Hello everyone!
Thank you all for the reviews! My largely dead heart has been revived by all the praise you guys have given me.
Still, someone had pointed out a certain weakness of mine; the story has barely started and there are already inconsistencies. It's true that I totally forgot about the brother… let's just say they're one big adopted family. I never planned to add the younger brother in anyway, unless some leverage is needed in case of a hostage situation. But I don't think I'll include that anyway.
I feel like saying once more that I cannot write dark sinister stuff, and the story is meant for light reading. Meaning, you will probably remember it with a fond smile, but it probably won't go deeper than that. So write and wrong: the rivalry you mentioned will be there, but it most definitely won't be ugly.
Anyway, here is the first chapter. No Altona here, but a glimpse of Tracer and Widowmaker after the event. Enjoy!
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Chapter 1
One year after the Museum Mayhem….
Lena was in a good mood. Well, it was not to say she was usually gloomy and taciturn, but she was particularly exuberant today. She was humming all the way to… to nowhere in particular, as she was just wandering about in her favorite shopping mall. The young Tracer's overly positive aura seemed to affect everyone in the vicinity, and Mercy- her companion for the day- could not help but ask.
"Lena, dear, you seem very happy today. Was geht?" The beautiful blonde woman stopped to joggle her mind for the appropriate English expression. "I mean, what's up?"
"Nothing really, I'm just looking forward to the recruitment ceremony tonight." Came Lena's chipper reply.
"Ceremony? Tonight?" It was not that Angela "Mercy" Ziegler was slow on the uptake, but she had been more preoccupied with surgery-related affair than the events outside. "Ach so! So it was tonight."
"Uh huh! I can actually meet new, fresh recruits that's actually my age!"
Angela looked at the excited girl, her loving gaze laced with a hint of sadness. Due to the turmoil caused by the Omnics, many young people was ripped from their peaceful life and thrown into the crisis as men and women of war. While Tracer would probably not complain about this, it was clear that she had been through much more than she was supposed to. Particularly, the Slipstream accident, the tragedy that tore the genius pilot from the here and the now. Only thanks to Winston's chronal accelerator could Lena maintain a solid form. She was also in Angela's care back when she was desynchronized from real time, and it had pained Angela just as much then as it did now.
The blonde medic had a mind to spend time with Tracer as much as she possibly could- as a friend, a counselor, and a mother figure in the girl's life. While Lena appreciated and fully enjoyed the attention, she had always longed for someone her age to play with, share childish jokes with, and- last but not least- confide in.
Tracer was a strong girl, having kept up a positive and cheerful façade after all the hardships, and she deserved at least a close friend.
Pulling herself away from reverie, Angela feigned hurt.
"Are you saying that I'm too old for you?" She said with a pout that was definitely not her age.
This actually caused Tracer to do a double take. She looked back at her friend with a mischievous look, then- in a split second- blinked blackwards. The next thing Mercy knew, Lena was whispering into her ear, and it took all her willpower not to scream like a little girl she was (not).
"Even if I'm stuck in time and become immortal, you are still too old." Tracer stopped for emphasis. "Mom." She then leaned forwards to kiss Angela on the cheek before zooming away.
Mercy stood there completely motionless. Then, she screamed.
"LENA OXTON! YOU STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU!" Out of nowhere, the enraged blonde took out Winston's tesla cannon and began pursuit.
"Oh my god! Go away Winston!"
"WHO ARE YOU CALLING WINSTON!"
Suffice to say, one could never be bored with Tracer around.
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Widowmaker crouched, staring curiously at the lifeform in front of her.
It should be mentioned here that she normally found everything suspicious. It is hard-coded in her mindset- a part of the brainwash protocol- that anything with a pulse could be a threat. While this sounded unreasonable at best and delusional at worst, the intelligence war was something to fear; any animal, no matter how small, can be used as info carriers, disease carriers, or even suicide bombers. Still, Widowmaker was not planning to put a bullet into the creature in front of her.
"Is it good, mon cher chat?" She cooed to the creature- a fluffy orange cat. Said cat was happily licking in the milk bowl courtesy of the assassin.
Yes, Widowmaker had a pet cat. The notorious assassin, killer of many men and robots alike, had a pet cat.
She had long accepted that the fateful punch that day did more than just dislocated her jaw and caused a concussion. The detonation had apparently fried up whatever intricate microchips and entrapments Talon had had in her brains. For the first time in forever, Amélie Lacroix was reborn- and she was not sure she liked it.
At first.
Now, she undoubtedly did.
The sparks of emotion that flew off in the wake of the detonation had been foreign and intimidating. She tried to control them at first, but her attempts were in vain; after a fortnight, she came to terms with the fact that human could not conventionally control their emotions. This has eventually born detrimental fruits to her mission, as her unchecked emotions started to seep in her performance.
The climax has been the failed assassination of Tekhartha Mondatta, a greatly influential figure to both human and omnics, one of a few key target whose death would incentivize the arrival of the Second Omnics Crisis. The overwhelming sentiments had gotten the better of her though; it took everything she had to pull the trigger, and it did not hit the mark. She was forced to retreat shortly afterwards with no time to recuperate, and she stumbled at a safehouse in the middle of the night, sobbing uncontrollably.
After a few nights of excruciating guilt, she severed her ties with Talon by simply disappearing. They never noticed that they could not track her, or eliminate her, until they tried; the EMP had miraculously terminated the microdevices without giving them a chance to notify their monitor. When the kill-on-sight order was given to all Talon agents, Widowmaker was long gone.
It had taken her a full year to become acquainted with feeling, not unlike a newborn child. She had laughed to jokes, cried to sad stories, and got irritated by passing flirts. It was unnerving at first, then she came to enjoy every second of being able to feel freely.
Stroking the soft fur of her loved pet, Widowmaker briefly wondered about her future. A frown made its way to her dainty face as she realized how unclear things were ahead of her, but she quickly shook away the dark thoughts. Before she became fully human, she would cross that bridge. For now, she would stay being a growing baby.
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Tracer sprawled on her bed and sighed deeply. While it was fun teasing Angela about her age, it was definitely tiring even for her. The medic must have alternated her stamina system somehow… that explains how she could bounce from soldier to soldier in the battlefield.
Speaking of soldier…
Lena's thoughts drifted to one particular, codename 76. An uneasy, yet familiar feeling arose within her as she remembered the event transpired at the museum. The kid (Lena sighed yet again, this time of fondness) had the last name Morrison, which is also Soldier 76's. Now, identical names had always been a coincidence, yet she could not shake off the feeling of familiarity when she stared at Altona's eyes. It had been strikingly similar to when she was recruited to the Overwatch ranks as a honor member; it has been Commander Morrison who came to congratulate her, and inspired her with his booming charisma and leadership. Over time he had become sort of a mentor to her, helping with techniques and skills that were not exactly up in Angela's field of work.
Could the beloved Commander have a long lost bastard child?
Lena could not wait for the truth. Yet, she did not know how to ask without angering the old man.
…
"Say, sir?"
"Hm?" Soldier 76 looked up from the papers in front of him. Seeing Tracer standing there with a rather sheepish look, he went back to his work with a grunt. "Lena, I told you to call me Jack."
"Alrighty then, Jack…" Lena mused, mostly to herself. She wondered what she should ask. "… The ceremony is in two hours."
"It is." Came the curt reply which certainly discouraged the girl even more.
"So… are you gonna be there this year too? To give a speech? To, um, congratulate the new recruits?" She finally found something to inquire.
"I am. Even though I'm not young anymore, it still falls upon me to do it." Jack Morrison finally abandoned his paperwork, taking off his glasses in the process. Lena wondered if the number 76 actually referred to the man's age; while it seemed highly unlikely that he could maintain being an efficient soldier at that point, technology had gone a long way and, well, it was another thing that Tracer dared not ask.
"Right-o then… I guess I will see you there." Jack merely grunted in reply. It was clear that the man was not in the mood for small talks, so Lena fled the room as gracefully as she could.
Leaning against the wall outside of Morrison's personal quarters, the usually flamboyant girl let out a frustrated sigh.
Well, maybe I will just leave it for another time, she thought. Plenty of time to get an answer.
Little did she know, the answer came much sooner than she expected.
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Well, that's about it. Tell me what you guys think, please? I will try to fill up all the plot holes I made and will be making in the future, as long as I have someone point them out for me xD
See you all later! Have a good day!