flicks open a new page and drags it over to Widowmaker before returning to her search.
Widowmaker reads the file. It is a list of ten names. Most she recognizes, a few she does not. Some have dates next to them; others have timers. She memorizes the hit list and begins roughing out plans of attack. Poison for the General, easy enough to make it look like an allergic reaction. Bullet for Miss Propaganda Writer, the death will be cleaner than she deserves. Human Trafficking Ringleader, something special will be needed for him.
"Where is the rest of it?" Widowmaker asks as she finishes mentally sorting through mansion blueprints. She knows what she's paying for. Pulling someone's life story -especially if they are related to Talon or Overwatch- does not come cheap. The hit list should be two to three times longer than it is.
"That's it," Sombra says still working.
Widowmaker glares at her; the barrel of a loaded gun would have looked more friendly in comparison. Sombra glances back and rolls her eyes.
"It's a new thing I'm doing. I call it the 'Save My Life Discount.'" Sombra spreads her arms. "Remember that tiger guy in Nepal? He didn't have any tech I could hack and my camo didn't work because he could smell me or something.
"My gun jammed and he rushed me. I thought, 'This is how I die: mauled by a furry.' Then you put one right between his eyes. Bang!" Sombra mimics shooting a gun. "You saved me from the most embarrassing death ever‒so yeah, you get a discount."
Sombra flashes her a smile and returns to her screens. Widowmaker frowns. Nothing in life is free but she'll accept the apparent gesture of goodwill.
Something in the mass of digital files pings. Everything stops and then the documents vanish, leaving a lavender cube behind. Sombra reaches out and grabs the virtual box. She hands it to Widowmaker. Blue fingers hesitate for a fraction of a second before tapping the surface. Pages and pages of medical procedures, diets, psychological profiling, grades, ballet performances, wedding certificate, business documents, aptitude tests, mission summaries, handler notes, glowing reports, and hundreds of photographs explode into the space around her.
Breathe.
Widowmaker manipulates the pages into chronological order, a timeline of her life from an outsider's perspective. She starts at the end and begins to work backwards.
The first document discusses a few unknown sniper kills that aren't good enough to be hers. The next is a record of messages between Board Directors about the manhunt and Reaper finding 'her' body.
She picks up speed, flipping through the holo-pages faster. Mission reports of her, Reaper, and Sombra. Volskava. Mondatta, her finest kill. Evaluations of her and Reaper's compatibility. The Doom Fist failure. Older missions with Reaper. Her working alone. Assassinations of key ex-Overwatch agents. The collapse of Overwatch. Her final enhancement surgery. Training. Assignments as Team Leader. Approval of her idea for the creation of a self-triggering chemical mine. Missions as Team Sniper. More training. Her first surgery, just twitch muscles and reflex enrichments. Then the documents start jumping, skipping over first weeks then months at a time.
"That's everything my bots found on Talon's encrypted servers. You'll notice there are some gaps," Sombra says apologetically, "Whatever isn't there is are personal notes that were either kept on an isolated drive or physical paper."
Widowmaker stops the slider. The timeline is certainly pretty but it's not getting her anywhere. She focuses the search on medical files. A few thousand results pop up, everything from scratches to bullet wounds. Widowmaker narrows the search by throwing in some keywords and restrictions. She's rewarded with a few hundred results.
Widowmaker huffs in frustration. There's got to be some sort of condensed report somewhere; CEOs don't have time for all this scientific jargon. There's an idea.
She changes her search for documents sent to higher levels. Hundreds of documents come up, mostly emails, but they are all blessedly short with clear subject lines. Now she's getting somewhere. Widowmaker gets rid of everything related to missions or training and keeps the ones related to the keyword 'treatment.'
"Going to warn you," Sombra advises, "some of that stuff is pretty messed up. You don't have to look at it right now. Or ever. I mean you have just as much of a right to know as you do to not to."
Widowmaker pauses. And then opens the email that looks most promising.
To: [Restricted Lvl E] [Restricted Lvl C] [Restricted Lvl C]
From: [Decoded -Dr.O]
Subject: All Enrichments Made to Operative WM
Date: June 24, 2072
Operative IEB0003277 (Widowmaker) Lacroix, Amélie
Physical
Isolated
Systemic
Psychological v
Recommended continue maintenance pattern indefinitely as past subjects have deteriorated if removed. Attempting to integrate vastly dissimilar protocols will have the same effect.
Current v
Current Maintenance Version 02 [15/11/73]
Previous Maintenance Routine [15/05/73]
Updates v
Blinders Reinstated [Indefinite-15/09/72]
Blinders [Terminated -15/12/71]
Execution Reward Subroutine [Indefinite – 01/08/71]
Hypothalamus Moderation [Completed – 28/10/71]
Blinders [Commenced 20/04/71]
White Coat Protocol [Indefinite – 20/04/71]
Amygdala Rewrite, Alexithymia Pattern [Indefinite – 15/03/71]
Re-Education Phase II [Completed – 10/02/70]
Base v
Re-Education Base [Completed – 01/11/70]
Pavlov Subroutine [Indefinite – 01/05/70]
Trapdoor Loop [Completed -01/12/70]
Date last accessed: 27/03/75
NP: Quizá esto sera útil. Investiga más a fondo.
Well. That's a lot to process.
Widowmaker glances down at her hands. The digits are rock steady. That's good? Maybe? She returns to the document. This is what she was looking for. She wanted to know what her bimonthly 'treatment' entailed. It looks like she's been switched over to a maintenance pattern for the past few years, if this is correct.
The implications of re-education are disquieting but she suspected something like that would be there. The other programs will require more digging and probably several English-to-French and Medical dictionaries.
She reaches to close the document but she's drawn back to the list of programs. Trapdoor Loop. Odd name for something, but it sounds familiar. She thinks she knows it. Trapdoor. Something itches insider her brain. She tries to tease the memory out. It feels like there are thousands of tiny spiders crawling under her skin. She should know it.
Metal under her palms slick with sweat. Talon could not be resisted. Her legs numb from the days of sitting in the same chair. Talon could not be fought. Where was Overwatch? Where was Gérard? Talon will prevail.
Amélie's hand clamps onto Sombra's neck, her grip strengthened by countless hours of target practice. The screens she lunged through make a kaleidoscope pattern in Sombra's eyes. "Vous étiez au courant," Amélie growls.
"¡Ah! ¡Azul se calma!"
There's a flash and Sombra dissolves out of her hand, translocating to the other side of the room and the edge of the bubble.
"Widow, chill," Sombra commands. Her hands come up empty, the machine pistol staying holstered. Amélie responds by keeping her distance.
"You knew," Amélie repeats, forcing the words around clenched teeth, her accent further distorting the phrase. "Years, you knew and you did not do a single thing."
Sombra stares at her, hard and serious, the joking demeanor abandoned.
"Yeah, I knew once upon a time you were a less than a willing accomplice. But look me in the eye and tell me it would have made a lick of difference. You loved being Talon's lap dog, their prized science project. If I had shown this to whatever remained of Amélie Lacroix a day before they gave the kill order, you would have turned over my body to the Directors.
You loved the killing. You loved the attention. You loved being Widowmaker. Tell me I'm wrong, friend." Violet eyes burn into her.
She can't. She can't tell Sombra that she's wrong. That she would have abandoned her life over several hundred gigabytes of information. Ice water floods Amélie's body, extinguishing her rage. She crosses her arms and turns away. Screens float around her, re-centering on her face.
Behind her, Sombra rubs at her neck before starting again, "Look: the world is a terrible, cruel, uncaring place. If you want to have any sort of power, you gotta be willing to step on others. It wasn't anything personal. I was just looking out for priority number one," Sombra's tone softens, "You understand that."
Amélie untucks her hand and examines it. Her lilac-blue skin tone shifts to a deep purple around her fingertips. If spreads her digits she can still pick out her veins below the surface. Pianist fingers, she was often told. Having slender extremities helped continue the illusion that a dancer was weightless in the air. Now her hands are also adorned with marks and calluses from years of handling her rifle.
She understands perfectly.
"C'est la vie," Amélie whispers.
"Ah, you want to repeat that?" Sombra asks cautiously.
"I would not have killed you," Amélie motions to the virtual cube of data, "if you had given this to me earlier."
"Glad to see my charm and good looks are finally doing something for me. What would have you done instead?"
Amélie shrugs. "Told you to go dark for a while, then reported a security breach."
Talon knew the risks of bringing Sombra onboard. There would have been protocols for that type of situation. On the other side, Sombra knew how to play with fire without getting burned. She could handle the fallout if she was tipped off.
Sombra cocks her head to the side, trying to get a read on her honesty. "Widow, I'm touched." She places a hand over her heart.
Amélie rolls her eyes and drops her arms.
"Just keeping the scales balanced, ombre." Amélie turns around so she can face Sombra more fully. "You're too useful to for me to let you die that easily. Nothing personal, remember?"
Sombra expression flickers, but she agrees, "Nothing personal."
Amélie returns to looking at, but not really seeing, her cubistesque search results. She's going to need a bottle of 2010 Caber by the end of today, isn't she. Taking her lack of movement to mean she is safe, Sombra starts moving toward the couch. A tagged document floats up into Amélie's vision. It's an Overwatch official mandate caught in the search but it's been signed off by Dr. Winston and is only a few days old. Her name is on it and so is Tracer's.
Amélie skims the mandate and then goes over it twice more, triple checking that she's reading it correctly.
This -she thinks tapping her chin- is very interesting and not related to Talon or Sombra or 'treatments' at all. Obviously, the rest of her medical documents should be pursued at a later time. And the confrontation that is surely to come from investigating this will be a nice break.
"Thank you for the information Sombra," Amélie says manipulating the cube so the files fly back into it. She twists the box and it vanishes.
"Ey, you're welcome. Only the best for people who don't strangle me," Sombra says, reaching for the projection disk. "It's already locked under your genetic signature so I'll just transfer it to your ghost account."
Amélie nods and walks off, the anti-surveillance shield fading around her.
"You know I charge for that service right?" Sombra calls after her.
Amélie gives her a little wave as she crosses into the bedroom. Time to have a chat with her favorite little annoyance.
Betaed by Dot, Misty, 2JRC6
Translations
Quizá esto sera útil. Top of Form
Investiga más a fondo. – (Spanish) Might be useful. Investigate further.
vous étiez au courant - ( French) You knew.
Azul, calmas – (Spanish) Blue, calm down!
C'est la vie – (French) that is life
Ombre – (French) shadow
AN
/Good News - The Betas really liked this chapter.
Bad News - Posting schedule update – With my current schedule I can only get up 2-3 chapters and then have to take a month off. This will be the new pattern until further notice. Since the Fall Semester is starting there will be no update for September.
Neutral News - Even though Sass is already tagged as such I'm officially declaring this story an AU. The rest of the story hinges heavily on headcanons and filling in lore gaps. Which means most likely at some point in the future a lot of things will be canon divergent. As a reader if you've reached this point you probably don't care but now you've been officially warned./
Talon Executive: We are aware Reaper and Sombra can be... difficult to work with for an extended periods of time. Can you stand being in this position for the foreseeable future?
- Flashback-
Reaper: I brought you back this cool gun from my mission. Sorry about the blood.
Sombra: I hope you're not doing anything for the next two hours Arana! I found a braiding channel on the net. I can make it look like a face or a rose is coming out of the back of your head. Your choice!
-End-
Widow: I can handle it.
Sombra's Stats
Gumption – 8
Chutzpah – 9 (5 +2 invisibility bonus +2 translocater bonus)
Moxy – 8
Childlike Wonder – 4
Cut of Her Gib – 6
A Certain Je Ne Sais Quoi – 6