Obligatory Chase Scene
[Ten Minutes Past]
A rough half a kilometer away from the Saint Michael Hotel, seven stories above street level, the hazy outlines of six figures can be seen when sunlight hits the rooftops just right.
"We've located the secondary target, ma'am," reports a soldier kneeling on the edge of the building.
The squadron leader walks over to the green outline and takes the binoculars. They fit snuggly against her helmet. The readout being mostly un-obscured despite the helmet's triangular eye lenses. The neighboring rooftop is recolored by hot and cold spots. Most of the tiles are yellow turning orange under the morning sun. Windows, outcroppings, and shadows stay in the blue to green range.
She adjusts the binoculars, zooming in on a blue pocket created by two roofs overlapping, watching as spots of green and yellow become visible. The binoculars suggest that the discolorations might be from a set of pipes under the walls; but a human eye is much better at recognizing shapes and patterns than a computer will ever be. Squadron leader recognizes the color to take the shape of a human silhouette.
"Excellent," she says.
"Alpha reporting," echoes through the cloaked soldiers' comms, "We are in position."
Under her helmet Squadron Leader, code name Silver, smiles. "You are free to engage."
"Roger." With a click, Alpha switches off from the main channel.
She turns to face her group, team Bravo. "All right boys, let's get this show on the road."
Bravo advances on their target with silent precision, forming a wide circle across the roof that is slowly tightening. It's too easy, Silver muses keeping her eyes and rifle locked on the niche, but having their secondary target who's file screamed "armed and dangerous, isolate herself" was too good to pass up.
At five meters, Silver gets a good look at their target. She's a lithe woman, wearing a pink bodysuit with a rifle almost as tall as she is strapped to her back. Their target hasn't noticed her team yet. In fact, it looks like nobody's home.
"Halt," Silver mutters despite her sealed helmet, "Dice, Bing, scan the area again."
Finger resting outside the trigger guard, Silver examines their target through her scope. The blue-skinned woman is propped up in the corner, eyes closed, and is stone still except for an occasional twitch.
She frowns - odd place to take a nap. The target appears to be... daydreaming? In a trance? She mentally shrugs, as long as it's not a trap it's not her problem. She's worked stranger gigs.
"All clear," says Bing echoed by Dice.
"Right," Silver says watching their target's hand spasm, "Hold position at three meters, stunners up."
Ever so carefully, she switches to her sidearm and pulls a black tube similar to a flashlight out of a pocket. She can see their target's eyes moving under her blue lids and her shoulder twitch once, twice. Silver raises her sidearm and the tube, aiming at the target's head. She presses the button. The woman's eyes snap open just in time for them to roll back in her head. Their target goes limp and slumps to the ground.
"Secondary target down," she announces over the main channel. The sound laser worked like a charm, just like the Doc said it would.
"Primary target secured," a strained voice reports, "Retreating. Alpha needs wheels now."
"I copy," comes the reply from the last third of the squad, "Wheels on their way."
Bravo swarms their target, hurriedly working to restrain her. Silver remains at the roof's corner supersizing and grinning. This gig was going flawlessly.
[Present]
"Wait," Sombra glances around, "Where's Wiiiiddddooo-"
The world slows to a crawl as Tracer leaps into action. She's already jumping off the balcony before Sombra can finish her question. She blinks twice straight up, pushes off a decorative outcropping, and pulls herself onto the roof.
"Athena, I need Widow's location now." Tracer is thankful that Athena has enough processing power to keep up with her no matter how sped-up she is. A 2D map appears in the upper left of her goggles.
"Thank you," she mutters sprinting in the direction of Widowmaker's dot. She'll apologize for being short with Athena later. The knot in her gut tells her things are about to get bad. Reaching the edge of the St. Michael Hotel she launches into the air, blinks over the street, and lands on a neighboring building.
Widowmaker up and vanishing during a mission was always a possibility. Everyone knew it; each party had stopped being useful to the other; it was only a matter of time and execution. This flimsy excuse for a mission had turned into a lot of things, but it was also an opportunity for Widow to have a peaceful departure. It was Winston's way of extending the olive branch to another being that had been forced into this war. But Tracer understood that it would be up to her making sure shit didn't hit the fan if Widow wasn't going to play nice.
Widow choosing to go with Reaper of her own free will, while not ideal, was one thing. This was something else.
A steady jog across rooftops interspaced with short jumps covers the half a km in a minute. When Tracer is within throwing distance of Widowmaker's dot she slides to a stop, kicking up gravel and dust. She glances around checking the buildings around her for signs of a battle or near invisible figures. No bullet holes, no blood, no scuff marks, no haze, no nothing. She check's Widowmaker's dot again. It's moved a little bit; it's now more in line with the alleyway. Tracer crouches down and peeks over the edge of the building.
A blocky SUV is idling on the street below. The back doors slam shut before Tracer can get a good look at what was being loaded, but she catches a glimpse of figures in military body armor taking their seats. The SUV takes off like it's got somewhere to be and Widowmaker's dot follows it on the map.
"Rotten fried giblets on a stick!" Tracer shouts and takes off in pursuit.
She sprints down a long roof that covers a row of buildings. Widowmaker's dot turns right onto a backstreet and then left onto another. Tracer's feet slam onto a building the SUV just went around, cutting across it diagonally. The SUV turns onto the main road and joins the flow of traffic. Tracer lets out a few choice words and leaps to the next building. Widowmaker's dot is picking up speed as the SUV overtakes slower drivers.
Think, Tracer, think! She shakes her head while she runs. The sounds of shouting, car horns, and jackhammers are making it really hard to concentrate. Wait. Tracer skids to a stop next to a clothesline and follows the sounds of construction. There, a crane and metal scaffolding not too far in the distance. From her vantage point, she can see traffic from the main road being re-routed around temporary fences and orange barrels.
The bare bones of a plan solidify in her mind, and she's off again. Tracer ducks under a pipe and slides between two AC units. If she can get ahead of the SUV, she might have a chance to cut it off. She jumps across the street and lands on the other side, setting off a flock of pigeons in an explosion of feathers. She slides down a roof and lands on a lower level. Tracer glances at the map to check her progress just in time to see Widowmaker's dot wink out of existence.
"Trainee: Widowmaker location lost," Athena says in her ear followed by a gentle, "Searching."
"Dang it," Tracer growls slowing to a jog.
The Talon cronies probably destroyed Widow's tracker. Tracer has made it to just outside the city park where the traffic is being re-routed to. If she can get eyes on the SUV she can still make this work. Tracer continues to jog along a row of medium height buildings scanning the cars below. The large matte grey SUV sticks out like a sore thumb. It's just turning onto the circle around the park. Perfect. Now she just has to get down there.
Tracer takes advantage of a small apartment complex and drops down from four floors to three. She's coming up along the SUV now. She blinks down onto the roof of a museum and jumps. Wind whistles past her ears while Tracer uses her Accelerator to make minute adjustments honing in onto one car in the river of traffic. She slams onto the hood of the SUV and sticks her landing.
"Got ya!" Tracer announces at the shocked driver's face. Who, in response to the world famous-heroine falling out of the sky, slams on the breaks.
The world slows. Soles of her trainers slide off the hood as the SUV decelerates. The other passengers are thrown forward in their seats, limbs flying. Tracer smiles and simply blinks up and forward. Time snaps back to normal.
Tracer grabs the lip of the SUV's roof, lands in a crouch, and spins around. She flips out her pistol and takes aim at the engine. A quick shot, pew, pew, the car will be grounded and then... she can figure out things from there.
The SUV leaps forward. Tracer is thrown back, firing harmlessly into the air. Worn rubber soles and fingernails are the only things keeping her on the roof now. She's thrown to the left as the SUV makes a sharp turn and then another. She reholsters her pistol in favor of another hand to grab onto the roof racks. The SUV continues to swerve dangerously. The driver apparently prefers running Tracer over to having a nice paint job.
The SUV dips and shakes as it flies over a pothole. Tracer's leg slips off the roof; a few more jerks cause the rest of her body to follow. Tracer is now hugging the SUV's side, firmly gripping the roof rack with both hands, her shoes scrape against paved asphalt, forcing her into a sideways shuffle-jog. The tinted window she's level with rolls down.
The stylized helmet of a Talon agent stares at her. Tracer can see at least two of the soldier's neighbors leaning in to get a better look. Further back, on the floor, she catches a glimpse of a woman in a pink bodysuit, strapped to a stretcher. The Talon grunt in front of her rears back before stabbing the butt of his rifle at her face. Tracer lets go and pushes off the SUV before he can make contact.
Tracer has the presence of mind to eke out a half blink to slow her fall before she crashes into the large hedge surrounding the park. The wind is knocked out of her, but the shrubbery absorbs the worst of her fall. Tracer's head snaps up. She watches the SUV cross lanes of traffic and exit the roundabout.
"Shite."
She pulls herself out of the bush and starts off once more. But even as she cuts across the traffic jumping from car roof to car roof it's clear she's lost her advantage. The SUV is steadily putting distance between her, relying on horsepower over subtlety. Tracer vaults over a street vendor's table and stumbles almost missing the SUV's next turn. This road is wider and paved with concrete, the towering buildings of Rome's center are falling away being replaced with more widely spaced manufacturing plants. The knot of dread solidifies in her stomach. If the SUV reaches the freeway, she'll lose it.
Tracer grits her teeth and leans on her connection to the Slipstream for all it's worth, willing her Accelerator to accept the extra energy. She's approaching 70 kmph, 75, 80, 85. The SUV is no longer slipping way away from her. The core of the Accelerator is uncomfortably warm on her chest. Tracer flips out a pistol. The best she can hope for is to blow out a tire or two and go from there.
She's at 90, 95 kmph, her max. She's definitely gaining on the SUV now. Her eyes flicker from her target to the shoulder of the road she's running on, watching for trash and other hazards. Tracer raises her arm, aiming as well as she can at stride. Then the wind's roar changes as the van's passenger window rolls down. A soldier with a large rifle leans out and fires.
Hot beams of pulse chew up the concrete around her feet. Tracer hops to the side but it's too late, the shots have thrown her off rhythm, her speed is plummeting. White, specially designed running shoes slam into the ground. She manages a few more stumbling steps before her toe catches, then she's falling.
Thoughts flicker through her brain like electric shocks. Her Accelerator is too hot. She can't trust it will respond before she hits the ground. She's going too fast; if she recalls now, she'll keep her momentum and fall again. Her best chance is to take the fall, lose momentum, then recall, and hope it erases the worst injuries.
Tracer closes her eyes, preparing to tuck and roll. Oh, this is going to suck.
But before she hits the concrete, even before Tracer starts to descend from her apex, she's stopped by something big and solid wrapping around her waist. Then she's being yanked to the left and lands on something much softer than the concrete.
She takes a moment to just breathe while she lies on the shuttering carpet. She's on the floor of a vehicle, her brain pieces together. Someone matched her speed and grabbed her as she fell. For a bleary moment, she hopes Rein or Winston has come to her rescue. But when she cracks open her eyes she sees Reaper's form closing the van door.
They stare at each other for a second.
"You good?" he finally asks sounding just as unsure of how to handle this situation as Tracer is.
Tracer gives him a thumbs-up before sliding back to the floor deciding that letting her Accelerator cool down is the smartest option.
"That was sick," Sombra calls from the front seat, "Why'd you stay so close though? Your face looks like a tomato."
"Killed...tracker," Tracer manages to gasp out.
"She had to keep eyes on the van," Reaper finishes for her. Tracer nods.
"Did you see Widowmaker?"
"Yeah."
"What did she look like? What was her condition?" Reaper demands.
Tracer grimaces. On the one hand, it is nice to see Reaper intends to keep his word about 'looking after his own.' On the other, it's clear she's not going to get to rest until after show and tell. She sucks in a large breath.
"Strapped to a concussion board-stretcher-thing, out cold," she says in one go.
"Was she injured?"
Tracer shakes her head and shrugs at the same time. "Don't think so. Didn't getta good look. No," she takes a breath, "no blood."
Reaper growls in frustration, from the driver seat Sombra lets out some choice vulgarities as the van and its pursuer merge onto the A-24 freeway.
"What did the snatch point look like? Did you see signs of a struggle? Damage to the crew?"
Tracer lifts herself up on her elbows. "Ah," she scrunches up her face thinking of the untouched rooftops and lack of dead Talon soldiers, "no."
"Fuck, fuck," Sombra says, "They're pulling away. We need to lose some weight. Reaper, dump the computers."
Reaper is silent for a moment before saying, "No."
Sombra whips around, "No? What do you mean no?"
"No," Reaper repeats calmly, "We're missing something."
"This isn't the time to get cold feet because you don't have a plan, Rey-eaps!" Sombra snaps.
"Talon thinks Widow is dead. Anyone with half a brain who saw here would either shoot on site or get out of there and report it. Something's changed. That team took her down fast, clean, with no noise. They were prepared for her."
"Oh, who cares?" Sombra asks, "There's no way that squad is going to be prepared for all three of us. We can all translocate, jump, whatever you call it. We just need to get close enough to the car to do it."
"I am not risking Widowmaker snapping her neck when the SUV rolls over, Sombra," Reaper shoots back smoke briefly rising off his shoulders, "At the first sign of trouble they will dump her. It's not worth the risk."
"Well that's not going to matter if they get away and kill her at another location," Sombra says throwing her hands up in the air.
"Bodies go in body bags," Reaper replies, "Floppy, unconscious targets go on stretchers. They painstakingly took Widow alive. Someone has plans for her."
"Plans to kill her," Sombra mutters.
"We are not rushing in blind," Reaper says firmly, "I am not making the same mistakes this time."
Sombra huffs but seems to lose her edge. "It's going to be a lot harder to get Widow back from wherever they're going," she says watching the SUV pass another car.
"It will be," Reaper says, "but we can handle it." He turns to face Tracer who has gotten her breathing under control for the most part. "We are going to go get Widowmaker. Are you going to help or-"
"Help," Tracer says the moment she knows where Reaper is going.
"Why?" Reaper asks. Sombra has peaked around the driver's seat and is watching her carefully.
Tracer thinks about Widowmaker's dull, emotionless eyes; how the sniper is always alert, never dropping her guard; of the vids Reinhardt showed her of the Lacroixs being a happy couple.
"No one deserves what happened to her."
Reaper grunts and continues, "Then understand you're going to have to do what I say, how I say, when I say it."
"And you keep in mind that I am very good at finding loopholes when I need to," Tracer replies with a devious smile that she hopes reminds Reaper she can make his life Hell if she needs too.
Reaper lets out a single gruff laugh, making Tracer jump, and stretches out a clawed hand towards her.
"Welcome aboard, Shorty."
Tracer takes it, careful to avoid the various sharp points and Reaper helps her to her feet.
Hopefully things in chapter 22 make more sense now.
Not much to say about this chapter. I liked how it turned out for the most part.
Betaed by 2JRC6
Sombra: Welcome to the grey side of morality, we'll get you a T-shirt. Try not to die it looks bad on our reviews.
Thank you to everyone who has commented and followed this story!
Everything is finally coming together now! I'll be taking at least a month's hiatus after this chapter if not two because the next chapters are long and finals.