MV Istanbul
Tracer stirred, as her body begun to regain some feeling. She instantly regretted having it back, as every part lit up with pain as though it were on fire. She'd been given a biotic shot: not strong enough to fix her, but enough to ensure she didn't die. The ends of broken ribs grated against each other as the various broken bones dug into the tissue surrounding them. She cried out in pain, only managing a stifled whimper owing to the blood in her throat. She also became aware of a cool presence embracing her.
"Stay still, chérie. Ce cera bien."
Tracer tried to speak, barely managing a whisper. "H...how long...was I ou..t?"
"Hours. I think."
"Wh...What happ...happened?"
"They took you out. Maybe five minutes. Then they dropped you back here."
Tracer was obviously in no state for coherent speech. Concussion seemed likely. Hopefully, it was just that rather than something worse. There was only hoping now.
"Shh... Coucher, chérie."
As she knelt up, Widowmaker heard the familiar clunk of boots up the hallway. She grimaced, praying that they'd target her rather than Tracer. Sure enough, she was their intended questionee this time.
"You pair of dim-witted fucks think you can run rings around us. You think we don't know what you're trying to do." With that, her interrogator hit her in the back. She realised that it was not simply a plank of wood, but one with nails, barbs and all other shrapnel embedded. She cried out in agony. Of all the times for me to regain emotion...
Another blow landed. A snap signified that her arm was now broken in yet another place, causing another howl of pain. The smile on her interrogator's face made it very clear as to how sadistic these creeps were. They loved bringing pain and suffering to others. A hit fell on her chest. A barb caught on a damaged rib as it exited. Her attacker twisted it around, pulling on the weapon for maximum effect. Widowmaker couldn't remember ever being in as much pain. Not even during the attacks that made her into who she was now. The pain was brought to an end somewhat swiftly, with a rifle to the side of the temple. As she lost consciousness, something caught her eye. The arm of one of her aggravators. Cette emblème... il ne peut pas étre! The black enveloped her as she felt two sets of hands grab hold of her.
She awoke in the cell. A pool of blood had appeared around her, but nothing serious. At least Tracer seemed a little more alert and conscious now. She'd sat herself up against the wall next to the door, awaiting Widowmaker's return.
By this point in time, neither's clothes matched their signature style any more: Tracer had only been wearing a pair of leggings and a t-shirt when she had been attacked, both of which were that coated in blood, mud, oil, bodily fluids of all kinds and god-only-knows what else was coating the floor of the cell. Her shirt was torn, as were her leggings; Widowmaker wasn't fairing much better, as her bodysuit was torn to the point that it was barely identifiable.
Neither of them were in good shape either. Broken bones, numerous head injuries inflicting concussions of various severity, bleeding from so many lacerations that it seemed there were more injuries than skin left.
"I've got some news for you, you may or may not like it. I think this shit's getting infected." Tracer held up her bloodied arm. Even in the dim yellow hue of the lamp above the door, it did look off-colour.
"I've better news pour vous."
Tracer raised an eyebrow, wincing as that action hurt to perform as much as any. "Hm?"
"Looks like I may not be putting any bullets in you after this. Ever."
"Eh?"
"Ces salaudes, I believe I found something new about them. One was wearing an emblem, I barely saw it before I blacked out..."
"Go on."
Widowmaker took a breath, almost shuddering from the thought: the bastards had broken her and twisted her to fulfill their evil desires. And now, they had tried to clean house. Her included.
"The patch... was Talon. Les fils de putes. They've crossed a line. They've crossed me. So, it looks like we might be on the same side now."
Even despite the circumstances they were in, the agony of their injuries, the anxiety of not knowing what lay in store, Tracer's face lit up somewhat.
"Really?"
"Tellement." She crawled across to Tracer, ignoring the grating of various bones in the process, before hugging her. And then realising that both had bones in those parts of the body which were broken beyond belief. As the pair winced, muffled noises echoed above them. The pair froze.
"Is that-?"
As Tracer begun to utter the question, all hell broke loose as various alarms sounded. The door swung open, and a small group of guards descended on them, dragging them from the cell.
The gunfire was clearer, and closing every second. The guards threw the pair down a flight of stairs, scooping them up as they moved deeper into the hull before reaching a hatch.
"Everything set?"
"Yessir."
"Good. Do it."
As the hatch swung open, the pair felt a slight pricking in their necks as a pair of hypodermic syringes injected an anaesthetic into them, subduing them. As blackness engulfed them, they caught the details of what appeared to be...
A... submarine? Surely... no...
AUTHOR ENDNOTE
I'm acutely aware that these chapters are getting ever-shorter. It's intentional and yet unintentional: the shorter chapters help build a little bit more of the suspense and so on. At the same time it's because I'm running out of ideas as I write each chapter because none of the content is pre-planned, it's mostly ad-lib writing.
Hopefully you all have patience with it and enjoy it equally.
