Pharah

She could see precisely why the amazing doctor had chosen to assist in such a war-torn country. Iraq was almost in shambles compared to Egypt. The moment Fareeha stepped out of the arranged, dedicated aircraft, she could practically feel how brutally compromised the terrain and, in effect, the people were thanks to the first Omnic Crisis. So many years had passed, yet little had changed. This poor country wasn't equipped whatsoever to contend with the God Program on top of its unstable presence within the world as a whole.

'Will you be alright from here on out, Ms. Amari?' The pilot was standing next to her, evidently as shocked by the state of the city as his passenger.

'Yes. I'll be fine. Thank-you.' Fareeha pulled at her suitcase, belying her slight hesitation. According to her mission, her objective was in a secluded hospital in the outskirts of Baghdad. Its existence was supposed to be something of a mystery, and Fareeha could only imagine why.

'Well, I'll be off for now, then. Contact me when you're ready. If I don't hear from you, the specified rendezvous point and time will be as stated prior.'

'Affirmative.'

'Be careful. Our resources and contacts got us in easily enough, but this is one of the most dangerous countries in the world right now. ISIS is bad enough, but if Talon is lurking around too, things can get messy real quick.'

Fareeha glanced at the man, his messy facial hair irritating her for some reason. He sounded like a coward as well. Perhaps the notion was what truly pinched at her nerves.

'That's where my training comes in, right?'

'All the training on the planet can't beat numbers, I'm afraid. Your mother was the best shot in the world, and…'

'Excuse me?' Fareeha's sharp eyes flashed, her patience shattered in one fell swoop.

The pilot knew his error immediately, and he stammered out an apology, scratching the back of his neck.

'I-I'm sorry. That was uncalled for.'

'It was.' The curt Egyptian agreed, pushing forward in an attempt to still the anger boiling in her gut.

'Good luck.' The man endeavoured to soften the edge in the conversation, but Fareeha was already forgetting about him. She didn't even recall his name. Too many details in such a little amount of time.

"Fareeha Amari?"

The voice hit something in her memory banks. She could never have placed it exactly, but she knew the sound somehow.

'Who is this?'

"Oh, my. You do sound similar to her."

'Is this a prank?'

"No! No. Not at all. Are you alone?"

'That isn't any of your business.'

"Hm! Cautious. Very good."

'I'm hanging up now. I'm also reporting this number.'

"Wait! It's Winston!"

She knew the name, and in that moment, the connections were made. Her childhood erupted. The old idolization burst into her chest and her eyes burned with emotions she actively worked to keep in check at all times.

'Winston…? The Winston? How…? But why…?'

"Heheh. You're Ana's daughter, aren't you?"

'…Yes.'

"That's partially why. The other parts are your location and your admirable credentials. Any relative of Ana is an individual I know I can trust."

It was flattering despite her neck feeling as though it was being throttled. Mention of her mother always made Fareeha bitter. It was so difficult to control even after so much time had passed.

'Why did you call me?' Fareeha could only ask, staring out her tiny apartment's window into the darkness of her fair city. She could see her reflection. Her raven hair was damp with sweat from work still, and her dark skin gleamed with a shimmer of moisture. The tattoo around her right eye seemed more prominent, and her strong gaze was blurring for some reason.

"Because I can hesitate no longer. I am recalling Overwatch, and I need your help to assemble its key members once again."

'You…want me to join Overwatch?'

"If you would be willing, yes. You would be an undeniable asset, I am sure."

Fareeha knelt down, her black tank top riding up her back and her tight shorts stretching over her muscular legs. At thirty-two she had given up on her dreams. So, why now? Why when she thought she had buried the hatchet? The emotions swirling through her hardened mind were overwhelming her. All she knew was that her answer was simple enough for now. The if, when, how, why, where, who, and what of it all could wait. Uncharacteristically, Fareeha threw caution to the wind.

'What do you need me to do, Winston?'

As Fareeha moved through Baghdad, the rashness of her decision continued to sink in. She checked her phone, thanking the Gods that there was some form of reception, if shaky at its very best. She reviewed the details of her mission, and easily circumnavigated the map provided. As someone who had trained rigorously in the army, this was all simple enough to work with.

She was an Overwatch agent now. Winston had given her all the risks and she accepted the terms regardless. Her first mission was paramount to Overwatch's success. She felt the burden of everything at once. Fareeha's broad shoulders buckled, but her resolve wouldn't be shaken.

'Spare some change? Just a tiny bit. Enough for a drink.' A man asked in his native tongue. Fareeha could assume what he wanted, but she had no choice but to ignore his begging. She couldn't draw attention to herself, and she didn't have enough for all the others that lurked every which way. Her heart broke, but she had been trained to mitigate the damage enough to maintain functionality.

The buildings became more decrepit as she neared the location dictated in her instructions. More homeless and beggars. More families huddled together in a bundle. More scrap metal and remains of omnics. A forgotten piece of the city. The country. The world.

Fareeha bit at the inside of her mouth and blinked for a second longer than necessary. This was more difficult than she imagined. Still so soft. Too soft. Her mother would have never been so affected on a mission.

The hospital came into sight. At least, Fareeha assumed it was the "hospital". In truth, it was just a building that was slightly less destroyed than the others. Nonetheless, the volume of people had increased exponentially, and when a man rushed past Fareeha with a body in tow, the newest member of Overwatch knew she was in the right place. Considering the number of individuals present, however, the level of noise was minor, only hushed whispering occurring, flexing briefly when Fareeha stepped up to the building. Two somewhat larger men stared her down, both of them equipped with guns and a dirty, powerful scowl that would frighten most.

Fareeha wasn't like most.

'I'm here to see the doctor.'

The larger and hairier of the two men nodded at Fareeha's suitcase.

'Full check.' He stated quite clearly.

Fareeha released her baggage and passed the men her own handgun that she carried at her side before lifting her arms. Both guards went to work, seeming thankful that she was being so co-operative. They were very thorough; uncomfortably so. She understood their purpose, but her body couldn't help but tense up.

'Clear.'

'Dr. Ziegler is very busy. Urgent?'

'No. I just need to speak with her.'

Fareeha waited for the men to converse silently, finally the bigger of the two nodding inside for Fareeha to follow. She had to leave her suitcase and gun with her guide.

The smell was the first thing Fareeha noticed. Anesthetics were the primary powerful scent, but something far more foul was mixed in with the medicinal treatment taking place. It was the inevitable odour of injury. Fareeha thought she knew it well, but this was on another level. The guard was used to it. His nose had grown accustomed to the decay.

Passing through sheets of privacy and beds upon beds of the injured, Fareeha tried to stay out of the way, noting the way the doctors and nurses scrambled with an unparalleled sense of purpose. It wasn't quite chaotic, but it was no first-world medical facility either.

Fareeha could hear her before she saw her. A thick, swiss accent was speaking softly, soothing a patient, perhaps. The guard looked back to Fareeha, his eyes saying everything he wanted to relay. They were desperate but lethal. If Fareeha showed even a hint of threatening action, he wouldn't waste a second killing her.

'Our angel.' He stated quite clearly, and he pulled the curtain to reveal the nanobiologist, world-famous, genius doctor and surgeon, Angela Ziegler, known as Mercy when she was part of Overwatch. Fareeha had seen pictures, and even had vague memories from her past, but those were both romanticized, heavily edited presentations of the woman. What Fareeha saw now was the truth about the doctor.

Angela's blonde hair was matted and stuck to her perspiring face. Blotches padded out her thinning cheeks, and her lab coat was tearing in various places. She was a mess. She was drained. She was obviously not eating properly. But her eyes were pure and powerful as she stitched up an enormous gash across a little girl's leg. Her voice continued to whisper, almost humming, and despite Angela's state, Fareeha couldn't deny the thought that passed through her mind without a singular filter:

This woman was stunning in every imaginable way.

Fareeha was not a small individual, but she felt like a dwarf in comparison. Here she was, on a seemingly selfish mission with only her own excitement and pride to fulfill her, standing before a prodigy who could have it all, but chose to be in one of the most dangerous and trying countries the world's circumstances could create in order to serve those who couldn't help themselves anymore.

It felt like seconds went by as Fareeha observed Angela work, but almost an hour passed before the doctor finally looked up from her patient, wiping more sweat from her brow and shushing the small girl to rest.

'Ana?' The woman cocked her head, but then breathed out, standing and approaching Fareeha. 'No. Of course not. You're…Fareeha?'

'Y-yes.' Fareeha stammered, her knees weak. She was a full four inches taller than the doctor, but it was as though she were a child again. Fareeha rarely felt intimidated, but this was becoming more of a rare occasion by the minute.

Angela's face hardened, and she looked to the guard before addressing her fellow doctors, nurses, and surgeons.

'Give us a moment. I won't be long.' She stated clearly, and Fareeha had a sinking feeling she was quite right.