Author's note:

Apologies for the slowprogress with updating and continuing the story. Far from abandoning this, I'm on an island in Scotland with no data connection and a Wi-Fi setup that would make it faster for me to walk back to my home about 2 hours away. That may be a *minor* exaggeration.

6: Operation Slaughterhouse

Six Years Earlier...

Mogadishu, Somalia.

"Omega, you got tabs on our arses yet or do I have to put a neon bullseye on my back?", laughed Mann. Or as everyone called him, Twentymen. Mainly because of his brash behaviour when he was fuelled by a pint or three. He allowed himself a brief laugh at this quip. Scanning out from his position on the roof of a bombed-out factory, he had a perfect line-of-sight into where the Talon head- shed was due to show up.

His mind flicked back a few days. The team had only arrived in Somalia a day or two earlier, acting on hot Intel. The senior Talon field commander, J'lhara, is coming to survey his handiwork, they'd been told in the briefing, and if we can bag him then we might be one step closer to bringing Talon down once and for all.He'd stretched his legs after that briefing, along with a few other team-mates. the forward UN camp was a hive of activity, with ships of all types heading downtown to get aid to the civilians who needed it. There was a large presence of military force here as well. Most of the TRFs he recognised, but one stood out: a circle, pierced by a robotic snout , looking almost like some kind of Wild Western bull.

They're Blackwatch, Commander Johnas had told them when they had asked about it, and from what I've heard, they're some real mean S.O.Bs too. And on better than Government pay.

Funny how job-hunting worked these days: most people in the service had a tendency to rate other jobs using the government pay for theirs as a benchmark to compare others to.

"Omega? Omega, stop daydreaming for fuck's sake," his earpiece crackled into life again. "I'm here, Twenty. And I couldn't miss your fat arse if I was blind."

He heard some indistinctive muttering on the other end of the line. Probably swearing. lots and lots of swearing. that brought a smile to his face.

"You two, start acting like Government property. We've got movement here. It looks like our man", Omega knew that voice instantly. Even in the middle of a warzone- with the ambient noise of constant gunfire and distant explosions of improvised explosives and suchlike- her voice was angelic.

"Roger, Swan. I've got eyes on the target vehicle now."

He'd met Grace about a year ago. Quite quickly, they'd become close. Closer to anyone than he'd ever been before. At least as long as he could remember. She was about the same height as him, if an inch or two taller, with auburn hair that came down to her shoulders when it wasn't tied in a single, neat ponytail behind her head. He smiled as he remembered how she'd berated him for stating that she was a brunette. Holy mother of May, that was funny. Her behaviour in battle was something, too: hence how she had earned the callsign of 'Swan'. Even in the midst of a hail of lead, she moved like a ballerina. A ballerina with a pair of machine-pistols.

He knelt down and scanned the meeting area with his rifle.

"Looks like our man all right." He frowned. Something isn't right. For a high-ranking commander this guy has next to no security. It's too convenient: why would he expose himself like this when he knows everyone wants his head?

As he pondered this, a high-pitched whizzing pierced the silence of his thoughts. He dived for cover as an RPG slammed into the corner of the building he had been on not seconds earlier. All at once, hell on Earth broke loose. Streams of lead started pouring from every window and doorway.

SHIT! I KNEW IT!

"ALL CALLSIGNS REPORT, I SAY AGAIN ALL CALLSIGNS REPORT!"

"Twenty's KIA!"

"Six here- I'm hit but I'm still combat-effective"

"Swan? Swan!"

The staccato of rifle fire continued.

"Swan here. I'm alright, but I'm in a right spot. Can someo-"

An explosion in the background cut her short. Static took the place of her voice.

Omega's blood ran cold. Running the possible scenarios in his head, he jumped down the fire escape and sprinted for her last known location.

Rounding the corner, a bullet glanced off of the wall next to him, less than two inches from his head. He slammed himself against the wall and glanced up, trying to pinpoint the sniper.

There. This sniper looked like a woman, yet... something wasn't right. Her skin was blue rather than the normal peach tones, and her stance was more arachnid than human.

He blazed three rounds from his rifle into the stone around the sniper in quick succession, forcing her to displace and giving him a window in which to dart across to Grace's position in a small cafe. His eyes widened in shock.

She was alive- her chest still rising and falling- but she was in a bad shape. He scanned the room as he entered, pistol drawn. Two Talon operatives burst out of the doors in the corners of the room. He dropped to one knee and hammered a pulse shot into centre mass of each of them.

"Grace? Grace?" He shook her, attempting to get sense out of her. She still remained somewhat unresponsive, save for incoherent moaning. As picked her up over his shoulder she stirred into life.

"It's your lucky day, love!" he uttered in her ear, holstering his pistol and borrowing one of Grace's machine-pistols, before moving toward the exit as fast as he could.

"Control, this is Bravo 6. We have been compromised, I say again we have been compromised! Moving to Extraction point 4. Hot extraction , over!" He screamed down the radio as bullets pinged off the pavement and walls.

"Roger, evac inbound. Sit tight."

Bollocks to sitting tight. He sprinted for the nearest building that seemed to have solid cover. The area around him was a hive of bullets, zipping like hornets.

He heard the hum of a dropship above. He glanced up to check on it. The logo underneath its belly made his blood run cold. Talon. In the moment he was preoccupied, the sniper reappeared, sending a round through his shoulder and into Grace. He cried out and spun to the ground. He brought his rifle up as he fought over the agony of a hole in his shoulder and got his first proper look at the sniper.

She- if this thing could be called "she"- had skin that looked more purple in colour, and a visor made up of red optics. Like a spider's eyes.

The figure jumped onto the dropship, and with that it sped over the rooftops and out of sight.

He carried on to where his evacuation dropship had barely touched down, sprinted aboard the ramp and lowered Grace's barely-alive corpse onto the floor as the ramp closed, expediting the shattered remnants of the team out of downtown Mogadishu.

The team medic battled to stabilise her many injuries, a hopeless prospect.

"Look, you're going to be alright Grace, just stay awake!"

Her breath laboured. With what must have been her dying reserves of energy, she grabbed Omega's shoulders as he kneeled beside her. Supporting her with his arms, she kissed him. "Goodbye...James..." she whispered, at which point he felt her body go limp in his arms.

He broke down, burying his face in her still-warm shoulder. As he regained composure slightly a few minutes later, he took one of her dog tags, replacing it with one of his.

He sat back against the side of the bulkhead, buried his head in his hands and continued sobbing, inconsolable and broken.

Brazil, Present day.

2330 hours.

Omega finished. His eyes were filled with tears. "She... She was all I had. I lost all memory of my family. Now... I've got nothing left."

Tracer pulled him over with her arm, still wrapped around his shoulder.

"Well, you've got me now. If that's any compensation." She quipped, trying to snap him out of the darkened mood that had beset him.

"What happened to your family anyway? And you, for that matter? I heard something about an accident..."

He smiled slightly. "Well, it's one of those things I suppose: one that makes me wish I had your abilities."

Her look pierced the side of his cheek. "Do you have even the slightest idea," she snapped, enraged at his sheer nerve to suggest such a thing, "How this feels to live with every day? The fear of what happens if I lose my accelerator, and return to being a ghost in time?"

Before she could make any further protest,and much to get surprise ,he moved his finger over her lips, in a shushing action. "I do," he said, softly, "and it's easier to show you than explain." with that, he brought his left hand up, unbuttoned the bloodstained sleeve of his shirt and drew it back, revealing the watch that tracer had seen on the dropship.

Except that this wasn't a watch as such.

It, like her accelerator, had a neon-blue glow.