16- Despair

"Mother, would you mind telling me who we are searching for?" Fareeha asked patiently from the cockpit of the jet as she flew towards King's Row in the reasonably large ship, despite the lack of passengers.

"Oh, we couldn't miss them if we tried. They're sending up signals letting us know where they are," Ana teased vaguely.

"Could you tell me what these signals are?" Fareeha pressed, sighing.

"Oh, you'll know," her mother replied, kicking her feet up on the table. "They're nearly impossible to miss."

The security guard shook her head. "If that's the case, I'll go on autopilot for now." Fareeha pressed a few quick buttons on the ship, letting Athena take over on steering. She eased her way into the seat next to her mother, her movements delicate and careful. The rain pattered on the roof of the ship as the engine purred. It was almost peaceful as the busy roads echoed below, distant, as though they belonged to another world.

Ana chuckled. "Trust your old woman. We'll know when we're near them."

"Mother, please could you tell me who it is now? I find your reluctance to do so unnerving." Reinhardt sat across from them, respectfully silent as the two talked.

"I guess you won't let me hide it anymore, will you? It's the Junkers. We worked together one time to take out an Omnic factory the Omnic in the Sea was using to create Omnics without autonomy. In other words, regular robots, designed to kill. Wolves in sheep's clothing," Ana explained calmly, not moving her gaze from her rifle that she was cleaning.

"The Junkers? You mean that two-man gang of survivors from the explosion in Australia, one of which is a wide target for bounty hunters, going by the name Junkrat? Jamison Fawkes if memory serves?"

Ana whistled in awe. "Where'd you hear all that? How'd you remember all that? I didn't know anything about them until I needed some people good with explosives."

"I am a security guard. I made sure I could be aware of any major outlaw or criminal on the off-chance I encountered them. Come to think of it, I believe you and the commander were on that list," she added in slight amusement. "Shrike and Soldier 76, correct?"

Her mother chuckled. "That would be correct. Jack never was original when it came to making up call signs! Remember when he put in a suggestion for Tracer's, Rein?" Ana called to the German, who bellowed a hearty laugh.

"Of course! Who could forget that? He just wanted to call her 'Jet,' even after she started training to become an agent!"

Fareeha quirked her head in amusement, remaining relatively motionless otherwise. "I get the feeling he selected Jesse's call sign?"

Reinhardt beamed. "As a matter of fact, he did! By the time Reyes even put a second thought into getting Jesse a proper name, the paperwork was done!"

Fareeha twisted awkwardly in her seat at the mention of Reyes.

"What's wrong, Sweetie?" Ana asked, taking note of the change of attitude.

"Gabriel Reyes… He wouldn't happen to be Reaper, would he?" Fareeha asked almost shyly.

"I- I don't…" Ana stuttered, caught off-guard. "How did you know that?"

"What…?" Reaper muttered, aghast.

"Mother, I spent a week in his presence. All the nuances were there."

Her mom froze. "Gabriel was the one to- "

Fareeha held up her hand, cutting off Ana. "Do not concern yourself over what happened there. That is done and in the past. He likely only caught me for my Raptora suit and to draw you out of hiding."

"You ask me to forget it, but your movements are stiff. You're still in pain, aren't you?"

"As I have said, that is not important. What I want to know is what happened to Gabriel to land him in Talon like that?"

Reinhardt glared at the captain. "Why were we not told of Gabriel?" he asked with an uncharacteristically quiet and cold voice.

Ana held up her hand to cut the two of them off. "First off, I did not know it was Gabriel until a few months ago. Furthermore, I am not sure why he joined Talon. As for why I did not tell Overwatch of this, there was never a right time."

"Never a good opportunity to tell us anything, is there? First that you survived, and now that another one of our ranks has as well, but converted to the enemy! When will there be a good time?" Reinhardt didn't even bother to hide the quivering of his voice as he spoke.

Captain Amari sighed. "You accuse me of not sharing this, but when would I have?"

"When you arrived!"

Ana huffed. "And what would I have said? 'Hey, my daughter has been kidnapped, but by the by, Jack and I are both alive and so is Reyes as well, and he's Reaper on the enemy team!' Once that fiasco was over, we had wounded that needed treating and attention! Then you went on the Lúcio rescue, then Lena started acting off! We had the Ecopoint mission where I had to A: help treat Mei afterwards, and B, help Winston search what we scavenged for any information! Now Lena is gone, and you expect me to go into detail concerning one of my best friends betraying us all?"

Reinhardt stuttered, stunned. "That's not… that's not what I meant… I just… I wish you could stop hiding things from us all. We're supposed to be team members again. I wish we could act like them once more."

Ana nodded. "That seems fair. I'm sorry, Reinhardt. I never intended to put you through such pain."

"I know, Ana. To be honest, though, I'm just glad you're alive." Fareeha smiled warmly at how his voice hitched.

"We all are," Pharah smiled, wrapping her arm around her mother and pulling her into an embrace. Ana gave a small but content smile, cupping her hands over Fareeha's.

Then the fireworks went off.

"Uh…" Fareeha stumbled lamely, at a loss. Multicoloured light suddenly flashed through the windows in the jets as fireworks shot up, though they seemed a bit closer to conventional explosives than proper fireworks. Ignoring the incessant sting of the scars on her shoulders, Fareeha moved to the cockpit and turned off autopilot. The pain was distracting and annoying, but more than tolerable.

Outside, on a random rooftop, two out-of-place men were happily sending off a cascade of explosives, dangerously close to the ship at times, seemingly without rhyme or reason.

"Uh, Mother, are you sure inviting these two criminals onto our ship is a good idea?"

"Relax, Sweetie. They love me. I promised them some cash from our government funding along with being able to blow things up. They were thrilled to join!"

"Oh dear…" Reinhardt deadpanned, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

Fareeha carefully landed the ship on the same rooftops as the Junkers, struggling to avoid some burnt remains of fireworks and other explosions of the sorts. The door opened, revealing the two men, one of which was propped on a lawn chair, hair smoking as he fiddled with a math and cylinder, likely filled with gunpowder. The other was a big man, breathing heavily, as though he had to strain for breath as he stood by quietly.

"Oi, Amari! How's it been? You haven't blowed anything up without us, have ya?" The man greeted cheerily, with a clear Australian accent. Clumsily splayed on the floor was what must have been his weapon, though it appeared to be made with spare parts. The other man held his gun firmly, definitely a gun, though it seemed to be clumsily loaded with shrapnel and other debris rather than bullets. He wore a gas mask and some simple clothes that wreaked of gunpowder.

"No, I'm afraid not. Though, we've been looking into finding an individual building we'd be happy to have destroyed," Ana prodded, smiling. Reinhardt hung back, a gun around his belt that he looked ready to reach for at a moment's notice. Fareeha would be lying if she said wasn't equally as on-guard.

"Awesome! Well then, you know our deal! A bit of cash and a fun job should do nicely!"

Captain Amari nodded, "Of course. Though, in turn, please do not blow up any Overwatch property. Though, I have taken the liberty of preparing your rooms right next to a range perfect for testing explosives."

"Just one room is good," Junkrat assured hastily. Me and Roadie here stick together. Right, big Fella?"

"Yes," the abnormally large man heaved as he lowered his gun slightly, still tense.

"Allow me to introduce you to my daughter and team member. This is Pharah, and this is Reinhardt," Ana added, gesturing to each person respectfully.

"Greetings," Reinhardt nodded respectfully, still wary.

"Pleasure to meet you," Fareeha politely greeted, doing a small salute.

"Well they're certainly balls of energy, ain't they? Call me Junkrat, and this big lug is Roadhog."

"Hi."

The captain chuckled, heaving her rifle over her shoulders. "Now, before the cops come, should we leave?"

"Oi, those blokes couldn't catch us if they tried!" Junkrat bragged, elbowing his partner. "But sure! Only if I get to try out some of your explosives when we get to the base!"

"Only if you let me help," Ana agreed with a smile. "I've been dying to incorporate some chemicals I whipped up a while ago into a bomb!"

"No kidding? Epic! I think this business venture between us and Overwatch will work just fine, won't it Roadie?"

"Yes."

…

"Oh, wow! This lab is amazing!" The bubbly little girl bounced up and down as she zipped around the room, poking and prodding a variety of Winston's machines." Her skin was a deep brown and radiated warmth, with face paint dotting her eyes and traditional African garbs clinging securely to her skin.

Behind her, a giant robotic centaur followed, painted green and yellow. She was elegant, to a degree, in the smooth way she trotted along, much like a show horse. and Lúcio followed close behind, exchanging amused glances as the girl babbled on and on, naming devices they couldn't begin to understand the meaning of.

"And I can actually use this lab as I please?"

"Well, I think Winston would want some help with his research and weapon development," explained, popping a piece of bubblegum absently.

"Oh, of course! Whatever he needs help with! Oh! Is that a shield projector? The way the device spreads outwards…" Efi picked up a small hexagonal device, half disassembled, flipping it over in her hands. "The wiring is super simple for such a device! Using a circuit like this is genius! But maybe changing the power source for something like what Orisa is using could make it last longer! It'd be less volatile too," she babbled, setting it down gently, though she appeared half tempted to start altering the wiring right then and there.

"I think she'll do just fine here," Lúcio complimented with a smile, turning to the centaur named Orisa. "So, you're made from the remains of an OR15, right?"

The Omnic nodded eagerly, the eyes turning into small arrow tips pointed upward in a happy expression. "Yes, that would be correct. Though, I have a personality module and upgraded equipment."

"I think I remember seeing some OR14s on the news once during the Null Sector uprising. I guess they really changed the aesthetic with the new models," Hana commented as she flicked her eyes up and down in a quick assessment.

"Yes, though some of the paint and design is thanks to Efi."

"I love the name, too. The way Orisa looks like OR15 if you change the numbers for their counterpart letters… MEKA would love that," complimented fondly, fiddling semi-absently with her bubblegum pink nails.

Orisa made a whirring and clicking sound that must have been her version of laughter. "I appreciate the compliment, Miss Hana Song. Efi is very good at naming things. Though, Efi got a lot of inspiration from you and the people you stream with. She always loved watching you play StarCraft. I found it quite enjoyable as well. Mr Lúcio Correia dos Santos, Efi and I are also fans of your work as well," the robot praised, her voice sweet and melodic.

"Please, Lúcio is fine. I'm always glad to meet a fan, though!" he beamed, and Efi whipped her head around after toying with one of the contraptions.

"Hana works for me, too! And I'm glad you like my streams! You guys should totally guest star at some point!

"Orisa! Shh!" she scolded, flustered at the sudden attention drawn to her. "But… were you serious about the whole 'appearing on stream' thing?" she reluctantly tagged on, bouncing from foot to foot. "I swear I know a lot about StarCraft! Not as much as you, but I can still play!"

grinned, patting Efi on the back.

"Of course! My stream would love you!"

Efi's eyes lit up brighter than the sun as she continued to bounce on her toes. "Woah! That sounds awesome, then! But… uh… don't you guys go on missions, or something?" the little girl asked, antsy. "I mean, that's why Orisa came and all."

Hana and Lúcio exchanged nervous glances. Lúcio cleared his throat. "Well, yeah. We have a few minor missions where we're finding new recruits, plus a major one that popped up just before you joined," he answered carefully.

"Really? What is it?" Efi took on a whole new demeanour. No longer the hyperactive excitable kid. She could tell this was serious.

"You know Tracer?" Hana began, despite Lúcio's unsure glance.

"Of course! She's only the most famous Overwatch agent in the world! Come to think of it, I haven't seen her around, though. Is she missing?"

"Worse than that. The details are… complicated, but… okay, we might want to take this to the kitchen. I'll make us some tea or something."

Efi quirked her head. "Okay. Can I have chocolate milk? And not the lame kind made with the powdery stuff, but regular milk with chocolate syrup in it?"

Hana offered a high-five, which Efi eagerly accepted. "Of course! Now you're speaking my language! You in on the chocolate milk club, Lú?"

Lúcio laughed nervously. "Yeah, sure! Come on, we'll head to the kitchen." Efi cheerily led the way, with Orisa trailing close behind as Lúcio nudged Hana with his elbow. "You sure about telling her? She is just a kid…"

Hana turned to the DJ with a stern expression. "You'd be surprised what kids can handle. They're not as fragile as you'd think." Lúcio visibly flinched at the certainty under her voice. This was a girl with a tough childhood. "Plus, it's not like she isn't going to find out."

"Hey! Come on, guys! What's keeping you?" Efi called from the other side of the room.

"Just… we'll play it cool, but be open," she explained to Lúcio, who nodded. "Coming, Efi!"

It was roughly ten minutes later when they each had large cups of chocolate milk, sipping through colourful straws tentatively as Orisa watched passively.

Hana took a deep breath. "So… about Tracer. Let's start from the beginning. How much do you know about her?"

Efi thought for a moment. "Well… I remember reading old reports from about eight or nine years ago online about Lena 'Tracer' Oxton going MIA after a test flight. Did I use that word correctly? Ah, whatever. Anyway, then over a year later more reports had shown up in old news outlets after the Null Sector incident was solved in King's Row. She had that odd machine around her chest for the first time, too."

Hana nodded approvingly. "You see, that machine… Lúcio, didn't you say it was called the chronal accelerator?" Hana continued as Lúcio nodded, taking another sip of his drink. "Well, its job is to keep her stabilised or something. I don't know all the details, but I'm sure Winston could explain. Anyway, she needs it to not suffer from her condition. She wears it at all times. Someone from Talon, who I'm sure you're familiar with, hacked into it and used it to trick her into running to them."

Efi paused mid-sip and set the cup down pensively. "So, in other words, she's in Talon custody? Talon is infamous for cases of inhumane treatment of prisoners, and there have been rumours they have a habit of torturing and brainwashing victims."

Lúcio and Hana visibly winced at the blunt truth. Efi blushed as they did so. "People don't like telling me things since I'm young. I usually have to do the research myself. Anyway, she's being tortured, isn't she?"

Lúcio sighed sadly. "Yeah, we think she is."

"Well… once we figure out where she is, I'm sure you can manage a rescue mission! Then, we'll just need to do everything in our power to help her afterwards!" Hana smiled warmly at the little girl. She was full of naive optimism. It was clear she'd never seen the actual darkness of the world through anything other than screens. However, it did make for an excellent morale booster. "Look, I know to you guys I'm just a kid, but just tell me what I can do to help find her and I will! And tell me what I can do to help her afterwards, and I will! That's why Orisa and I came here! To help people! So, whatever I can do, just ask. Later I'll go ask Winston to explain the chronal accelerator to me. I'm sure I could find some way to help using that information.

Hana nodded in affection at the girl's eager desire to help. "Of course we will. We'll save Tracer for sure. But for now… how about Orisa shows us what she can do?"

Efi's face lit up joyfully. "Ok! Yeah! Orisa, are you okay with that?"

"Of course, Efi. My systems are fully operational and prepared for combat," the Omnic replied, her voice calm yet eager.

"Woohoo! I think you guys will love what she can do! I added some really cool upgrades! Let's go!" Efi led the way to the practice field, a cup of chocolate milk in hand.

…

Widowmaker followed Reaper Tracer's cell. The purple trimmings that gave the dismal grey walls some amount of life began to flake and dull, giving the hallway of cells a more sick and cold feeling. They both wordlessly rounded the corner, Reaper clutching the remote tightly, and Widowmaker holding a metal trinket that looked similar to Sombra's translocator, except with four spiked protrusions on the bottom that appeared similar to spider legs. In her other hand, she held the lone pistol Tracer had brought with her to Talon.

Tracer's cell was in the very back, farthest away from prying eyes. There were two small, unlocked doorways on either side of the door that led to the room where Sombra and reaper would do maintenance on the devices that kept the girl trapped by her condition. They electronic transmitters initially scrambled and confused Omnics, but as they were hooked up to supplies of chronal energy, they were able to be repurposed.

Reaper quickly punched in a code and pulled off his glove to use the fingerprint scanner. A small red button began to glow green, which he pressed after he put his glove back on. Tracer did not appear to have moved since Widowmaker left her the previous day. She was facing away from the door, facing the wall with her legs curled as close to her as she could manage with her limited space. She was holding her arms close to her and appeared to be shivering even in her sleep. The room was relatively warm to Widowmaker, but that didn't mean much.

Widowmaker leant passively against the wall as Reaper calmly strode towards the exhausted girl. She'd been given roughly five hours of sleep; that would be plenty, according to Reaper.

The ghost of a man pressed one of the buttons on the remote, and the dim blue glow of the devices keeping her stabilised all but vanished. Tracer was being secured by a thread, less than the backup power on her accelerator allowed, barely keeping her from fading. Her form began to flicker unreliably, and she jolted awake, practically jumping out of bed in stiff, pained movements. She stumbled as she did so, leaning on the wall for support as she shot Reaper a panicked look, her breathing accelerating as her chest rose and fell in quick, sporadic bursts.

"Time to wake up, my pet." Reaper cooed in the unnerving raspy voice only someone like him could pull off. Tracer's panic became a stony glare filled with trepidation, she looked about ready to snap at him, only to find her words fail; she slipped, her hand phased through the iron bed as she snapped back upwards.

"Widowmaker," Reaper called, gesturing for her to come. Widowmaker rolled her eyes, taking small, tentative steps over to him, clicking a few buttons to turn on the device in her hands. It hummed, a small, blue gear glowing and spinning in the middle, roughly the size of a bottle cap. Tracer pressed herself against the wall, her arms close in a guarded position.

"Turn around," Reaper ordered. Tracer just glared defiantly. Widowmaker huffed softly in slight amusement. "Turn around," Reaper repeated, his voice darker and more menacing. Tracer refused, though tensed up in preparation for punishment. Widowmaker remained passive, only waiting. "Very well," the man that once was Gabriel Reyes pressed a button on the remote, and Tracer seemed to make a silent cry of agony as the cuffs, also flickering slightly, began to spark and crackle. Tracer writhed on the ground, twitching and jerking in random directions for several seconds until finally settling down, gasping for breath. It was odd how she was so utterly silenced. It was like watching a movie with the volume off.

Before she could get to her feet, Widowmaker pulled down the collar of Tracer's jacket, placing the device just above her sports bra and below her collar. The girl visibly flinched as the pointed ends burrowed into her skin, latching onto her firmly. Tracer's form solidified, and her ragged, uneven breaths became painfully audible as she grunted, trying to get the device piercing her skin off. She screeched again as she attempted to pull off the machine piercing her skin as it sent waves of electricity through her body. She sputtered, hacked, coughed into her hand, pulling it back a vivid red. Then she resumed her glaring at Reaper.

"Get up." He ordered directly. This time, the girl obeyed begrudgingly, using the walls as a means to walk herself upward. "Hold your arms out." She did so, with her fists clenched tight as she held her arms out like one would do so to be handcuffed. Reaper turned a few dials and switches on the remote and pressed a button. Tracer's arm cuffs stuck together like glue, clanging together noisily. She grunted and struggled in an attempt to pull her arms apart for several seconds, but the magnets seemed intent on sticking together. Her eyes dimmed as her eyes moved to the floor, swaying back and forth.

"Now, you will follow me Widowmaker. I will be close behind. Try something at your own risk," he warned, prodding her to move. Widowmaker turned away from the two of them expressionlessly, leading the way to Tracer's next "exercise." Tracer kept her head down as Widowmaker led them through several corridors, some busier than others. Many of the agents and employees shot Widowmaker and Reaper terrified glances, hurrying away, though reactions at the prisoner between them ranged from sympathetic to indifferent to horrified. A quick glance at Tracer revealed her shoulders to be hunched with her head bowed down; her cheeks were a vivid red as she shook with humiliation.

Then the group reached the proper room. It was rather large, with a huge, metal cage in the very centre, easily large enough for multiple people to run around with a broad range of motion. There were thick iron doors on either side of the cage, with the one they were closest to being open, and roughly a five-metre space to walk on every side surrounding the cage. Between each bar of the cage, however, was reinforced glass that kept anyone outside the cage safe from any stray bullets while still contributing to the overall design, which aimed to make the person inside it feel like an animal at the zoo.

Reaper abruptly grabbed Tracer by the arm, causing her to yelp as he used one hand to deactivate the magnets as her arms finally came loose. Widowmaker gave him the pistol, which he shoved into her arms. Reaper pushed the prisoner into the cage, causing her to stumble and fall as he slammed the door shut behind her.

Tracer was confused, to say the least, as she looked around at the three or four bystanders in the room, who watched her like a thing on display. Still glaring at anyone daring to make eye contact, she pushed herself onto her feet, grabbing her pistol, unsure of what to do with it. Widowmaker could practically see her weigh the pros and cons of shooting anyone in the room when the doors opened, her eyes dimming when she realised how bad of an idea it was. The prisoner watched warily as a door on the other side of the room opened, and two people walked through. One was a human holding some sort of remote, and one was an Omnic, who's movements were stiff and unnatural, even for a robot. The man unlocked and opened the cage door, and the Omnic walked through automatically. Then he spoke, it was quiet and strained, his voice box barely functional.

"Help… me… Can't… control…" he strained, standing stiff as a statue while Tracer whipped her head around and stared in panic at Reaper. Her owner issued a simple command.

"Kill the Omnic." Tracer's eyes widened in horror, then fury at the command. "Oh, and don't even think about trying to lose. I can promise you that we will not let you die here, and should you try, you will regret it," he added ominously as Widowmaker leant back against the wall to watch.

It was evident the Omnic was being controlled, and Tracer had figured that out, too. The lights on his head shone purple rather than the usual blue or yellow, and on the side of his neck, attached to some wires, was a device roughly the size of someone's thumb, blinking the same hue as the Omnic's lights.

The Omnic himself looked like an amalgamation of other models. A gun from an e54 bastion's recon mode seemed to have been patched onto its forearm, the difference in metal and wiring being all too apparent. Its legs were an unnaturally bulky, vivid purple, reminiscent of the OR14 units from the King's Row attack, and the rest of the Omnic was a tangle of wires and metal haphazardly patched onto his body. It was clear this was the result of one of the science departments "robotics projects."

The man on the other side of the room flipped some switches on his remote, and the Omnic began to move and it and Tracer began to circle each other as the girl trembled in trepidation, not sure what to do.

The Omnic shot first, aiming for Tracer's head as the recon gun whirred as it fired. Tracer dove out of the way, already prepared. Tracer began to run around the walls of the cage as the Omnic shot wildly, the man on the controls obviously being inept at aiming in such a way as Tracer ducked and rolled, surprisingly able to avoid the bullets, which didn't fire very often.

Tracer slid under the Omnic's massive legs, popping up with a spray of her pulse pistol's energy bullets to the Omnic's arm. It would be far from a fatal shot as the gun began to bend and twist oddly, and the bullets stopped firing correctly.

"Please… help… don't want… to die," the Omnic croaked again as Tracer faltered. The Omnic, or more accurately, the man controlling the Omnic, took this chance and rammed into Tracer as they both toppled to the ground. Tracer managed to twist out from the awkward Omnic mass trying to hold her down and snap back up, this time firing into the Omnic's legs.

"Stop it stop it please!" the Omnic pleaded hoarsely as Tracer shot up his leg, oil and sparks spraying outward. Tracer froze, dropping her pistol on the spot, her face contorting into agony as she stumbled backwards, confliction written all over her face. Her eyes flicked to the ground, then to the little purple bug on the Omnic, determination setting in her eyes.

"Oh, looks like she has an idea," Reaper mused in a sing-song voice.

"It appears she does," Widowmaker responded in indifference.

The man at the controller took advantage of Tracer's weakness, throwing the Omnic at her as he pinned her down. This time it was on top of her, almost crushing her as she wheezed. Tracer struggled, lifting her head up and using her arm. She then grabbed the machine on her neck keeping her stabilized. She roared in agony as it sent jolts of electricity throughout her, the electricity being conducted over to the Omnic, who was doing the same as they both cried out in harmonic pain and despair. Everyone in the room save Widowmaker and Reaper shivered.

When the device finished shocking the two of them, the Omnic lay limp on the ground, temporarily stunned. Tracer used her legs to push him off her once she finished convulsing. Then, without hesitation, she grabbed the bug on his neck and pulled it off. The device sparked. The Omnic sparked. Then the lights on the robot dimmed into nothing.

Tracer sat there, stunned as any signs of life or movement in the Omnic ceased. The bug fell from her grasp, loose wires frayed at the end. Tracer remained on her knees, eyes wide and jaw agape.

"Well done, my pet." Reaper praised, unlocking the cage and gesturing for Widowmaker to help her. "Did I forget to mention that the bug controlling the Omnic was also directly wired to his power source? By removing that, you managed to deactivate him. Permanently. I'm very proud," he continued to coo as Widowmaker helped Tracer to her feet. The girl was practically dead weight in her arms, doing nothing to help nor impose as Widowmaker walked her outside the cage. She was numb, her eyes having dulled over as she looked at nothing in particular.

Reaper didn't even bother reactivating the magnets on Tracer's cuffs. Her arms were limp, each step sluggish as they took her back to her cell. When they arrived, she wordlessly returned to the bed and rolled over on it, turning away from her owners.

"You did well today," Reaper repeated. "Widowmaker will bring you another meal for that. Keep this up, and you can be one of Talon's top agents in no time." With those parting words, Reaper left to return to his chambers.
"I will be right back, chérie, with your food," Widowmaker nodded to the girl who refused to acknowledge her as she left to get the starved girl some more sustenance.

Widowmaker couldn't help but muse what she had seen as she prepared the prisoner's food. Tracer seemed insistent on being rebellious despite knowing it would lead to nothing but pain. And yet, she also gave in when she knew there was no battle to fight. It was strangely contradictory, that she continued her feeble attempts at rebellion at such random times. Tracer had thought remove the bug would free the Omnic, no doubt, yet Widowmaker had to wonder what she would've done had it actually done so. Tracer was eerily similar to how Amélie had behaved during her time in a cell. If she were to wager, she'd say tomorrow Tracer would return with new resolve to put up as much of a fight as possible. It was admirable, if foolish. And Widowmaker knew for a fact, given what was planned tomorrow, that rebellion would lead to a whole new level of agony. She vaguely wondered if Tracer would be able to take it.

Widowmaker returned with a tray of the same food from the previous day ten minutes later. Tracer had not budged from the position she was in earlier, not at all reacting as Widowmaker released the collar.

"Tracer. Sit up," the assasin ordered, her voice neither harsh nor kind. Tracer obeyed, her head tipping to the side lifelessly like a ragdoll. Widowmaker gently pulled the loose collar off Tracer's neck. The skin beneath it was horribly burnt; layers of tissue having been quickly burnt off as blood began to run down her neck. The black and red flesh smelled vile, a mixture of burning flesh and the copper smell of blood.

Tracer took the food and ate, though her movements were lifeless and sluggish despite her slow starvation being all-too apparent. When all the food was finally done, Widowmaker collected the now-empty tray and handed the towel to the filthy girl. She grabbed it, wiping it over her mangled neck without even trying to be gentle. It must have hurt tremendously to touch such a wound, and the towel came back thoroughly drenched in blood, yet Tracer had hardly flinched. The nerves were likely damaged.

Widowmaker clamped the collar back around Tracer as her dull eyes didn't so much as look at her. She was shutting down. As she prepared to leave, Widowmaker made a split-second decision. She gently laid her hand on Tracer's shoulder: the first genuinely gentle touch she's felt in days. Tracer flinched as though struck by lightning.

Before Widowmaker could pull away, Tracer's hands flew to the single, blue hand on her shoulder, clamping over it firmly. It was as though a dam broke. Widowmaker could hear Tracer's attempt at pushing back the sob that had worked its way through her throat. Sitting back down, Widowmaker allowed Tracer to hold onto that one gentle touch as she bowed her head, sobs beginning to wrack her whole body as she trembled, crying tears mixed with blood as her painfully hoarse voice finally expressed her despair. Her loneliness, her regrets, her fear, and her sorrow all came cascading out. Tracer refused to let go of Widowmaker's abnormally cool hand, desperate for physical contact. For anything. For any glimmer of hope that things would get better. That this wasn't going to be life for her now. And just like that, Widowmaker could feel another layer of the girl's stubbornness and determination shatter, though she probably didn't know it. Widowmaker remained there, silent as the girl's loud sobs reduced themselves to pathetic whimpers. Until finally, she drifted off into a much-needed sleep, leaning limply against the corner of the room, releasing Widowmaker's hand.

Widowmaker got up and left with the tray. She knew now, for a fact. She knew that it was only a matter of time now until she ultimately gave up.