A/N: Apologies for the lack of updates, I've been busy with life and two other ongoing stories (check my profile if you like Star Wars!) Since I wrote for this story, I feel my writing style and my understanding of the everchanging canon storyline of Overwatch has changed. Going forward, I will be making quite a few edits to previous chapters to bring them up to scratch and weave in new information.
Lena Oxton awoke with a start.
She was blind. Her arms and legs were bound tightly to her sides. Above her, something was pounding rhythmically, the dull clatter of metal on metal synchronising with her own laboured breathing. Yet despite her blindness, the former Overwatch Agent knew exactly where she was.
The Slipstream. The accident that had left her permanently injured was seared into her memory. Every jump, every shift through time, from the ones that had happened in an instant to the frozen moments that had lasted for months, were recalled the instant her hands felt the controls of the prototype fighter. As memories of the past flowed back, Lena Oxton fought to control her rising panic, but the claustrophobic space did little to help.
Worse still, it was hot. The small porthole windows above her head were completely fogged up by the heat. Her head was still spinning. She concentrated, trying to recall what had just taken place, but exhaustion was sapping her strength.
The pounding was getting louder. Despite the opacity of the glass, Lena caught a glimpse of a tool of some kind scraping across the porthole. Someone was trying to get into the pod – whether they were a friend or a foe, she couldn't tell. Soaked in sweat and struggling to breath in the hot, cramped pod, Lena Oxton was past the point of caring, as long as she could get out.
A minute of scratching later, and the metal above her head began to vibrate. Then, sliding back on hidden rollers, the roof of the pod collapsed on itself, momentarily blinding Lena as sunlight blasted in.
"We got a live one in here!"
Lena felt something heavy scraping across her shoulders. Then her restraints began to loosen, and before she could protest, a pair of hands had seized her and yanked her out of the seat. The former Overwatch agent was roughly dragged across a hot metal surface before being dumped in a heap on what felt like a pile of sand.
Lena sat kneeled on the ground, shielding her eyes with the sleeve of her suit. Around her, the people that had pulled her out held a quiet conversation.
"Any sign of the other three?"
"Looks clear to me. My guess is they went back through the canyons, following the route the bots always take." The man lowered his rifle with a frustrated growl. "I just know I hit that bugger! The scope was dead on, the windage was good…I even saw him fall over, and no-one's ever gotten up after I've dealt with 'em."
Lena felt a pair of arms loop underneath her own, before she was hauled back to her feet. With her eyes now better adjusted to the glare, she was able to get a good look at her captors.
Three men were standing around the base of the pod. The first was a fair skinned-man wearing a lab coat and heavy rubber gloves, who stared at Lena over a pair of wire-framed spectacles. The second, a man with a scoped rifle, wore a wide-brimmed hat and glasses, and was angrily kicking several metal objects that were scattered at his feet. The last was wearing an unusual combination of a three-buttoned suit, gloves and a balaclava, leaving little of his skin showing. A lit cigarette glowed in the corner of his mouth, and he fiddled with a silver case as he approached. Lena tried to turn to see who was holding her but could only see a pair of dark-skinned forearms that were crossed over her chest.
The acrid scent of cigarette smoke entered her nostrils. Smoking was an archaic practice, a dangerous hobby that had died out decades ago, but the man who was currently sizing her up seemed unconcerned about the health risks as he took another drag.
"To what do we owe this pleasure?" The man spoke English, albeit with a French accent that made Lena somewhat uncomfortable.
The man with the rifle pushed past him, and suddenly a knife was being waved in her face. "Just give the word, Spy. I could gut 'em now, or we could bring him back to base for a friendly little chat."
Lena winced as the man they called Spy leaned in close, seizing her chin and examining her face. He studied her for a few moments, then let go, apparently satisfied.
"Hmm. We have in fact captured someone of the female persuasion."
The sniper scratched his head. "How can you tell under all that junk?"
"I happen to have an eye for such things." Spy flicked his cigarette away, a new one appearing between his fingers as if by magic. "Do you have a name, mademoiselle?"
Lena hesitated. She was alone, in an unknown environment, and now in the custody of a number of potential armed hostiles. Beats being dragged around by Talon, she thought, but she decided that it would be best to stick with the standard procedure for now. Lena straightened up and fixed her captor with a confident glare, even as the kukri scratched against the collar of her flight suit.
"Agent Oxton. 377-901-228."
"Name, rank and serial number? There is no need to be so serious, madame." Spy indicated the motley crew that were gathered around the pod. "Though we try to maintain a professional appearance, we are after all just humble mercenaries."
Humble? You've got that right. The men holding her captive hardly seemed like a proper mercenary outfit. They wore no standard uniforms, just a strange mish-mash of military and civilian clothing, and their weapons were crude and antiquated. Apart from the colour red, which they all seemed to sport on at least one part of their clothing, no two were dressed or equipped alike.
Spy twirled his fingers, and the unseen person holding Lena spun her around to face the pod. Since launch, she had not seen the full size of the device, but she had hardly expected it to be much bigger than the pilot capsule she had been trapped inside. Aghast, Lena stared up at the huge bulk of the pod, which was lying on its side in the ruins of a large building. It was easily thirty or so metres long, with a flared base, and the fuselage tapered to a point at the far end, where she had been sitting.
"And what of my colleagues, Agent Oxton? Just following orders?" Spy gestured to one of the mercenaries, who was emerging from the rubble dragging something behind him. "Running over suspects with your vehicle hardly seems like due process."
Just a brief glimpse of the three bodies was enough to make her already weak stomach churn. Crushed and burned beneath the pod, they were hardly recognisable as people until they had been dragged out into the sunlight. Two men, skin and clothes singed off, as well as the body of what looked like a child. Lena was secretly glad of the arms that prevented her already wobbly legs from giving way under her. The Agent's shock was beginning to be replaced by fear, as she noted the murderous expressions on the faces of some of the men around her.
The remaining mercenaries gathered around the bodies. The suited Frenchman poked them with his foot, then turned to the one wearing the doctor's uniform.
"Well?"
The Medic lifted one sleeve of his jacket, examining his watch. "Let's see. Time of death…we'll say an hour ago, just to be sure. This could be more challenging than I thought."
Spy tapped the ash from his cigarette onto the nearest corpse. "I seem to recall a situation like this in Rottenburg."
"Yes, but I was on hand immediately." The Medic took the hand of one of the bodies in his own, and let it fall with a disappointed sigh. "The damage was also less…extensive."
"Whew! Got your Reanimators here, Doc!" The man wearing the hard hat emerged from the ruins, with three rectangular objects in his hands. He dumped them on the ground next to the corpses and stepped back, slapping soot off his overalls with his gloved hand. "Let's just hope they survived."
"Indeed. Stand back, everyone. This may get a little…messy."
The Medic reached behind his back and unwound a contraption which resembled a firehose that was connected to his backpack by a flexible tube. As he did, the devices on the ground hummed into life, each displaying a red hologram of a person. Medic muttered something to himself, then pumped the handle on his backpack. A glowing beam of red light appeared, moving in an oddly fluid-like fashion as it reached out to touch the first corpse.
Then, with a sickening squelching sound, the head of the largest corpse began to move. Caught in the glowing red beam, it came free of the burnt torso and drifted up into the air towards the hologram. The rest of the body parts soon followed suit, and as they neared the outline, they began to change. Blackened skin sloughed off in great clouds, leaving behind smooth and undamaged flesh and even clothing. Within seconds, the reassembled body parts had been transformed from an unrecognisable cadaver, to a fully formed and healed human.
The owner of the arms that were currently restraining her spoke up. "Aye, I'd look away if I were you, girlie. That's not the sort of thing you want to watch sober…"
With a small sigh, the woman from the capsule went limp in Demoman's arms, the colour completely drained from her face. Spy watched as the Scotsman gently lowered her to the ground.
"Ach, I tried to warn her. Out like a light, she is."
"YAAAAGH…oh…thank you, Doctor!" Stepping off the Reanimator, Heavy took a deep breath, feeling his body for any sign of injury. Satisfied, he pounded his fists together. "Misha is ready to fight again!"
"Take that, you hunk of mechanical trash! Ha!" Heavy's celebration was interrupted when a freshly Reanimated Soldier leaped off his device and wrapped his hands around the Russian's throat. "I…wait a minute!"
Scout emerged from the Reanimator with a high-pitched scream, only to catch himself when he noticed the rest of the mercenaries. "AAAAAhhhhey-hey fellas, what's up?"
Medic clapped his hands together. "Excellent! The system worked exactly as planned. I appreciate your input on the design of the Reanimator capsules, Herr Conhager. They survived a good deal of punishment."
"Happy to help, Doc." Engineer tipped his hard hat to Medic. "Any time you need a device built, you know who to talk to. So, what's our next move boys?"
Spy didn't answer. He was standing over the intruder, examining a tag printed onto her flight suit. It was gibberish, for the most part, and her ID card seemed to imply that she wouldn't be born for at least another fifty years. An elaborate ruse, perhaps, or maybe there was something more unusual afoot. After all, the Administrator had warned them that there were many groups who would be interested in getting their hands on the Australium in the facility. The woman was alive and in good condition – Spy had a number of tools on hand that would help him get to the bottom of this.
"Sniper. Take this Oxton woman to the holding tank. The rest of you – return to the control centre, and…" Spy broke off, covering his eyes with his hand. "…and would someone please find Soldier a fresh uniform!"