A/N: Background: Petras Act repealed, 2nd Omnic Crisis in Russia underway.
The Russian captain stood stock still, face straight as he was subjected to intense scrutiny. His jaw was set, but Pharah noted the slight tremble in his right leg, hidden from view behind the table. A bead of perspiration trailed down his temple as the rest spectated his silent war with Overwatch's medic. Then he shifted his gaze, prompting six pairs of eyes to rest upon her instead. He was deferring to Pharah, and she hated him for choking on the decision.
"We split the company," Pharah said, standing firm under Mercy's glare. "I will lead the assault team with Zarya and Winston. Mercy will remain with D-Va and Ana to coordinate rescue efforts." She looked back at Captain Kuritsyn. "Have your soldiers ready in an hour." He nodded, and she swept her eyes over the rest of the personnel in the tent. All wore a look of grim determination, ready to execute the plan chosen.
At Kuritsyn's dismissal, the officers filed out of the tent – behind the medic. Mercy had marched out, displeasure evident in the click of her heels and the none-too-gentle way she ripped the tent flap open. It was rare – very rare – to see the medic losing her temper in public. Watching her gentle and gracious demeanour give way to quiet seething was rather unsettling, as evidenced by the slight apprehension in Zarya's expression. Pharah strode over to the Russian, telling her to inform the squad of what had transpired. The bulwark of a woman nodded, needing no further explanation. They parted the moment they stepped out of the tent, Zarya heading off to find the squad while Pharah followed Mercy back to the field hospital.
Her boots crunched through the thick layer of snow as she trudged towards the large medical tent. Soldiers and medics ran past her in a hurry, some slowing for a double-take at the Raptora armour before focusing back on the crisis at hand. An omnic squadron had launched an assault on a residential area near the Russian field camp, while they were busy defending their base from more omnics. Now, in addition to ruined infrastructure and wounded soldiers, the overextended company had to send aid to the civilians as well. In an ideal situation, the entire camp would be concentrated on aid and rescue efforts. But the omnic squad in question was responsible for a slew of rampant killings and destruction in the past month alone. Captain Kuritsyn had received orders from top brass to wipe them out, no matter the cost. Thus the creation of the assault team, splitting off manpower that could have been assigned to relief.
Pharah let out a breath and entered the tent, carefully navigating through the frenzied flurry of activity to reach the makeshift partition of Mercy's office. Said medic was currently hunched over the computer, jabbing away at the keyboard. She made no move to recognise Pharah's presence, focusing instead on the casualty list being updated by the second, while the real-time logistics system tracked their rapidly diminishing medical supplies.
"Angela," she said quietly, aware of the lack of a proper door. Though Mercy remained absorbed in the data, Pharah knew she had heard her. The medic's anger was still boiling at its peak; a fact confirmed when Pharah touched her arm, only to have it jerked out of her grasp. Her familiarity with the doctor was the only thing that stopped her from taking a step back under the scalding glare.
"You know we can't let this omnic squad escape again. They've been wreaking havoc all over the–"
"Then go after them. We cannot disobey orders." Sarcasm dripped from her words like venom.
"You think we're being barbarians," Pharah said. There was no need to ask. Her disapproval had been made clear since their first meeting with Kuritsyn – a living embodiment of the saying 'shoot first, ask later'.
"Angela, we have to wipe them out before they hit us again. Before they hurt even more civilians. We have to bring them to justice for all they have done."
"'Justice'?" Mercy's voice was raised, the corners of her lips curved in bitter cynicism. "This is not about 'justice' anymore, Pharah. This is about revenge. I'm not blind. I can see you and Kuritsyn craving to destroy the omnics ever since their first attack. No, you don't care about justice anymore. All you care about is getting revenge, even if it means the death of those you're supposed to be protecting!"
"Are you being short-sighted on purpose?" Pharah matched her volume. Whatever concern she had about being overheard was long forgotten. "This omnic squadron has been killing people by the thousands. If we throw all our resources into rescuing the hundreds we have here instead of catching them, we'd only be signing the death warrant for hundreds more. We need to end them here, and end them now. We need to give hope to the rest–"
"Hope? Good. Go, give them hope. But remember not to tell them their 'hope' was bought with the lives of their fellow countrymen."
"You are–"
"Get out. I have orders to follow, Captain."
Pharah held her ground, pushing down the instinctive urge to apologise. There was no time. Her act of betrayal against Mercy's morals would have to be addressed another time. The medic turned away from her, taking one last glance at the computer screen before storming over to the supply cabinet. Gritting her teeth, hands clenching into fists, Pharah walked out of the office with as much dignity she could muster. Ignoring the quick sidelong glances from the medical staff, she exited the tent and headed for the armoury. She had orders to follow through, as well.
Pharah stood at the gates, watching the tanks work through the carpet of snow at the base's exterior. Her helmet was already in place, visor informing her that these tanks were undamaged from their previous battle. Good. They would need every edge they could scrounge up at this point.
Two large shadows fell over her, and Pharah turned her head to see the towering figures of Zarya and Winston. Their wounds were nowhere to be found – Mercy's work, no doubt. The thought of the medic sent another chaotic echo through her chest, emotions that had no place where she was about to go.
"Let us move, Pharah. We will not let them escape this time," Zarya declared, hefting her particle cannon.
Pharah nodded curtly, and the Russian headed to their armoured truck, ready to bring some payback down on the omnics' heads. Winston's eyes flickered towards Pharah knowingly, large hand patting her shoulder before following Zarya. Adjusting her grip on her launcher, Pharah gave in to the tickling sensation in the back of her mind, and turned towards the camp.
The white winged figure stood far away from the gates, next to a tent in the barracks. Pharah increased the magnification on her visor, bringing Mercy's face into clear view. The medic's countenance was still lined with bitterness and strain. And yet, despite their argument before, concern was laid bare in her eyes as they stared through Pharah's visor. No matter how disgruntled she was, Mercy could not help but worry for their safety. Compassion was too deeply ingrained in her soul for her to do otherwise.
Guilt and adoration pierced through her heart then. Pharah screwed her eyes shut, unable to hold the gaze any longer. She turned away, recalibrating the visor's magnification and putting Mercy's image out of her mind. Taking a deep breath, Pharah straightened her shoulders and activated thrusters, soaring over the strike team as they headed towards another bloody battle.
She vowed to return in one piece. That was the best gift she could give to Mercy now.