Chapter 11 – Compliance Will Be Rewarded

Amélie Lacroix groped about in a fog. She couldn't think straight, she couldn't see straight, she couldn't even be sure where she was anymore.

I am…Amélie Labelle…wait…Lacroix!

"Her brainwave patterns are destabilizing. We should be able to suppress and rewrite in less than a week."

Barely conscious, Amélie couldn't take in the sheer number of tubes, machines, and technology attached to her. Varying translucent lines both put fluid in and took it out. Wires interfaced directly with nerve tissue. A massive headpiece enabled immediate taps into her brain. Her right arm lay open to the bone as various stimulants and nanomachines were tested on her muscles and skeletal structure.

I am in harmony with myself and… And the spiders on my plants…

She wanted to stop thinking about spiders, but they kept intruding. As a girl, Amélie had been absolutely terrified of spiders, thinking the emotionless killing machines. Perhaps it had something to do with witnessing a spider kill and eat a butterfly she'd grown from a caterpillar, "but that's nature's way" said her mother to her distraught cries of "Why? How could it be so heartless?"

Her mom then tried to explain that spiders didn't really have emotions—there was no conscious thought of enjoyment. Only a desire to feed, a base instinct. No different than a housecat chasing a sparrow. This offered no solace to little Amélie watching her project struggling to escape a web well beyond her reach before being consumed, and she stomped off to her room.

As an adult, she tolerated the spiders because they killed off pests threatening her gardens, but tried to not focus on them.

It was as if her thoughts were no longer directed by her consciousness, they wandered to random places.

My… My birthday is 24 May… Wait a minute, that's my anniversary…

"We're bubbling up thoughts of childhood fears" reported one scientist to the lead. "It's causing her mental anguish and breaking her focus."

"For someone who isn't an Overwatch agent, she has annoyingly sturdy mental defenses" confessed the project leader. "Increase chemical dosages, and deepen her sleep during imprinting."

Instead of humiliation, Amélie dreamed of death. Death caused by her own hands as each kill drenched them in more blood. That young woman Lena "Tracer" Oxton, shot through the strange device she wore all the time. An old romantic rival from her university days—how petty! Jumbles of faces she didn't recognize, until…

"Nolan?" Somehow aged, he looked at least twenty.

"You… You failed us" he gasped, fighting to speak through the pain of a large-caliber bullet wound.

"But most of all" said Chloé, a disgusting walking corpse from half a dozen shots, you betrayed him."

Seeing Gérard's head stuck on the end of a sniper rifle identical to the one she didn't realize she'd been holding so traumatized her that Amélie woke, setting off alarms across several departments responsible for her "conversion."

She looked down. Her hands were still restrained and free of any unnatural coloration.

"She's conscious! Put her back under!" yelped a panicked technician. "The imprint will fail if she stays awake too long!"

Gritting her teeth, Amélie steeled herself with her thoughts.

I am Amélie Labelle Lacroix!

Flash.

"Congratulations on a successful mission." A man whose face remained hidden in darkness shook her hand. Looking down, she realized her left wrist had something on it, but wasn't sure why she would wear what looked like some kind of purple cylinder launcher.

A large screen showed a red "X" through the face of almost every Overwatch hero.

"We've destroyed Overwatch, and the world will now follow the will of Talon!"

Everything vanished, though she could still move about. Echoes and whispers filled the pure-white void.

"Why? Why would you do this?"

"I'm not a monkey, I'm a SCIENTIST!"

"What happened to you?"