Note: And, we're back. Sorry for the long wait between chapters, but we wanted to finish our other story before working on this one. Don't worry; this should take up our attention for the next few months. Enjoy.
It was, without a doubt, the funniest video she had ever seen. The ten-second-long video had played on an endless loop for fifteen minutes straight, and yet, every time she saw it, it somehow got funnier than the last. She could not comprehend why she found it to be so enthralling. It was simplistic, like the countless others of its kind; and yet, no matter how much she tried, she could not stop laughing, and could not look away. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that she had just finished a long day's work, and was rather tired. Or perhaps it had something to do with the specifics of the video, such as the camera placement, or the timing of events. Or perhaps, just perhaps, it had something to do with the half-drained bottle of tequila she held loosely in her left hand. Regardless of the cause, her laughter consumed her, and she feared that she would never be able to stop.
The video looped again, and Sombra snorted loudly, rolling back in her chair. Her legs were kicked up on the table in front of her, and as she collapsed into a fit of mad giggles, she thought that she might fall backwards onto the floor. She barely managed to regain her balance before the loop started again, and she lost control once more. The hacker clasped her free hand over her mouth, desperately trying to hold back her laughter, but the pressure was far too great for any human being to bear.
When Widowmaker casually walked into the darkened room lit only by the soft glow of the numerous holographic screens, her only reaction was a disappointed sigh.
"Look, look at this," Sombra cried, pointing wobbly at the screen before her. Widowmaker—filled to the brim with overwhelming curiosity and excitement—shook her head and took a meandering glance at the video in question. On the screen, she saw a house and lawn covered in a thick layer of snow. An oak tree stood next to the house, and on one of its outstretched branches was a small, fluffy tabby cat, carefully balanced on the thin wood, eyeing the distance between the tree and the roof. The cat steadied itself, and then with all its energy, it pushed off on its hind legs, lunging for the rooftop. It barely left the branch before it plummeted like a stone, flopping belly first into a pile of snow, vanishing from sight. Sombra cackled wildly in delight, wiping tears from her eyes. Widowmaker blinked twice as the video started to repeat itself.
"This is the worst thing I have ever seen."
"It's a cat!" Sombra screamed giddily, finally pausing the video. "It tries to jump to the roof, but it is too tiny and weak!"
"You're wasting time," Widowmaker scolded. "You are supposed to be working on the project."
"I finished that hours ago," Sombra said dismissively. "I earned myself a little break, no? Come on, take a seat. Relax."
"I don't waste my time with felines." Widowmaker crossed her arms over her chest. "Or with drunks."
"I'm not drunk," Sombra insisted, swaying in her seat. "I am enjoying myself, chica. Also, you can't be French and tell me that you don't like to drink."
"A few corrections. First: That is a nasty stereotype. Second: I do not need to drink anything. And third," Widowmaker added, her tone turning unnaturally bitter, "there is a crucial difference between fine champagne and that cheaply distilled trash."
"Hey, this is no trash," Sombra stated, thrusting the glass bottle directly in the assassin's face. "This is top of the line stuff right here. I spent a lot of good money on this."
Widowmaker gently pushed the bottle to the side with a lone finger. "You didn't pay for that with your own money."
Sombra chuckled. "Please… all money is my money."
The hacker took another long swig of the bottle, letting the liquid wash over every part of her body, down to her very soul. Widowmaker watched silently, unmoving, as the bottle was slowly drained of ever last drop, before being placed on the table with a satisfying clunk.
"Can I have the project now?" Widowmaker asked coldly.
"I sent it to Captain Skullface," Sombra said smugly, a large, dumb grin on her face. "What is with that guy anyway? Does ever take that mask off? Seems like it would get awfully sweaty under there. Does he even sweat?"
"You are clearly drunk."
"You're drunk, puta."
"I know what that word means," Widowmaker said, monotone and uncaring.
"I know you know I know you know," Sombra slurred. "You know?"
"Well, since we are getting things off our chests," said Widowmaker, "I am going to make myself very clear, because you'll be too drunk to remember it. I do not like you. We are not friends. They trust you out of foolishness. I am fully aware that you are not loyal to Talon, and you are only using us to further your own gain. The only reason you are helping us with this project is because you think that you will get away with it. So, I want you to know this: The absolute second you outlive your usefulness, I will be there to put a bullet in the back of your skull, and killing you will be the greatest joy I have had in my life."
"Well then," Sombra snickered, leaning back comfortably in her chair, "guess I better not outlive my usefulness. Want to know something even more important?"
With a wag of her finger, the video sprung back to life, and the cat plummeted ungracefully back into the snow. Sombra cracked up, overflowing with drunken laughter. Widowmaker rolled her eyes. For a moment, she considered reaching for her gun, and putting the hacker out of her misery, but resisted. There was still work left for Sombra. In the coming days, Talon would need all the help it could get. She decided to leave the room without killing the pitiful excuse for a human being. Yet.
Lena had not been able to go to sleep for quite some time. She lied quietly in her bed, hands clasped together over her waist, eyes closed, trying as hard as she could to rest. She felt more tired than she ever had in her life, and yet, despite her best efforts, she remained awake and aware.
It was the fault of memory that kept her stirring. In the quiet of her room, sectioned off from the other members of her team, she had nothing to prevent the memories of the day from playing vividly in her mind's eye. She could not help but think of Angela, who stared at her, wide-eyed and dreadfully confused, as she attempted to explain her vision. She thought of how the medic laughed at first, believing the entire story to be a gag, a clever trick Lena had come up while chatting with Winston. Then, came the confusion as Lena repeated her story, recalling every perfect detail of death and betrayal she witnessed. The refusal came afterwards, starting as a soft rejection of the idea, followed by the vehement, near-desperate denial that she had committed any wrongdoing. Angela repeatedly claimed how she could never be capable of such a thing, how there had to be some kind of mistake, and that Lena had been misled by her vision. Lena thought of how Winston calmly explained the scenario to her, and how slowly but surely, Angela grew more defeated, sinking her face into her hands, and pleading that she would never hurt a soul.
The others took it slightly better, if only because the concept was so absurd that they had no reason to believe it. They offered Angela nothing but support and kind words, assurances that everything would turn out alright. She received countless hugs, and if not for the impending sense of dread, Lena almost would have felt relieved. But despite the kindness from her companions, she could not help but notice the concern in Angela's eyes, the erratic twitch of her fingers that told her the doctor had a million thoughts swarming through her brilliant mind. It was no wonder then that Angela agreed to Winston's suggestion to undergo rigorous testing. The two spent the remainder of the day in the lab, locked away from the rest of the team, performing who knew how operations and procedures.
As for Lena, she had two jobs: eat and sleep. The first part was easy. Ever since her accident, Lena had grown a substantial appetite, one that put even Reinhardt to shame. It did not hurt that Mei periodically shoved food in front of her over the course of the day either. She dined on pizza, chicken, a wide assortment of vegetables, and of course, four jars of peanut butter. Eating was effortless. It was the second part that eluded her. Her curious eye popped open, and peered to the alarm clock on her nightstand.
A quarter past two. Dang it.
Lena swung her legs off the side of her bed, clutching the edge of her mattress. Her soft, cotton pajamas clung to her skin, and the hum of the chronal accelerator filled the room as the device hung on her chest, a sensation to which she had long since grown accustomed. With a sigh, she groggily jumped to her feet, stuffed herself inside her soft, pink slippers, and left her room with her hands shoved into the pockets of her pajamas. Even though the outpost was practically her second home, it still felt bizarre roaming its stainless metal halls. She was, after all, traveling through an underground bunker, and though she tried her best to make her personal quarters feel less alien, every reverberating footstep reminded her of the inhumanity of the structure, the purpose of her mission. Overwatch as not her family, despite what she liked to think; they were her comrades in arms, and the hollowed shell she called home was their base of operations. Nothing more, nothing less.
Like a child sneaking into the kitchen to steal from the cookie jar, Lena crept silently through the base, trying not to disturb the delicate quiet. Her legs guided her more than her mind, and before she knew it, through a power beyond her own, she found herself outside the door to the medical lab. She heard the call of voices from inside, and against her better judgment, pressed an ear to the door to better make out what they were saying.
"Have we tested hormonal balance yet?" Angela asked, deep in thought.
"Yes. There didn't seem to be any abnormal hormone fluctuation," Winston replied. "Do you know what hormones could even cause you to act like that?"
"A couple," Angela stated. "High levels of corticotropic hormone. Vasopressin. Oxytocin is often associated with lust, but even that could cause fits of rage."
"You don't suffer a fit of rage," claimed Winston. "According to Lena, you make a premeditated move to betray us."
"Lena also said she did not get a very good look at what happened. I am simply throwing out options. I don't want to get caught off guard."
Lena knew that it would be for the best if she left the two alone. She did know why she then decided to knock on the door, and then immediately poke her head inside. The two stopped their conversation instantly, and stared at her, unamused.
"Lena, what are you doing here?" Winston asked, concerned. "You're supposed to be getting rest."
"Couldn't sleep. Long day," Lena said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. "Besides, I wanted to check up on you, see if you made any progress."
"This does not concern you," Angela said sternly. "What you should be more worried about is making sure that you make a healthy recovery."
"Of course, this concerns me," Lena replied. "You're my friend, Angela. I want to know if you're okay."
Angela rubbed her temples, and took a seat on one of the examination tables. "Well, so far, I seem to be perfectly fine. That's our biggest problem."
"I think it's fair to assume that Angela wouldn't betray us under her own will," Winston explained. "Our best guess is that whatever causes her to attack us in your vision is the same thing that turned Amélie against us. That would make the most sense."
"The problem is that we don't know what exactly it was they did," said Angela. "When we found her after her disappearance, I ran her through every test I could possibly think of. I did not leave anything to chance. When I finished, I determined that she was one hundred percent medically sound, completely normal. Two weeks later, she killed Gérard, and vanished. I still don't know what they did to her, or how they did it."
"It would be easier if we had data on Amélie today. Then we could compare the difference between the samples, and figure out what happened. Until then, we are searching for problems that we don't know exist.
"Not to mention, if I am already compromised, I could be tampering with the data without even knowing it. It is frustrating, to say the least."
"So, what's the plan?" Lena asked, worried. Angela bit down on her lip.
"If we don't find a way to fix me, or a way to find the details of what happens next," Angela explained, "then the safest thing to do would be to lock me in a holding cell."
"What?" Lena exclaimed. "You can't do that. We're not going to start treating you like a prisoner when you haven't done anything wrong."
"But I could do something wrong," Angela noted. "I am a doctor first and foremost, and doctors have two jobs. One is to cure problems, but the other, more important one is to prevent them. We know next-to-nothing about your vision. We don't even know how far into the future it is supposed to occur. The last thing I am willing to do is risk the safety of everyone in Overwatch because I acted carelessly. I am more than willing to separate myself from the rest of the team until we learn more."
"That's not fair," Lena stated angrily.
"Hopefully, we won't have to come to that," Winston said, stepping between the two. "We're getting ahead of ourselves. There's still no guarantee that Talon altered Angela in any way. They held Amélie captive for months. As far as we know, they haven't gotten to you at all."
"I haven't been back with Overwatch for very long. They could have gotten to me while I was away."
"I don't think that's the case. Surely, if they did, you would have made your move."
"I'd like to think so. Maybe not. We don't know what Talon is planning. We still don't know what they plan to do with that data they stole from—"
Then, suddenly, Angela paused. She looked at Lena, and all at once, a great look of shock and fear came over her.
"Lena?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Are you okay?"
Lena did not understand until she felt it. Something warm and thick flowing freely out of her nose. She brushed her fingers against it, and stared in awe at the red substance sticking to her skin. Her eyes remained locked onto her hand until, without warning, they rolled back into her head, and she collapsed. Angela dove after her, barely catching her head before it crashed into the cold floor. Lena trembled wildly, and Angela held her close, trying to keep her still. Winston towered over them, panicked.
"What's happening to her?"
"I don't know," Angela said, frightened. "Lena, I need you to stay with me, okay? Do you hear me? Lena?"
Lena heard Angela's voice fade as the world around her grew dark. She did not feel pain. She did not feel fear. She simply felt empty, as if she did not truly exist. Everything around her was dark, and the sounds no nothingness filled her ears.
Then, in the blink of an eye, she was elsewhere. She was in the medical lab, except things had changed. The rest of the team stood gathered around one of the medical tables, mournful and silent. Angela was gone. Winston, as Lena quickly saw, lied on the table, unconscious, hooked up to machines and barely breathing. Fareeha rested on her knees, holding Winston's massive paw in her hands.
"I can't believe she would do something like this," Fareeha whispered. "I know we were supposed to expect this, but…"
Suddenly, Lena was elsewhere. The holding cells. Lena stood outside the bars, peering inside at the loathsome creature writhing in its dark corners. Angela held her knees to her chest, sobbing uncontrollably, with one hand pressed to her forehead, where a massive gash opened, spilling blood onto the floor and dying her bright blonde hair a violent shade of red.
"I'm innocent. I swear I didn't do it," Angela sobbed through the pain. "I would never… I couldn't, I just couldn't…" She turned to Lena, afraid. "You believe me, right?"
Lena blinked, and she was in an alleyway, its stench forcing its way into her nose. She was alone in the moonlight, staring into a dead end, her pulse pistols extended outwards towards the nothingness. Her arms were heavy, and she felt a lifetime's worth of agony upon her shoulders. Then, for a reason she could not fathom, she took one of the pulse pistols, placed it against her skull, and pulled the trigger.
The base. One of the hallways. Two figures stood alone in the distance, unaware of the fact that they were being watched. Angela was on her hands and knees, a bandage wrapped tightly around the wound on her head. She shook with terror, eyes focused down at the boots of the man in front of her. Jesse had his revolver placed against her forehead, cocked and ready to fire.
"Please… please, you don't have to do this," Angela begged. Jesse sighed, heartbroken.
"For the good of Overwatch," he said softly. "Hate that it had to come to this."
And then, Lena was back on the four-way intersection in the middle of London, standing in a pile of corpses. Pharah clung to the ankle of the hooded figure, struggling to keep her grip.
"How… how could you do this to us?" Pharah choked out. "You… you were supposed to be our friend…"
The hooded figure pulled out a handgun, and pressed it to Pharah's head. The hood fell back, and Lena saw her, clear as day, the one who betrayed Overwatch. Every detail of her face was in perfect view. Lena tried to call out to her, but found that she had no voice to use.
"I'm so sorry about this," the figure said, each word punctuated with a thick, Swiss-German accent. "I really am."
The figure pulled the trigger, and then Lena was gasping for breath, lying on the floor of the medical lab, as Angela held her in her arms. From her point of view, she truly did look like an angel. Lena reached up to the doctor's face, and gently brushed her hand against her cheek. She whispered, her voice weak and desperate.
"Please. Don't."
Then, Lena's body went limp, and she passed out.