CONTENT WARNING: slight gore
Tracer's hand extended forward, a small earpiece sitting between her fingertips.
"In case we get separated."
Widowmaker's eyebrow twitched upwards as she accepted the device. "Expecting company?"
The other ran a hand through her hair with a playful smirk as she answered, "I do love surprise parties."
An eye roll. A responding chuckle. This routine was easier than thinking too seriously about what they were about to do.
It had been a long night.
The two women had decided to take the evening to prepare before opening the newly unlocked door. Tracer had ensured her ship could hover off the ground with no dangerous beeping in the cockpit. A real flight test could have taken days...and now she was itching to know what lay beyond the door. Heroes didn't wait. Tracer was very aware that time was continuing on Earth without them. Her mission had to be completed.
It was hard not to bounce as they walked down the hall to the door. She glanced at her companion and thought she looked too composed, even given her typically calm exterior. The assassin somehow stood straighter with a gun strapped to her back and her specialty black visor sitting on her head. The equipment clashed with space station's jumpsuit she now wore.
"Well," the Overwatch agent said hesitantly once they reached the door, "whatcha got, Athena?"
"No heat signatures present."
"Gee, that was so helpful last time," Tracer muttered, sliding her goggles down onto her face, "Lock the door behind us. Only open up for me or my friend here."
"Confirmed."
Her right hand withdrew her gun from its holster while she silently prayed she wouldn't need it or the second still against her hip.
"Ready?"
Widowmaker removed the large weapon strapped to her back and practically purred, "Always."
With a shared nod, Tracer clicked the button on the panel beside the entrance. She held her breath.
The blast door slid open to reveal a hallway that matched the one where they currently stood. Minimal emergency lights were operational, floors and walls appeared clean and white even in the dim setting. Tracer raised her pistol and took a step forward. At the movement, the main lights turned on.
Everything looked fine.
She cautiously stepped down the hallway, lifting her weapon to aim at the emptiness. Widowmaker's soft steps echoed behind her, and together they slowly moved down the hall. They continued towards an intersection in the distance, the eerie quiet only broken by their own muffled movements.
Tracer took a deep breath, the air immediately catching in her throat. Something was wrong.
"Smell that?"
Widowmaker intoned behind her, "Rotting flesh."
"Not good," she muttered, her grip on the gun growing firmer. Something was very, very wrong.
Tracer turned the corner, grimacing at the sight lining the hallway. This was the moment she had feared since they landed on the station. The secret she knew was lurking in the shadows waiting to swallow them.
She could barely summon the breath to mutter, "Omnics."
The heaps of metal lined the hallway. Human bodies also lay among the wreckage. The silence changed in a split second from new and unknown to stinging and terrible.
Widowmaker forced herself to look at the bodies, at the horrific stillness of their limbs and decaying forms. Nothing stirred. The sniper wondered when under the cloud of Talon's manipulation had she had completely lost the ability to fear the sight of death.
The agent next her tried to appear as unfazed as she firmly stated, "This can't be all the crew."
The emptiness in Tracer's voice is what made Widowmaker's chest tighten.
They moved towards the nearest doors, and previous study of the map indicated this would be the Medical wing. When the doors slid open, however, there was very little of anything left to indicate what the room was.
All that greeted them was the twisted mix of metal and flesh, all stained black from burning. The two women were no strangers to the horrors of war and death, but Tracer still let out a shaky breath as she stepped forward to inspect the charred and burned remains.
Dark lines patterned the ground. The smell was purely death.
Widowmaker kneeled on the floor, inspecting the direction of the scorch marks on the floor.
"There was a bomb."
Eyes followed the direction of the blast back to the source. The nervous energy seemed to leave Tracer's body as she realized it came from the inside corner.
"They locked themselves in with the lot of them," she murmured with disbelief, glancing around at the smoky trails, "Medical wing's walls would've been enforced without computer generated shields. Enough to contain a blast and not nuke the whole ship."
What could have left the agents with no choice but to sacrifice themselves along with the omnics?
"Not good." Her grip tightened on her pistol. "Really not good."
Unable to look any further, she turned and exited the wing. They had to keep moving.
The dead stillness was heavy as the duo slowly stepped to the blast doors across the hall.
The next room was lined with computers, and there were no signs of them ever having been disturbed. Screens presented their data in glowing light for viewers that no longer sat in their seats in the empty Research Wing.
Tracer sat at the first computer in the row while asking, "Athena, what happened?"
"My apologies, I am unable advise."
Growing frustrated, the agent grunted, "I have the ruddy access, tell me."
"My archives are incomplete, I lack the data you are requesting."
Widowmaker murmured, "Deleted files."
"Security footage is available during the time in which I am missing records. Initiating playback."
The hallway suddenly swam into focus. One or two people walked about in the same looking suit Widowmaker now wore. A flash. Darkness. When light returned, omnics were firing at those both on and off screen. Fallen bodies collected in the hall.
"Shite."
They stared in silence as mobs of the robots managed to trap groups of men and woman in rooms, then slaughtering them like animals.
However, any video feed of the Research Wing was missing.
Turning away from the gore on the screen, Tracer asked with a shaky breath, "Got bits from in here?"
Athena did not respond. There was a brief hiss of static and a flash of pixels as the new images came to life before them.
The video displayed the very room in which they now sat, perfectly empty and still. The door slid open, and a man stepped into the hazy view of the camera. Widowmaker felt her first dose of fear begin to pound through her veins. The figure was one she respected but now her new emotions showed her the shadowy side of how that respect was earned.
She breathed, "Reaper."
"What?"
Her voice was firm as her eyes focused on Tracer. "That is Reaper."
The Overwatch agent turned back to the monitor, face twisted with confusion as she further studied the figure, "But that's Lieutenant Reyes."
"His face has...changed under the mask," the other explained, trying to keep her voice steady, "But that is him."
The Brit winced, staring intently at the man that was supposed to be a hero.
"He attempted to hack your mainframe at Gibraltar."
Hero or not, she heard the desperation Widowmaker's voice failed to conceal. Her eyes narrowed as the Blackwatch leader typed away at the very computer where they now sat. Another video feed repeated the earlier play through with agents walking down the hall or performing their duties in certain wings.
The cameras then followed a large shadow that slithered from the Transport Wing. Tracer gasped as it moved into the light of the hallway. Two red eyes glinted maliciously, but even more exotic and surprising was a purple jewel that rested just above, centered neatly on the robot's forehead. But it was so much more than a simple omnic. The large form that was barely contained in the hallway as it moved forward appeared like a giant cobra. Every door the massive snake encountered was seemingly opened by Reyes from his computer. A clear path was opened to Armory. Bright flashes and subsequent blackouts hindered the camera from capturing a clear shot, but the feed was soon swimming with omnics. The following horrific images they had already witnessed began once more.
Tracer turned away and tried to focus on the here and now.
The basilisk-like robot looked mythological, like the figure of Anubis Tracer remembered from various debriefings. The realization made her heart plummet.
"He let a God Program just waltz in. Where did he even get one?"
"Your organization was responsible for the extermination or capture of numerous God Programs. A bountiful source."
The leader of Blackwatch would have had all the clearance he needed to override the computer system.
The numbers of timestamp on the video feed made Tracer's stomach twist.
"That was a week before Switzerland."
Widowmaker tilted her head questioningly.
"Reyes died in an accident," the other explained before shaking her head, "But blimey, if he was working for Talon the whole time. Was it a set up?"
She knew the whole thing was really friggin' bad.
Her attention returned to the computer once more, and she dragged her finger to make a selection on the touchscreen. "Get me all the video feed you got for these five minutes."
The word "ERROR" momentarily flashed on the monitor, but it quickly disappeared to reveal new video. There was an emergency signal that summoned the entire crew to the side of the ship where the omnics had begun their assault. The video showed newly emptied rooms and the pristine kitchen as they had found it. It showed the main blast doors closing and sealing them to their fate. The power of the God Program was immense. When more images of the slaughter appeared, Tracer quickly clicked through them. Then the Transport wing video feed popped up.
Ship after ship rose from their individual docks, drifting towards the opened hangar door out into the void of space. All except one disappeared from the range of the screen.
"Those transports do not have pilots," Widowmaker stated darkly.
"He launched them from the computer. So no one could escape. Left one bloody ride for himself."
Why? None of it made sense.
Tracer slammed her fist on the control panel. "How did Overwatch HO not know about all of this? Those people—"
"Lena." The interruption was soft.
"Now's not the time to ask why," she murmured, offering a firm, apologetic nod, "We do the job and get back home."
She swiftly stood up from the chair and started marching towards the door. Walking away from the screen did little to alleviate the replaying of images swimming in her head.
Widowmaker dutifully followed, but she still tightly held her weapon.
"Where do you suspect the beast is now?"
"Probably blown to bits with the rest of 'em in Medical."
She glanced down at the shorter woman as they walked. "A God Program's strength is difficult to surpass."
"Said it yourself, no one bests 'em like Overwatch." Tracer's eyes remained locked on their destination.
The blast doors of the Engineering wing quickly opened. The room was vast, and Tracer knew from the map it was one of the largest sections of the station. Massive computers lined the walls, and the floor shifted into catwalks that laced between large generators and the critical systems that kept the station functioning. A main terminal sat just a few feet before the entrance, the master control for the entire chamber. Tracer turned her eyes away from a pair of dead bodies that also resided near the entrance of the room; she even pitied the omnics that had lost their autonomy under the mind control of a God Program.
But these were thoughts for later.
"Athena, why we offline for Comm systems here? Looks fine."
"Hard shutdown was initiated. Restarting requires manual input by top ranking agent."
Tracer frowned. Yet another hiccup. Getting the top ranking crewmember would be a problem if all the crew gone.
Widowmaker glanced towards her expectantly.
"Oh. 'Suppose that would be me now, wouldn't it?"
"Please proceed to initiate start up."
A screen began glowing beside the computer station, and as they stepped closer, Tracer realized it was a palm scanner. Suddenly, she felt relief. A quick palm scan, a flick of a switch on the control panel, and then they were one click away from finally being done and avenging these people.
Her fingers eagerly reached out to touch the surface.
"Wait."
She obeyed the stern command, but couldn't stop herself from turning to lift a questioning eyebrow at the woman that had issued it.
Widowmaker's hand rested on her hip. "This is what connects all of your facilities together, yes?"
"Sort of, yeah. Back in the good ol' days, this station was just a back up really. Satellite visuals, what not," the young woman explained, beginning to pace, "Now that all our bases have been asleep for so long, this is the only way to remotely connect them all back together. Get them online and talking without going to each and every base."
"Reaper did not shut down this system. It was performed manually. Your agents did this."
Tracer crossed her arms and frowned in thought.
"Virus AI is set free. Omnics decommissioned and safely tucked in Armory storage go crazy. This side of the station is locked. Communication grid is completely shut down...before a God Program syncs up with the entire Overwatch network," she looked back towards the bodies, "These people are heroes."
"Please proceed to initiate start up."
"Why so hasty, mate?" Tracer called over her shoulder before freezing in place. Her eyes slowly slid up to meet Widowmaker's.
Her gloved hand inched towards her gun.
"Athena," the agent called sweetly, "You're not yourself today."
"System failure." Static drowned out the weakened voice.
"Please proceed to initiate start up."
Darkness fell upon the room as the power seemed to vanish from the technology that surrounded them. Even the light from the hallway had disappeared. The steady hum of electricity was gone, and a deep silence clung to the still air.
Tracer aimed her gun forward at the shadows, instinctively taking a step closer to Widowmaker. Their backs touched as they stared and surveyed different directions.
"Oi, love?" Tracer whispered, gaze not moving from the depths of the large wing, "You might've been right."
"Not shocking," was the muttered reply, "On what count?"
"It's still here."
Bright, blinding light flashed on the monitors as the facility suddenly surged with power. Tracer winced, her goggles doing little to help the shocking intensity. Shrill static buzzed through the air.
A robotic voice proclaimed through the crackling, "BASILISK ENGAGED."
The massive snake from the videos emerged from the behind the towering generators, summoning a wave of omnics that climbed from the depths and leapt onto the catwalks, shooting from their weaponized ligaments at the two women.
"Run!"
Widowmaker obeyed Tracer's command, but not without firing back. They both bolted from the room and charged down the hall. The young woman's speed easily surpassed hers; Tracer pivoted by the entrance to the Research wing and fired at their growing number of pursuers as her partner raced towards her.
"In here!"
The doors behind them shut, but they had little time if the master Program was synced with the station.
"Where'd they come from?" The agent squawked, immediately smashing her gun against the control panel. A second set of emergency doors slid into place.
"Waiting in the shadows, perhaps?"
"Or we opened the door keeping 'em locked up," Tracer spoke quickly, unloading her gun's empty clip, "New plan. Kill the God Program, then we can safely get the Comm systems online to connect all the watchpoints."
A series of crashes began railing against the doors.
Widowmaker hips swayed as she calmly took a few steps into the room. "What of the other omnics?"
Tracer adjusted her goggles before grabbing her second pistol. "Can't hack a global network like a God Program. Might be a bumpy ride out of here though."
The assassin turned back towards the door and the woman beside it. She raised her rifle and aimed at the door. The violent banging was denting the metal, on the verge of piercing it.
"Leave the big one to me," she purred, her mask leaving only her devilish smile visible.
Tracer smirked. "I'll play crowd control. Cover me."
The omnics burst through the door, and Tracer leapt in the air.
"'Ello!"
She blinked away as they fired, only to have Widowmaker's bullets kiss the sides of their heads. As she reappeared, a hand shot at her face. But she was faster.
"Ah, ah," she chided as she swiftly blocked with a pistol, metal hitting metal. Her second gun blasted a hole through the omnic's exposed torso.
"Not proper manners, that," Tracer huffed before firing at another assailant. She sent a spray of bullets, and multiple heads turned her way.
Perfect.
Her feet carried her away as quickly as they could muster. The sounds of the running horde soon drowned out the shots from Widowmaker's rifle.
It was time to stall.
Tracer kicked off the wall and launched herself down an intersection in the hallway. Images of the map flashed through her mind just as quickly as her feet moved. She zigzagged through the corridors in order to avoid the shots fired at her back.
The basilisk roared in the distance.
Plowing through the nearest set of open doors, Tracer skidded to a halt as she again faced the wall of the Medical Wing. She immediately dove behind an overturned metal table, a mere second before the robots were shooting at her.
"Your lot on Earth knows how to be a touch nicer!" she shouted over the noise before disappearing.
With a quick rewind, she was back at the entrance laughing at the backs of her pursuers.
"Sorry, gotta run!"
The quick press of a button sealed the blast doors, and the sounds of clashing metal had Tracer giggling as she turned to race away.
Another group of omnics were rounding the corner and firing. She plowed towards them at full speed.
Widowmaker's typically smooth voice grunted with frustration in Tracer's ear over the comm link, "Main target isn't leaving the computers."
The Overwatch agent immediately rewound away from the approaching horde and quickly turned around before dashing towards Engineering.
"Mind if I stop by with some mates?"
She surged on and sped through the open doors to the wing, entering the confusion and madness.
Tracer continuously blinked across the grand room, drawing the fire of at least a dozen omnics. In the chaos, she heard the sharp sound of metal hitting metal that trumped even the loud frenzy of robotics around her. She could see in the corner of her eye the large basilisk tossing its head, and Widowmaker's carefully aimed shots were ricocheting off the steel cobra's sides. The sniper herself was nowhere to be seen, but the Overwatch agent could sense the direction of her attacks changing; she was moving.
Tracer unloaded her clip at the mob around her. Then she ran deeper into the chamber. The gunfire followed her.
Widowmaker's voice buzzed through, "The snake is impenetrable."
The Brit leapt atop the catwalk railing and launched herself across a gap housing a towering generator, landing on a neighboring railing. She kept running, firing shots behind her. The robots were gaining.
"Got to be a weak spot. They're the brains of the operation, not made to be sturdy."
Tracer hopped up, pushed off a generator, and blasted in the reverse direction. She fired at the group below her before landing and charging forward to return to the entrance.
As she approached the front, the snake was turned slightly towards where she expected her sniper to be hiding. But she could still see the glowing red eyes and the purple diamond glittering in the center of its head. Her target was distracted and she fired.
The beast was too quick, immediately sensing the oncoming flank attack, turning its head so the bullets hit the metal body. Then it turned its eyes upon her.
Red beams shot in every direction. Every computer, every workstation, every tiny insignificant button in the room lit up brightly. The flashing lights were blinding. Instinct propelled her back through time, taking cover behind the corner she rounded seconds before.
Her fingers clawed at her goggles to rub her eyes for relief. Steps were coming, and she could not see. She was exposed and running out of time.
She heard a shot echo past her, hitting metal. Falling, crashing. Her sniper had apparently not been blinded. Tracer struggled to blink away the swirling black and white in her vision. Doubts swirled just as violently.
Maybe it had been lurking in Athena's voice this entire time. Waiting for the trap to spring. Or had their trusty computer been fighting the virus hidden within herself?
When her vision cleared, there was a pile of omics beside her, thanks to Widowmaker. Tracer grabbed her guns where she dropped them on the floor in her panic.
How this happened was no longer a concern; there was hell to pay.
She turned and dashed towards the entrance. Widowmaker grappled across the room as the basilisk whipped its massive tail. The sniper returned fire as she fell to the floor, but the cobra twisted away to protect itself. It retaliated with a fearsome snap of its fangs that Widowmaker barely avoided by diving to the side.
Tracer raced forward and fired; her accelerator almost groaned, but she pushed, dashing about with speed. Red eyes followed her as she blinked back and forth, shooting as erratically as possible to trick the dodging snake. The mechanical beast turned its head away with every shot. The evasive action felt almost familiar. It was protecting something.
Like in those video games always played.
"The third eye!"
But how to keep it open? The red eyes remained focused, immediately reacting to every offense.
What attack would it not see coming?
"Remember King's Row?" she asked breathlessly.
There was a slight pause before the familiar voice purred in her earpiece, "Step into my parlor."
Tracer slid her guns into their holsters. Time slowed as she took a deep breath. The red eyes focused on the woman that stood before them. Her own met them as she bent down, fingers pressing to the ground. Knees bent, hair falling across her face, muscles tensing like a track runner waiting for the start gun. She summoned what speed was left, the humming in her vest straining.
The cobra snarled at her, and she charged forward, leaping off the floor and propelling herself towards the beast's head.
It did not see her as a threat nor did it have any reason to. The young woman, without a weapon or any form of defense, was practically offering herself. Her raised fist would do nothing, and the basilisk greedily opened its jaw so that its fangs might welcome her death.
"Now!"
She willed herself away, and with a blink, she was gone. Widowmaker's bullet immediately cut through the air where she had been less than a second before, piercing the glowing orb in the center of the snake's head.
Tracer landed on the ground between the basilisk and her partner as the massive machine fell against the floor. It ceased all movement, the light leaving its eyes. She excitedly turned towards the other woman, flashing her best smile.
"That was epic, you totally—"
Gunfire returned from the doorway, and with it, a bullet went hurdling directly into Tracer's thigh. She immediately dropped to the floor with a cry.
Widowmaker surged forward, placing herself in direct fire, unleashing everything she had at the omnics that were bottlenecking at the entrance to the wing.
Suddenly, the blast doors quickly shut, sealing them inside.
"Defense mechanisms are back online and walls energized with shields. My apologies for the delay, Agent Tracer," Athena stated, a familiar logo popping across the screens.
The Brit struggled to lean on her elbow, gritting her teeth.
"Brilliant," she managed to gasp sarcastically.
Widowmaker urgently turned towards Tracer, but the woman on the ground nodded towards the computer.
"Go flip the switch."
Widowmaker's mask automatically slid back to reveal her eyes, and Tracer thought perhaps maybe she saw a sense of nervousness there.
"I am not the senior ranking agent."
"Athena, will voice recognition do? Bit knackered at the moment."
"Confirmation accepted. Please proceed to initiate manual start up."
With a slight huff and glare at Tracer's leg, the older woman slung her rifle across her back, briskly walked to the computer, and followed the instructions flashing across the screen.
"Initializing. Preparing to synchronize."
All the rigidity and adrenaline seemed to leave Tracer's body at once. The mission was complete.
Widowmaker immediately ran back over to the agent now trying to sit up, squatting down beside her. A second later she was trying to rip apart the cloth on the bottom of the other's pants.
"Trying to take off my trousers?" Tracer quipped before biting down a grunt of pain.
Widowmaker sighed while her hands quickly worked, "Tights are hardly trousers."
Her hands lifted the injured leg, sliding the new strip of cloth up and around a bleeding thigh.
"Yeah, but, you like?"
A smirk. "If it will dress your wound properly, then yes."
Tracer winced as the other woman punctuated her sentence by tightly completing the knot.
"Thanks, love," she stated softly before looking up at the room, "We need to make a quick exit. Athena, feeling completely like yourself?"
"All traces of the alien program have been terminated. Communication grid online and syncing with Overwatch network."
"Now, how to get out and make sure we leave behind a secure, working communications system?"
The sounds of metal railing against the door aggressively continued.
"Shields at eighty percent."
Venting on the high curling caught her attention.
"Where those air ducts go?"
"Armory wing."
"Get me a map with the baddies."
"On screen. Approximately fifteen hostiles. Shields at sixty-five percent."
Widowmaker scoffed, "They are all surrounding the door. Poor judgment."
"Let's give them a gift, eh?" Tracer quipped as she plucked a pulse bomb from her jacket pocket, "If it don't hurt, it should at least stun the twats long enough for us to sneak out."
She pressed it to Widowmaker's hand and gently warned, "Only got one left after that. Now, help a lady to the computer?"
An extended hand gingerly lifted the injured woman to her feet, and together they waddled to the control panel. Tracer leaned heavily on the table, but with a nod and a smile, was able to convince Widowmaker to take her spot by the doors.
Quickly preparing the system with a few keystrokes, the agent commanded, "Athena, redirect those shields to contain a blast in the corridor."
"Completed."
"We need to be quick about it," Tracer declared, looking up from the computer to the woman now standing poised with the bomb in her hand, "All set?"
They exchanged a quick nod.
"Three, two, one!"
Widowmaker was tossing the pulse bomb just as the door opened, and it immediately stuck to one of the omnics. The doors quickly shut at Tracer's touch of a single button but not without trapping the limb of one of the robots, stopping them from properly closing.
The sniper sighed before she sharply kicked the twitching arm desperately clawing to get inside. The blow successfully incited the appendage to be removed, the doors properly shut, and seconds later they felt the explosion ripple through the wing.
"Shield integrity maintained. Minor damage to secondary corridor, but no breaches to station hull detected."
Widowmaker decided she was quite finished with this station as she walked back towards the woman at the computer.
"Our hosts lack charm. I suggest we depart this fête before they return.
Tracer looked directly up at the air ducts that were to serve as their escape plan. "Not sure how to get up there, really."
"Let us use my toy this time," her companion drawled, gesturing to the bracer that housed her grappling hook.
With a quick, expert aim, the grappling hook went soaring, snagging the grate that sealed the air ducts. A tug brought it down, clattering next to them. Its owner effortlessly secured the tool once more.
Tracer giggled, "Wicked toy."
With a roll of the eyes and a small smirk, Widowmaker's arm wrapped around Tracer's waist. The other wrapped her arms around the tall woman's neck.
If she wasn't bleeding and in the middle of possibly deadly situation, she'd find the embrace awfully intimate...and rather enjoyable.
She quipped her eyebrow at the gold eyes staring at her.
"Whatcha lookin' at?"
Widowmaker snorted, raising her arm towards the ceiling.
"An annoyance."
The hook was launched once more and embedded itself in the rafters. Then they were propelled upwards, and Widowmaker twisted them into the air ducts.
Crawling was torture. Tracer did everything she could not to focus on the exploding pain in her thigh. They had to keep moving.
She was relieved to find crates stacked beneath their exit in the Armory, not looking forward to plummeting to the ground with an injured leg.
This wing was not terribly large and was rather messy; either the desperate Overwatch agents or the rising omnics had hastily selected weapons and upturned shelving in their rush. Tracer limped along, refusing help, trying to resist reaching out to hold into the nearby stocks.
Widowmaker plucked a small, spherical device from a shelf as they passed by and attached it to her belt. Smoke bombs might prove useful in their escape.
She stopped when something even better caught her eye. The item was then presented to Tracer as she caught up to her.
"Portable shield."
The other woman cried, "Blimey, my arm isn't crippled. Can still shoot."
A skeptic eyebrow inched upwards. "You are not so fast now."
Tracer chewed the inside of her cheek before taking the small disk with a sigh.
"Fine, if you're making me."
Continuing to walk towards the entrance, Widowmaker slid the strap of her gun off her shoulder and secured the weapon as she replied, "You are lucky Overwatch felt the need for energized walls to produce internal shields or you would suffer more than a limp."
"Well, outer bloody space tends to—"
Tracer's leg finally gave way as she stepped forward, and she barely managed to catch herself against one of the nearby cabinets as she tripped. There was a silence as they awkwardly stared at each other.
With a slight nod, as if to herself more than to the other woman, Widowmaker walked over and offered her arm.
"Right softie, you are," Tracer teased.
"Problematic if the pilot dies."
With a chuckle, the young woman laced their arms together. In her available hand, she activated the portable shield, a band of energy generating a larger circle while she held the metal center.
She tried not to swoon as her partner easily handled the heavy rifle in one hand.
There was a pause as they reached the door.
"Keep the shield at our backs," Widowmaker murmured, tightening her grip on Tracer's arm.
"Aye, Miss."
The opened the doors, and they were off. Tracer ran as fast as she could. She told herself with every step that soon she would be sitting down on a nice chair in the ship and not feeling the shooting pain in her leg.
They tried desperately to avoid where the omnics were last seen as they navigated the hallways. Before Tracer could tell Widowmaker to turn, they were already doing so. She was obviously not the only one who had studied the map.
The one or two robots they encountered were easily handled by the ex-assassin, despite the extra weight of the injured brunette attached to her arm.
Finally making it to the exit of the ship's North sector, they all but threw themselves through the blast door.
"Athena, put that whole side of the station on lockdown again and divert all non-essential power to keeping those shields up on the Engineering wing."
"Confirmed. I am unable to identify any remaining hostiles."
Widowmaker intoned doubtfully, "They are likely cloaking and hiding now that their master is gone."
"Right," the other quipped, looking up the woman still practically carrying her, "But they should decommission soon without any orders from the God Program. Or tear each other apart. Bomb probably knackered out most of them."
"So optimistic," was the scoffed response, "They could be following us from the air duct system as well."
"No way."
Athena urgently stated over the intercom, "Agent Tracer, incoming—"
Widowmaker raised her gun and fired the second the omnic rounded the corner. She slyly glanced down at the woman still leaning on her other arm.
A huff. "OK, fine, you were right. Again. Happy?"
"Oui."
When they entered the Transport wing and saw the ship, Tracer tossed the shield on the floor with a wild cheer, completely ignoring the glare from her companion. However, Widowmaker seemed just as eager to climb inside.
Tracer sighed almost blissfully when she eased in the cockpit's chair; this was the easy part. When the station's massive gate doors slowly opened to reveal the starry sky, she couldn't help but smile.
They were going to be just fine, and Tracer relaxed into the familiar motions of liftoff. Her ship, despite being a glorified "Do-It-Yourself" project, flew well, and her attentions to the engine were paying off. They made excellent time across the relatively brief distance of space, a smile alighting even Widowmaker's typically stern face at the sight of little blue Earth popping up in the distance.
This was of course the perfect time for alerts to start sounding on the control panel.
Tracer immediately brushed off the frown sent her way.
"Probably another rubbish fuse. When we make it back to Earth, I'm setting this bloody ship on fire," the pilot grumbled, grunting slightly as she stood up, "S'on auto-pilot. Try and smile. It'll help."
Widowmaker ignored the grin flashed in her direction and called to the woman walking away, "Your leg—"
"What leg?" was the casual response she called over her shoulder as she walked away.
She wouldn't allow herself to cringe in pain as she limped away until she had safely rounded the corner from Widowmaker's line of sight.
A few more steps, and she was able to lean her shoulder against the wall. She sighed in relief to take the weight off her leg, quickly reaching to open the grey panel against the wall. Her fingers eagerly reached in to find the bad fuse, the failed wire, whatever it was that was holding them back when they were so close.
"Tell Mummy what you need, love."
She frowned when she found a wire had simply been disconnected.
Suddenly, a metal leg kicked her shin, flipping her backwards. Her back hit the wall behind her, and she fell to the floor.
Another stowaway. This one looked less willing to reason as the Talon assassin on the previous flight. The gun firmly mounted on the omnic's arm was staring her directly in the face.
"Prepare for termination."
"Terminate this."
A gunshot immediately followed the French accent, and the robot dropped to the ground with a thud.
The two women stared at each other in the dramatic pause that followed until Tracer merely shrugged.
"Knew it was there the whole time."
Widowmaker sighed as she walked over and offered her hand. "Always making jokes."
"Makes it hurt less."
"Oh really?" the other almost purred, jerking the fallen girl up to a standing position.
"Fucking hell!" Tracer grunted at the new explosion of pain in her injured leg.
Having made her point, Widowmaker speedily wrapped her arm around the Brit's waist to help her walk.
"You are lucky."
"Sure am. In the arms of a beautiful woman looking at the stars."
She had to bite her tongue at the agony her injuries now caused as she sat back down and buckled herself in once more.
But the routing on the screen immediately caught her attention.
"Bollocks," Tracer grunted, rapidly inputting commands on a different console, "Auto-pilot is taking us to a place I didn't tell it to," she repeated mashed the same button to no avail, "And now I'm locked out."
"Likely the work of our friend back there. What is our destination?"
"Americas. South. Looks like it's honing in on Mexico."
Widowmaker intoned darkly, "Talon."
"What?" Tracer quipped before groaning, "Changed my mind. No more surprise parties."
Amber eyes tried to understand the alerts flashing across the screens. "Will it land?"
"Don't look like it, my brakes are gone. Not planning on waiting to crash to find out though," the pilot then looked over to her companion and not-so-innocently asked, "Trust me?"
"Not to kill us? Barely."
With a devilish grin, Tracer bent forward to reach under the control panel.
"Might wanna buckle up."
Then, Tracer disconnected the main power.
They were spinning. Falling. Widowmaker's body lurched against the seat's constraints.
She had never felt so alive, never understood the potency a feeling could have in the face of death. And hearing Tracer's laughter in the face of that doom...It trumped the victory of a kill, of a clean shot.
She would follow this woman through hell and back.
Power was restored and a few quick inputs had the ship somewhat stabilizing.
Earth swam into focus before them as the plummeted towards her. The permanent night of space melted into clouds. In a mere second, they burst forth into the sunshine.
"Good news! Auto-pilot's gone."
"Brakes?"
"Too late."
The world around them had quickly turned to a mix of blue sky and green forest.
Widowmaker gripped the arms of her seat. "Lena."
Tracer was calm as she stopped inputting commands and firmly grabbed the yoke, "Heroes never die, love."
In the distance, the jungle cleared to form an opening. The tiny dots signaled some type of encampment, but the field beside it could be enough.
She urged the ship to even out; they would be coming in fast, but at least they could skid to a halt safely. Hopefully. Running to something on the ground could mean squishing them both in-between their own seats and the ship itself.
Her expert hands made them as level as possible, and she watched as the distance counted down on her screens.
Seconds to her were pointless. She always managed to find more time. After all, she was an expert time jumper! And yet, as she looked over at Widowmaker, she realized they might finally be out of it. Out of time.
But maybe it only had to be one of them.
At the latest possible moment, she tilted; if one side was going to collapse, she could guarantee it would be hers.
The world was suddenly bright and loud and moving way too fast for even her. The crash itself was felt in every fiber of her body, and the ship seemed to groan as it briefly went airborne once more. It quickly came crashing back down again, and the process repeated itself, each time with the sounds of more crying metal and splintering pieces. The spinning was unbearable.
Suddenly, everything hurt, and then, just as suddenly, everything was still.
Taking a breath hurt.
"Shite." And she thought her landing on the station had been a little rough.
Her vision was swimming a bit. But at least they were alive. She slowly tried to make sense of the world around her.
Widowmaker worked much more quickly, speedily unbuckling herself and trying to remove Tracer's belt. The Overwatch agent tried to help, but oddly found she could not move. Were those cuts on her hands? When had the dashboard shattered?
The buzzing in her ears drowned out whatever Widowmaker was trying to say to her. In fact, she couldn't really focus on much else besides how pretty her lavender skin was.
On the other hand, Widowmaker was perfectly aware of the growing heat and blaring alarms coming from the wrecked cockpit. The ship tilted had heavily to the left, and Tracer's side of the ship had taken the most grinding as the bounced and skidded to a halt. Her body had almost been pinned by the collapsed control panel, but her harness had acted as body armor, taking the greatest brunt of the crash.
Once she managed to wrangle her free, she threw Tracer's arm around her shoulders, grabbed her middle, and all but dragged her out of the ship. Tracer's limp was significantly worse.
They barely managed to escape before flames began engulfing the entirety of the hull. As the duo quickly hobbled away from the ship, Tracer started giggling. Widowmaker started at her incredulously.
The agent looked up with a smirk, "Told ya I'd set it on fire."
The taller woman supporting her rolled her eyes as she returned her focus before them, "You need medical attention. In more ways than one."
Widowmaker had known the second Tracer informed her their destination was Mexico they would end up suspiciously close the jungle camp Talon had tucked away. Mostly tents with only one or two minor buildings, the mainly outdoor facility served as a small foothold that would not attract much satellite attention. Therefore, the crash so close to the camp itself had dramatically summoned the agents within. Figures in black were quickly approaching them.
Reaper had ensured any survivors would be dealt with on Earth.
Tracer, either still in a daze or blind in her own bravery, struggled to grab her pistol while screaming, "Come at me, you bastards!"
Her companion struggled to keep her upright as she began to move, and even if their pursuers were still on the other side of the camp, she heard the gunfire now targeting them.
A shot skimmed the side of Widowmaker's visor, jerking her head back. Her heart began to race as the red, computerized markings disappeared from her vision, and she decided the new, anxious ache it caused in her chest was extremely irritating.
Playtime was over.
Whipping back around, Widowmaker knelt down and grabbed Tracer's legs, scooping the woman up and running in the opposite direction. She ducked behind a stack of crates near one of the tents.
Lowering Tracer to the ground, she firmly commanded, "Behave."
She withdrew the gun slung across her back, and quickly returned to the fray. Tracer struggled to adjust her unresponsive body in order to peek at the running woman.
Widowmaker kept low behind the tents of the outdoor camp as she moved closer to the oncoming assailants. A group of men in black were charging towards her location. Some with machetes, some with guns.
Her hand removed the fried visor from her forehead, tossing it to the ground.
Now she was angry.
Stepping into their line of sight, she immediately took out two advancing agents with her rifle, the figures collapsing to the ground. A third was quickly punctured by her grappling hook, and his body was soon propelling towards her. She continued to spray bullets at the wave of enemies while holding the now dead man by his collar, using her victim as a shield from incoming gunfire. Her mind counted down as she unloaded her clip.
Another aggressively charged her as the group closed in, raising the butt of his gun to knock aside her protection. She shoved the grown man towards him, and both bodies collapsed in a heap; she barely had to time to raise her weapon to block a blade swinging towards her head from the opposite direction.
A smile curved onto her face.
A kick in between the legs sent him crumbling, and she violently threw her gun at another oncoming assailant, the heavy weapon taking him by surprise. With a jerk, her knee met the face of the man knelt over before her with a satisfying crunch, and she easily took the machete from him. The agent that had recovered from the gun flying towards his head soon had the blade between his ribs; she effortlessly claimed his weapon as well. With a spin, she was parrying another blow and drawing blood. A shift, sweeping kick brought the attacker to their back, and she embedded the machetes in their chest.
Tracer's vision was fading in and out, but seeing Widowmaker's killing blow made her mouth fall open as she breathed, "Holy fuck."
The assassin calmly wiped the blood splatter off of her cheeks, her eyes swept across the small outpost for any further signs of life. They found none. She instinctively grabbed the automatic assault rifles off of one of the dead bodies surrounding her and jogged over to Tracer's now limp form lying across the ground. She felt panic begin to pound through her veins. The fighting and killing she could handle but losing Lena was something she could not begin to fathom. Her fingers eagerly pushed against the girl's throat.
She let out a sigh of relief; there was a pulse and Tracer was still breathing, likely having passed out from the loss of blood. They needed to find transportation and fast.
It was then she felt a cold chill ripple through the air, like an approaching thunderstorm shattering the heat. But she knew what had arrived was much worse.
She turned around and raised her gun at the new target.
"I had a feeling after you disappeared during your last mission that you would somehow end up here," he playfully chided, "Step aside, and maybe you'll get off with just a slap on the wrist."
Widowmaker did not flinch as she snarled, "You will not touch her."
"I merely wish to kill her," purred Reaper in his deep, raspy voice, his hand almost lazily holding his gun at his side.
"Then I will end whatever pathetic scraps of life you now cling to."
"My, my, Widow, how naughty. Talon does not appreciate disobedience."
She laughed, "Then they will be very disappointed after this."
Widowmaker dove forward, her shoulder hitting the ground, and she tucked into a roll. She came up shooting.
Reaper's form dissolved, but she maintained her assault, trying desperately to predict where he would materialize. She followed the black mist closely with a storm of bullets.
It suddenly lurched towards her. A punch to her stomach robbed her lungs of air and her hand of its gun. She heard it hit the ground behind her.
But her enemy was now a solid target just before her.
A swift kick knocked the gun from his hand, and with a turn, she used the growing momentum to send a fist hurdling towards his torso. She cringed as her hand hit metal, unable to stop the yelp that burst from her lips.
Reaper laughed as she leapt back into a defensive stance; he was clearly unharmed by the assault.
"Always good at a distance but can't handle a real fight?"
"You call this a real fight?"
She flipped backwards, hands flying towards the ground as her world turned upside down, and her fingers enclosed the gun she had dropped. Reaper was drawing a new gun from his belt as she landed.
She surged towards the closest cover she could find, unloading the remainder of the clip in the mercenary's gun she had borrowed.
Time was running out.
The sinking feeling in her stomach was new. Working beside the man had allowed her to learn his tricks, but it had failed to teach her a way to best him.
They needed to run.
Her fingers closed on the grenade at her belt, a souvenir from the station. She quickly tossed it in the direction her attacker.
As the smoke poured forth, she dashed towards the crates where she had left the other woman. Tracer was still passed out and limp; Widowmaker charged as quickly as she could.
But it wasn't enough.
The gunfire directly behind her instinctively made her dive forward. She reached for Tracer, groping at her vest, clinging to her jacket, desperate to shield her, save her. But then Reaper was upon her and kicked her side, forcing her to roll to her back. His foot pressed to her throat.
She growled, fingers clawing at the boot, her whole body shaking with pure rage and struggling against him.
"Anger feels good, doesn't it?" he laughed maliciously, pressing even more painfully against her neck, "Too bad you haven't learned to control it yet."
Her grip grew firm on his boot, and she stopped struggling.
Widowmaker choked out with a sneer, "You have yet to see me truly lose control."
The last and final pulse bomb stuck to his calf.
The second of shock allowed Widowmaker to push Reaper's leg off of her, causing him to lose his balance. She immediately scooped Tracer into her arms and began barreling in the other direction.
Then they were flying.
The explosion rippled through the camp, and Widowmaker clung to the woman in her arms, desperately turning as they came crashing back down against the ground. It felt as if her shoulder shattered.
They were still, but the world was still spinning. She opened her eyes and hazily saw Tracer's face.
Gunfire sounded behind them as she sat up; she barely heard it over the buzzing in her ears. Everything was blurry and pain wrecked her body. It would be so easy to simply fall back and rest.
But the gunfire told her to move.
She fumbled for the remaining pistol from Tracer's belt with her functioning arm, the other hanging limply at her side. Her legs refused to listen to her demand to stand, but she braced her knees against the ground as she lifted the gun towards a figure emerging from the smoke of the blast.
She would kill anyone who stepped in her way to save Lena.
What she did not expect was to see an angel step away from the destruction and ruin.
Upon seeing a weapon aimed towards her, the woman in white stopped and raised her hands. The staff she carried remained safely pointed towards the sky.
Their gazes remained fiercely locked. Widowmaker did not know if it was her new ability to sweat or the often-unseen ability to bleed that caused the moisture she felt on the side of her face. Was she bleeding? She felt so dizzy. More gunfire sounded around them beyond the smoke. Her extended arm began to shake. Her eyes flicked to the still body under her twitching limb.
Lena.
Her eyes returned to the angel, and she weakly asked, "Can you help her?"
"Yes."
She lowered the gun, resting her arm on Tracer's chest.
"Her vest needs repair."
The other woman's posture seemed to melt with relief at the surrender as she stepped towards them, bending down to inspect the young woman's injuries.
"Winston can assist her."
At the voice, Tracer whimpered.
"Hiya, Angie."
"Shhh, cherie," Widowmaker whispered, smoothing away brunette locks from a freckled face.
Widowmaker promised herself she wouldn't cry. Not yet.
A/N: Sorry it took so long, folks! Hopefully this longer chapter will make up for the wait. PLEASE tell me what you think - I promise I take each review very seriously. Thanks for reading!