Overwatch: Lost in Time

by Raven the Dragon

Before she was the face of Overwatch, Tracer was Lena Oxton, the pilot with Chronal Disassociation. With her accelerator gone, Lena must face what she fears the most: Herself. Demons come back to haunt her that McCree and Genji thought were long gone, and struggles hidden under a smile finally come to light. But it's too late. Lena Oxton might be gone forever.

5. Chapter 5- Messages

Chapter 5: Messages

Fareeha didn't open her eyes, even when she was conscious. Her arms were spread out, and her legs were stuck together, forcing her into a T-pose. She tested her bindings, though the straps were firm and refused to budge. She was out of her armour, likely in the light clothing she wore underneath it.

They had knocked her out directly after their communicator call, in which the one called Sombra told her to "say hello to her mother." That made no sense. Her mother had been dead since a failed mission years ago. Perhaps they merely meant to kill her and send her to the afterlife with her mother.

And yet, the idea had rooted itself. Could Captain Amari have survived the mission? Nobody could find a body, after all. It was a small seed of doubt. Fareeha shook her head, forcing the idea out. It was a naíve and foolish hope of which to cling.

Finally, Fareeha cracked her eyelids open. White flooded her vision as she blinked, not expecting the walls to be so horribly bright. A light strip was the only source of illumination, and the door was discernible only by a rectangular indent in the otherwise spotless wall. She wondered with a hint of sardonic humour is this is the same place where Talon brainwashed Amelié.

Pharah took a deep breath. Odds are, they were going to try to do the same thing to her. It was a sobering thought that in a matter of hours she might not be the same person. She shook her head. "I will protect the innocent..." she mumbled under her breath. The words were familiar in her mouth and offered some reassurance. She would never let Talon twist her like they did Amelié.

Perhaps that was precisely what Amelié did feel, and look how it turned out. Fareeha would need more grit. She would need to assume anything they said was a lie. Whether they would be using more painful techniques was unknown, but that didn't bother her as much as it should. If they tried to use pain to persuade her, it meant they didn't think they could twist her with words.

"I will protect the innocent..." she murmured again. Siding with Talon would keep her from doing so. It was an oath she made the day her mother perished. But what if she truly was alive?

Fareeha shook her head. That didn't change anything. On the incredibly off chance that her mother was not yet dead, she had still made that oath. If she joined Talon, she'd be putting lives in danger. She would not let this happen to her.

Mercy had said they would come for her. Fareeha had no choice but to put all her faith in them. She only had to survive until then.

"I will protect the innocent." She would make sure this was the truth. Then the door seemed to move back and slide away, reminiscent of a sliding car door. Widowmaker strode through the door, her expression blank. She was wearing a suggestive pink, skin-tight one piece. A black stripe travelled around her torso. The outfit turned purple once it reached the legs, with grey snaking around the outfit, much like a black spider web. She had black boots, though she was without her standard gauntlets or helmet she wore during missions. Her hair was loose, flowing down her shoulders; her skin was a sickly shade of blue, almost purple.

"You look comfortable," Widowmaker remarked blankly, her voice smooth and even. "I hope you are settling in well. You're going to be here a while." The sweet tone she used sent shivers down Pharah's spine. She felt so exposed without her Raptora suit. She continued when Fareeha did not respond, merely glaring at her. "Do not fear, for I just wish to have a little... chat with you," she smiled coldly, like a lion that just found its next meal.

"Your mother was such a skilled sniper. She nearly killed me, as a matter of fact. She made a foolish mistake, though."

Fareeha said nothing.

"She hesitated. Ana Amari, the greatest sniper in Overwatch, was unable to claim the life of a traitor. So I retaliated. It was an easy shot: directly through the scope of her rifle into her eye. I am surprised that she was able to survive such a shot."

"My mother was never shot in the eye before her death," Fareeha insisted, afraid of what she would hear next.

"I think we both know what shot I am speaking. It was the shot that 'claimed her life.' And yet, she somehow survived it. Impressive that sweet, old Ana did so with such minimal medical attention." Widowmaker's voice was so close to flat, yet underneath it, there was a mixture of admiration, shown by a slight raising of her tone, almost unnoticeable.

"Of course, you don't believe me. You think your dear old mother is long since gone, do you not?" Fareeha said nothing, but she was shaking. Widowmaker chuckled. It was the heartless laugh of someone who took pleasure in other's suffering. She was clutching something in her fist, Fareeha noticed. She held it in the palm of her hand. It was a HoloVid. The small box blinked to life, projecting a video.

Fareeha's heart stopped. The world faded out of view as the security footage flipped her whole world on its head. It was near the Temple of Anubis, around midday. The walls were an off-white and pleasant to look at with desert trees, reminiscent of an oasis, poking over the top. The tape caught two figures on camera. One of them was the ghostly and unnatural form of the Reaper. He was fighting one other person: the vigilante known as Soldier 76. As the two scuffled, Reaper's shotgun hit the soldier point-blank in the side, and he toppled to the ground, clutching his side. There was surprisingly little blood, given the force of the blast.

Reaper stood over Soldier 76, speaking for a moment. Suddenly, he stopped clutching his side, seeming to be in shock. Newly healed, he tackled Reaper, who vanished into a wisp. A few seconds later, he fell to the ground, someone else on top of him.

It was Fareeha's mother: Ana Amari. There was no doubt about it. She was wearing a blue and grey soldier uniform, a hoodie, and an eyepatch, but there was no doubt about it. It was her mother. On top of Reaper, she pulled off the mask he was wearing, a look of horror overcoming her. Reaper disappeared into a wisp once more, and he was gone.

Pharah's eyes widened once more when Soldier 76 took his mask off, revealing himself as the long-dead Commander Jack Morrison. He had a scar trailing across his face, but it was him.

Widowmaker smirked, letting the HoloVid blink off with a beep.

"Surprised? To be honest, I was too. It's not every day someone can survive a bullet shot to the eye."

"What does this have to do with me?" Pharah finally asked, hoping her voice didn't shake too much. Her mother was alive. Her mother was alive and never told her daughter. There was hurt, a lot of it, but what Sombra had done, giving her the communicator, suddenly made sense. Her mother must have been listening in on the conversation when Sombra put the mic to her ear.

"Oh, I'm sure you know what it means. Perhaps you would like to help us put her in the grave like she belongs?" Widowmaker asked, knowing the obvious answer. Fareeha only glared at her.

"I'll be honest; I thought the same thing about Gérard when Talon requested the same thing from me. Of course, I was not to eliminate my husband. To this day, I wish I did not need to." She was not sad, that much was evident, yet there was something in her voice that Fareeha couldn't put her finger on.

"Then why would you?" Pharah asked coldly, her gaze not wavering from her captor.

"Because he was a threat. He knew things that made him dangerous to both Talon and the world as a whole, much like your mother."

"Such as how to take down your little organisation you have here," Pharah remarked, her voice neutral.

"He interfered with Talon's goals." she continued, unwavering.

"Which are?"

"Come now; I cannot tell you everything, now can I?" Widowmaker retorted like a parent joking with their child. She idly leant against a wall, staring at the dim light above. "Of course I did not wish to kill him, but I had to do so."

"Everyone at Overwatch believed you to be brainwashed," Fareeha admitted, surprised at how… human Amelié was acting.

"Perhaps. They may have tricked me into killing Gérard, yet they might not have. I could not tell you. I will tell you one thing, though, little Fareeha. They did not 'brainwash' me into joining them." Her voice was still calm and collected, yet it contained an unexpected softness to it. Not regret, sadness, nor pity, but something akin to resignation, like an animal that knew it had been caught and gave itself up.

"Then why join Talon?"

"And go back to Overwatch?" Her voice quieted, she narrows her eyes, the smirk returning to her face, "Once the deed was done, there was nowhere else to go."

Lena hated the stabilisation chamber. She hated it with all her heart, yet she had no choice but lie her legs against the metal platform, with her feet sticking upwards. Her back was lying flat on the metal ground, perhaps phasing through some wires, though it was of no consequence to her. It was a favourite pose of her's. It let her stare blankly ahead at the tangle of cords above her, all dusty and unused for years. She preferred it to the dull, grey walls that made her feel so horribly caged.

…

Tracer sighed as Winston powered on the many inefficient devices in the room. They all served as a means to keep her anchored in the present, but they did not properly work. It was barely enough to keep her from fading too often, but she still could not touch anything.

She lolled her head back and listened intently as Winston paced around the room, debriefing her in his normal, nervous way.

"After Angela and Fareeha infiltrated the lockup facility, someone halted their progress, taking the chronal accelerator and Fareeha. Angela was able to flee, putting her suit in emergency mode, allowing the flight system to carry her here."

"I don't use that unless it's an emergency. It can damage the hardware, and all other functions become nonexistent when doing so," Angela explained, sitting on the windowsill of the room with her legs crossed, though she still looked drained.

"What could that girl have wanted with Fareeha?" Winston asked, eyes flicking between Mercy and Lena.

"She was likely from Talon, given how she described her operatives. We should start from that assumption," Lena grimaced but didn't "say" anything. Mercy continued. "If that girl is with Talon, then we can assume it has something to do with Captain Amari."

"But what? Captain Amari died a long time ago," Winston sighed sadly. "I couldn't think of anything beyond trying to tarnish her name."

Angela looked pensive. "Well, Fareeha is a member of Helix Security now. She was permitted leave to 'investigate' suspicious activity. The higher-ups didn't ask too many questions due to her track record, but regardless, maybe Talon wants some power over them?"

"But Helix is the kind of company to prioritise mission over man. I doubt they would jeopardise their many soldiers and their current objectives for one. Plus, that would put Talon in a tricky spot should Helix decline a hostage exchange," Winston argued, still pacing, seeming to have forgotten Lena's presence.

"I don't think they have much to gain by trying to make her turn on us, either," Angela mused, shifting her legs into a more comfortable position. "Though, they certainly have the means to do so," Mercy trailed off, her eyes flitting to the ground as worry made itself evident.

Deciding they hit a wall, Winston changed the subject. "The odd thing is how they took both the harness and Fareeha. The harness only works for Lena," Winston nervously glanced at the transparent girl before continuing. "Nobody else would be able to get any use out of it, even if they knew how it worked."

"Was the device not based off of the original teleportation matrix from the Slipstream jet?" Angela asked despite Lena knowing she already knew the answer to that question.

"Well, yes, it was. But the amount of people who knew about the chronal accelerator and how it functioned is small. The number of individuals who knew about the Slipstream is even lower, with only a handful of mechanics, scientists, and the doctors that tried to help Lena before I made the harness. I don't see how anyone at Talon could have that information," Winston admitted.

"The important thing is that they took it. Talon also took Fareeha while we were there. Maybe they stole it knowing it was important since we were after it," Angela theorised, looking out the window at the night seaside next to them while the sun began its descent. "Perhaps Fareeha was their target the whole time, and they saw our infiltration as an acceptable time to take both."

In other words, it was Lena's fault. Neither of them was saying it, perhaps it hadn't even crossed either of their minds, but that was the subtext she gleaned from it. Because she had to fail to save Mondatta, her harness was damaged. Because she failed to get away, her accelerator was stolen. Because she couldn't get back to Winston first to let him know she wasn't with it, they went after it, and Fareeha was captured.

Talon might be torturing Fareeha for all Lena knew. It was her fault. All because of her stupid condition. All because of what she was.

Ignoring the tears that were trickling out of her eyes, Lena jumped up and ran.

"L-Lena!" Winston shouted after her, surprised. "Don't leave the room! You're more likely to disappear!"

She ignored him and ran. It was all she was good at, running. She heard Winston's clumsy run after her as she bolted down the hallway, finally stopping once she reached what had been her room after Winston made her harness.

Everything was exactly how she left it. Posters of jets adorned the walls; the orange covers were haphazardly lying on the bed. Her dresser, which had a simple lamp and a special notebook and pen were actively collecting dust. A charger for her harness lay on the ground, unused and empty.

Winston knew she had gone into her room, though he and Angela were speaking quietly outside her door, not barging in.

Lena slowly walked over to her notebook. A similar pen lay next to it. They both flickered oddly, the same way she did. Winston had destabilised them, much like almost anything else Lena owned. She picked up the book, brushing her hand along the cold surface. It was a hardback book with no title, though the pages were full of writing. Many of them ranged from doodles to short stories to even poems she had written in her abundance of free time in the stabilisation room. Several of them, however, were diary entries. Being the only one who could touch the book and open it, it was the only place she dared write her complaints in. She opened it to one of the entries and read.

Dear Journal,

Today, Winston brought me a new pair of clothes. They're simple pyjamas, but they're way better than the burnt flight outfit I'd been wearing since the crash. He says he doesn't know how to destabilise electronics yet, so a video game or something of the likes is off the table for now. That's okay, I guess. Either way, the electronics in the room that are supposed to stabilise me interfere with normal things such as TVs. It's pretty annoying.

I had another dream. I was someone named Gérard. His wife had been kidnapped by Talon, but they found her later with nothing seeming to be wrong with her. She was incredibly kind to him, and he loved her back, both seeming to be relieved that she was just alive and that they were together again. Then she just... killed him. He was in bed, and when he woke up, Amelie was standing over him, with a knife in hand. There were tears in her eyes, and she was shaking, but she did it. She went right for the throat so that he couldn't scream. The blood choked him as it spilt over the bed. The room seemed to get lighter and darker at the same time, hot and cold all at once. Two tears streamed from Amelié's face as she stood over him. She had kissed him on the lips despite all the bleeding. The final thing he saw before dying, and before I went back into the void, was her jumping out of the window to escape. I don't know why she could have done that. Is that was Talon does to people? Why would they do something so horrible as to twist someone to turn on their lover? That had to be the reason, but why?

Honestly, Journal, I don't know how much more of this I can take. It's been a full month, and I'm still like this. I'm still not human. Winston doesn't know about the dreams. Neither does Angela or any of the other doctors. Even if I could talk, I doubt I could tell them. I've seen so many different things and people, and I've experienced death so many times. I don't want it to be anyone else's problem, but at the same time, I don't know how I can keep doing this. I couldn't even end my life if I wanted to. I'm stuck as this thing, and I hate it! Why did the jet crash? Why did it have to be me? Winston insists he's made progress, sure, but how much? What if he hits a wall in his research? So far, he's only been able to desynchronize things, never the other way around.

I can't keep doing this. Every time I fade, I dream about something. Every time, it's painful. I've had very few dreams that I like. It's like being afraid to go to sleep because of nightmares; only there's no medication to help. I miss being able to touch things, too. I miss the feeling of the ground beneath my feet, of hugging a friend, of the sun shining down on me. I miss being able to eat and sleep, even being able to feel pain. Everything is just cold. I can barely even remember what it feels like to be warm. I am, by every sense of the word, a ghost.

I'm sorry for talking to you about this, Journal. It's the only place I can risk dropping my smile. Thank you for being such a good listener. Unfortunately, I'm running out of room on this page, and I can feel myself slipping. I wonder what I'll dream this time. Until next time, I guess. Cheers, love.

-Lena Oxton

Tears freely fell from Lena's face now. She flipped to another page of the journal and had started to read it when it fell from her grasp without warning, landing face-up on the desk, still open to the same page. Lena tried to close it, only to see that her hands were vanishing.

She realised Winston or Angela could read this page if they came in. Part of her wished desperately to close it and keep all this hidden, yet part of her hoped they would read it, and she wouldn't need to be the one to tell them.

The darkness seeped into her vision as she flopped onto the bed and fell into the darkness again. Maybe she should've stayed in the stabilisation room.

...

"Winston!" Mercy chastised as the two idled outside Lena's room. "Stop blaming yourself for everything!"

"But it is my fault. I should've been more careful in my warning," Winston admitted regretfully, putting his head in his hand. "I know Lena is sensitive about this stuff, but I said it anyway."

"Stop!" Angela shouted, startling him. "Of course you blame yourself, I get it! You blame yourself for the jet crash! You blame yourself for taking so long to help her! You blame yourself for Fareeha! You blame yourself for this!" she gestured wildly to the closed door than Lena had run directly through. "I blame myself for a lot of things too! For being so careless with helping her! For not thinking of how she felt! For letting Fareeha be captured without a fight! Hell, I blame myself for ninety percent of the patients I work with!" she hesitated for a second, then proceeded in a hushed voice.

"But what do you think Lena blames herself for? She probably blames herself for worrying you so much, for Mondatta being killed, for losing the device, for causing us to run after it and Fareeha being captured. Think about this from her perspective. She pretends to be all upbeat but come now. She's not stupid. She knows the situation she's in, and she hates it!" Angela wiped a tear away. "Come on, let's go check on Lena," she commanded to the shocked Winston, who numbly nodded, still absorbing what she had said.

She knocked lightly on the door. "Lena? Are you there?" Not expecting a reply, she opened the door. Nobody was in the room. "She vanished..." Mercy realised, her heart sinking. We'll need to wait for her to come ba-" she cut herself off, noticing something unusual. The journal was lying on the desk, wide open.

"Is that her diary?" Winston asked rhetorically. They both approached it, Angela turning on the desk lamp. When she reached down to touch it, she felt her hand pass through it without budging the pages.

"This must be the one you had given her before you made the harness."

Angela turned to leave, only to see Winston staring intently at the page filled with writing.

"Angela, I need to understand how she feels. I know it's not right, but we both know she doesn't ever tell us her feelings. I need to understand her," he admitted, hovering over the book.

"It's a direct violation of her privacy," she warned. "You know she wouldn't like it."

"Well, I don't like that she won't let me understand how she feels! I'm reading it!" he insisted, both guilty yet determined.

Angela sighed. "I cannot say that I am not worried about her too. Read it out loud," she conceded, sitting on the bed as Winston began to read from the book.

...

Genji had not been expecting much that day. He had mostly been keeping tabs on his brother's whereabouts while still in Hanamura. He was several miles away from his old home as he took shelter in an abandoned hotel.

What he had not been expecting was a message to pop up in his visor from someone long-since dead.

"Six days, meet us in the place where you would slack from your job, close to where Angela found you. Debriefing. Don't be late, or shirk from your duties to take down your legacy. If you can get anyone from your Recall shenanigans down here too, that'd be peachy. Tell them it's about Fareeha."

There was no address that Genji could see, but the wording, the facts, the little things that were strewn about the short message reminded him of one person, and one person alone. Jack Morrison.

Genji had always doubted that the commander would so quickly die in an explosion. Genji himself was familiar with near-death experiences, so he wasn't as surprised as he likely should have been. There was likely nobody else that it could have been.

Genji had received the recall message and was going to respond once he had a way to reach Gibraltar, but it seemed he'd be calling them to him. He prepared a message, his thoughts translating directly to the message system he had installed into his visor.

"Genji, here. I received word from someone trustworthy. Meet me in the arcade near the Shimada property in five days; someone is meeting us soon after. It's important. Something about Fareeha." The message sent to Gibraltar's computers. Hopefully, he'd get a reply. Soon, Genji was leaving the hotel, dashing past the many cherry blossom trees, using them as cover to avoid detection by the few locals in the fairly unpopulated area.

He did not know who Fareeha was, but he had the feeling this person was important. He'd be back at the arcade in a matter of hours at the speed he was running.

While running, he thought. The Sakura trees melded into a land of pink leaves and green grass as he did so. Why did Jack Morrison not alert anybody that he had survived the explosion? It seemed somewhat petty, despite him apparently having his reasons. Genji chuckled at his hypocrisy. He had not told his brother until a few days ago that he was alive, so Genji did not have much room to complain.

The question remained: why did Commander Morrison wish to meet in Hanamura of all places? Surely, it was not for Genji's convenience. Perhaps it had something to do with the Shimada clan itself. He would not put it past his families organisation to cause trouble beyond the grave.

And whoever this Fareeha person was, Genji hoped that if it was a person in danger, that they were well.

...

Jack and Ana had managed to stowaway on a commercial flight to Japan. They were both crammed into the cramped luggage department, with suitcases of varying sizes and weights cramming them both. However, it hurt little more than their egos.

"I'm surprised, Jack. You don't seem the type to give up your secret so quickly," Ana mused as she tried to move a suitcase to be more comfortable.

"Well, if we're going to walk straight into a trap, we may as well have some backup," he retorted, leaning against a huge bag packed full of items.

"Thank you for agreeing to help," Ana offered offhandedly.

"Hey, you took the time to worry about my war. I owe it to you to help with yours. Not to mention, I quite like Fareeha. Nice kid, she has a good heart. Wouldn't want anything to happen to her," he admitted after a moment. They both grunted as the plane experienced turbulence, throwing them off balance.

"How did you know about the recall anyway?"

"You have your tricks; I have mine."

"I'm surprised Overwatch is getting back together after all this time," Ana admitted nervously.

"Can't say I disagree, but I'm also not complaining. Having some of the actual artillery from the bases and a team to back us up would come in handy."

"Funny how you mention the 'artillery' before the soldiers," Ana teased idly.

"You know I have questionable morals," he awkwardly joked back, trying to lie down on the mountain of luggage. "If all goes well, we'll get some help and save Fareeha. Maybe join Overwatch afterwards," he mused.

"If all goes well, indeed," Ana agreed. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Ana asked something unexpected. "How do you think Jesse is doing?"

"The cowboy? He was entertaining enough to be around, but he's probably raising hell in who-knows-where unless he's joining up with Overwatch as well. Why? You miss him?"

Ana shrugged. "He was a good test subject for my sleep darts."

"Heh, he never liked that much."

"Well, he should know better than to get into arguments with Angela," she retorted, chuckling.

"True."

They groaned as turbulence disturbed their semi-comfortable setup of luggage once more.

"I just hope we're not too late, Jack," Ana admitted. "Fareeha has always been stubborn, but so has Talon."

"Ana, that kid is as stubborn as you, me, Reyes, and Jesse combined. Talon doesn't stand a chance against her.