Tracer's brain scan did not answer any questions, but it rather posed new ones. Indeed, to Mercy and the neurologists she had look at the data, the activity in Lena's brain did not remotely match what they would expect from a dementia patient or an amnesiac. In fact, activity seemed increased beyond what was normal and it forced a shrug on the doctors' shoulders.
But there was one specialist, called in more for her overall intelligence than for her particular field of study, that seemed to have a plausible theory.
Indeed, Mercy never liked Overwatch geneticist Dr. Moira O'Deorain, but, desperate to help Lena, she handed the doctor several hours of footage recorded from Lena's interviews and sessions, as well as her brain scans and test results and asked her if she had any ideas at all.
And the only thing Dr. O'Deorain liked more than a fascinating case study was a challenge, so after reviewing the footage and brushing up on her knowledge of space and time, she came to Mercy with a rather outlandish albeit fascinating idea.
"It seems so obvious," she started, Mercy huffing in annoyance and Winston tapping his foot impatiently beside her, "I mean, here you are looking for existing medical explanations for a completely new condition! I thought better of you, Doctor."
"Pardon me, Dr. O'Deorain, but can we... get on with it?" Winston said, for though he hardly knew the geneticist Mercy had warned him of her snobbishness.
"You know," said Moira, "the subject—"
"Please don't call her that," Mercy muttered.
"Apologies. The patient," Moira continued, "She suffers from delusions, confusion, short-term and long-term forgetfulness, temporary memory loss."
"Yes," said Mercy, "Some psychiatrists have diagnosed her with schizophrenia, but others insist that she suffers from some form of dementia."
"How silly!" said Moira, "I don't think she is delusional at all."
"Of course she is," said Mercy, "Did you watch the footage? She will suddenly ramble about hackers and reapers, and she looks at me like I should know what she's talking about. Minutes later she cannot explain any of it."
"Listen to me, Dr. Ziegler," said Moira, "It will all make sense in a moment. I don't think that she has dementia. In fact, I don't think she is suffering from any memory loss at all."
Mercy opened her mouth to argue, but Moira shushed her.
"The problem with you is that you are looking at the girl like a patient, not like the result of a science experiment. Putting her condition into the context of what happened to her, plus examining those behaviors in your footage that are inconsistent with her psychological diagnoses, I have been led to believe that she is not experiencing her reported symptoms because of memory loss, but because she remembers too much."
Mercy and Winston stared at her dumbly, as though expecting more.
"She was lost in time," Moira explained, sighing in exasperation. "What is memory but the way that humans interpret the past? This girl, the subject. The patient. I believe what you and Dr. Winston describe as 'delusions' are simply memories. Memories of things far in her past. And things that have not happened yet."
"So you think…" Winston started.
"...You think Lena is telling the future?" Mercy finished.
"Precisely!" said Moira, "But perhaps she doesn't know it. Who knows how that could affect the mind?"
"It…" Mercy sighed, "Look, Dr. O'Deorain. Sometimes when I speak to Lena, or when I look into her eyes, it seems to me that we are missing a piece of a puzzle, a piece that she has but we cannot see. It's certainly drifted into my mind that she'd developed some sort of precognition, but I never could invent a theory around it, not without more evidence or conducting experiments. But what you've said—I do think it makes sense."
"Excellent." Moira smirked proudly, "So, when may I speak to her?"
"Speak to who?" Mercy asked.
"The sub— the patient. Lena."
Mercy blinked, "I'm sorry, Doctor. I really don't think that would be a good idea. She's in a fragile state and you can be…"
"Cold." Winston finished.
"Doctors, of all of us here I may be the first one to actually be able to understand what is going on inside that girl's mind. It is only fair that you give me a chance."
Winston and Angela glanced at each other, and Mercy bit her lip in thought before reluctantly uttering the word: "Fine."
So, three days later when Lena to Angela seemed stable and in good spirits, the scientists invited Dr. O'Deorain to come and speak with her.
"Lena," Mercy started as she entered Tracer's chamber with Moira in tow, "I want you to meet a colleague of mine. This is—"
"—Dr. O'Deorain," Tracer finished, automatically, perhaps unconsciously.
Moira cocked her head to one side, "Have we met, Miss Oxton?"
Tracer looked at her dazedly for a moment, then shrugged.
"Lena, Dr. O'Deorain is just going to ask you some questions," said Mercy
"Yeah." Tracer smiled lightly, "All the docs you got coming in 'n out, I know the drill."
"Actually, Dr. Ziegler," said Moira with a huff, "Could you leave us?"
Mercy bit her lip, "Oh, I don't think—"
"Doctor, I cannot possibly work with you hovering."
Mercy sighed, "Is that alright, Lena? If I step out?"
Tracer regarded Moira for a moment, filled with unexplained dread. And yet she knew that it was unexplainable, so she said: "I'll be fine, Ange."
Mercy clocked the unfamiliar nickname again—if Moira's theory was correct, could this mean the two would one day grow to be close friends? "I'll be right outside, watching with Winston on the monitors."
After some hesitation, she backed out of the chamber, leaving Tracer alone with Moira.
"Remarkable," said the geneticist, "Miss Oxton, is it often that you guess names correctly?"
Tracer shrugged again, the inexplicable distrust she felt only growing.
"These doctors all think you are sick," said Moira, "But I think you are a scientific marvel. Why don't you tell me what happened on that flight?"
"Can't," said Tracer.
"Why not?"
"Can't remember."
"See," said Moira, "I think you can remember. I think you can remember a lot of things,"
"No, I've already tried with Mercy and Winston," said Tracer, "My memory's shot. My brain doesn't work right anymore."
"What happens when you try to remember?"
"Remember what?" Tracer asked.
"The flight. Anything."
"It's confusing. My head hurts. Frustrating."
"Why is it frustrating?" Moira asked.
"It's like, it's there. On the tip of my tongue. But I can't catch it. It's there somewhere. Like when you know the word you are thinking of, but you can't remember it? Or like when you forget a dream."
"So you don't remember what you did yesterday?"
"I think I do," said Tracer, "Somewhere. I sometimes remember stuff, but I don't know when I'm remembering from. Or if it's real. Does that make sense?"
"Do you remember the beginning of this conversation?"
Tracer shrugged.
"Miss Oxton," said Moira, "Does it surprise you when they tell you that you are only nineteen?"
"A little," said Lena.
"Why?"
"'Cause there's too much in my head, I guess."
"Lena," said Moira, "can you remember the day you were born?"
"What?" said Tracer, "Of course not. No one can."
"I think you can," Moira pressed.
Tracer felt anxiety rise in her chest, but she still wasn't sure why, "No. Doc, that's impossible."
"Don't you remember sliding out of a dark, wet tunnel and seeing the world for the first time? Do you remember your own wailing?"
"It wasn't like that," Tracer said quickly, hand reaching for her collarbone, "I couldn't breath. Something was around my neck."
"So you do remember,"
"No," said Tracer, "I must be remembering something else. I don't know. I…"
"Look at me, Miss Oxton. Tell me, can you remember what happens tomorrow?"
"What?" said Tracer, feeling flushed and nauseous.
"Come on, Lena. You can remember the future, can't you? That's how you knew my name."
Tracer shook her head frantically, "No. Angie must have told me. Or Winston."
"Why do you call her Angie, Lena? You haven't known her that long."
"We're friends."
"Can you remember tomorrow, Lena? Can you remember ten years from now? Can you remember the day you die?"
Tracer covered her ears at this point, shutting her eyes and stumbling backwards, "Stop it. I can't, I can't…"
"We are just trying to help," said Moira, "But we need to understand what's going on inside your mind. What do you remember, Lena?"
Tracer breathed in deep gasps, tears threatening to spill from her eyes, "I don't know. It's like everything is happening right now. I can't tell what's real, I think I make things up sometimes. I have these memories, but I can't put them in order. I can't tell if things are happening or if I'm remembering 'em. I'm sorry, Doc. I wish I could help ya out. I can't tell you what's gonna happen tomorrow. I can't tell tomorrow from yesterday."
"Fascinating," said Moira, "So has this happened before?"
"Has it?" said Tracer, "I'm sorry. I repeat myself a lot. I get so confused. I remember doing things I never did and forget I said stuff I already said. At least that's what Dr. Ziegler tells me. I think I'm losing my mind."
"No, Lena!" Moira strode uncomfortably close and bent down to look directly into Lena's eyes, "Your mind is the most amazing part of this puzzle. I would love to bring you to my lab one day once you are out of here. Do tests…"
Lena flinched away from the scientist, "Get away from me." Tracer scurried as far from Moira as the chamber would allow, "You're a…— You're a monster."
"Miss Oxton, it's me. It's Dr. O'Deorain with Overwatch."
"I know who you are," said Lena, "I've seen what you've done. The tech you've stolen. What you did to Am—"
"Lena," said Dr. O'Deorain, "You're confused."
Even Moira was beginning to grow uncomfortable with the situation when Mercy burst through the door, "That's enough."
"I don't know what happened," said Moira, "But I think my theory is right."
"Lena." Mercy ignored the geneticist, "Hey, I know she's a bit of a witch, but Dr. O'Deorain won't hurt you,"
"Yes, she will," said Lena, watching her own fingers tremble.
"Is that something you remember?" There was a delicate hesitancy in her voice.
"Is what something I remember?"
Mercy let out another breath, "Lena, relax for a moment. Look at the clock. I'm going to speak with Dr. O'Deorain in the next room."
And that she did, and as soon as the door shut Moira spoke like it physically pained her not to do so, "Well I don't know what the girl is talking about. My methods aren't as wholesome as yours but I certainly wouldn't harm a human subject. On purpose."
"Clearly what she relays to us aren't so much predictions as confused flashes. Memories, as you put it. Biased, perhaps more emotional than factual." The gears in Mercy's mind picked up speed, "I wouldn't put too much stock in it."
"We can't put too much stock in it," said Winston, approaching the women, "Any, actually. If Dr. O'Deorain is correct and she has memories of the future, we must take care not to heed any warnings she may have for us. This is all theoretical, of course, but we don't want to mess with our own timeline."
"Dr. O'Deorain," said Mercy, "Do you think…?"
"Do not worry, Angela," said Moira, "I will keep this a secret from Jack and the rest of Overwatch."
"Thank you," said Mercy, "Who knows what they might try to do with that sort of power? Just for now, of course. Until we can understand her more."
"You have my word," said Moira, "Corporate noses in Miss Oxton's business will only make it harder for us to make fascinating scientific advancements regarding her condition. I will be on the base, Dr. Ziegler. Please give me a ring the next time you are in need of any assistance with your… patient."
And with that Moira left, Mercy feeling stressfully like she was now somehow in the geneticist's debt.
