Feathers of Faith and Steel

Author's notes:

Hey guys. Really sorry it's taken me so long to update and I left you all hanging. Thanks for being patient. There was no real reason for the delay; just the usual mixture of being busy and stuff getting in the way, you know how it is. I anticipate and hope that there wont be anywhere near such a big delay before the next chapter, but if it does end up taking a while, know that I am actively working on it and I haven't abandoned the story. With that said, I hope you enjoy this one :)

Chapter 6 – A Threat

Watchpoint: Gibraltar

Present Day – 2037 Hours

It had taken thirty minutes and two cups of green tea, but at last Fareeha felt like the worst of the tears were behind her. The effort of continuous crying had left the muscles of her face numb and swollen, and she was certain that she looked an absolute mess, but she nevertheless did her best to offer a tremulous smile to Genji as he presented her with a third mug. It was the least she could do to show her appreciation after the pep talk he'd given her.

"Feeling better?" the cyborg asked, resuming his seat on the floor. Fareeha nodded.

"As good as I can, given the circumstances."

"I thought you would. I don't usually fail my missions."

Fareeha chuckled at that. The sound felt surprisingly alien, having not passed through her throat for over a week.

Good to know I still can.

"You certainly didn't this time," she said out loud. "This is good. I'm surprised that someone with…well, with no sense of taste can make something so delicious."

"I did have one once you know," Genji replied, giving his own mechanical snort of amusement. "Besides, making tea is much like splitting an arrow; once you've learnt, you never forget."

"Splitting an arrow? Mid-flight? I know you're good, but come on."

"It's true! I've done it before. Although I doubt the only witness would be willing to recount the experience."

"Hmm, well isn't that convenient."

They sat in good-natured silence for a while, Fareeha periodically sipping her drink to check if it had cooled enough. The warm liquid went down easily, and did wonders for the various aches that infested every nook and cranny of her body. She just hoped she'd be able to hold onto it for more than an hour.

"Do you sleep?" she asked eventually, partially because a conversation helped to keep her mind from straying to dark places, and partially because it was something she'd been curious about for a while.

"Yes," Genji replied. "My brain is still organic, and requires rest like anyone else's. It's also a good opportunity to recharge."

"Like, literally recharge?"

"Of course. I can't eat, but my body still needs power, so I have to make do with an internal battery."

Fareeha shook her head. "I can't even begin to imagine what that must be like."

"It is not so bad…or so I came to learn in time. For every freedom that has been taken away from me, a new one has replaced it. I can move faster, fight longer, and endure more pain than I ever could before."

"Wait, wait…you can still be hurt?" Fareeha asked, genuinely surprised. She didn't want to pry too deeply, but it was a shock to find out that Genji wasn't the unfeeling, living weapon that she'd assumed he was.

"Yes. When Dr. Ziegler and her team rebuilt me, they did not intend to include pain receptors. They told me they thought I had suffered enough, and they wanted to free me from that burden. It was a generous and thoughtful offer, but I declined."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to feel like I was still alive, and pain is a part of life; as much as happiness, laughter, and love. But more than that, pain creates action. It tells us that something is wrong, that a change must be made. Were it not for the pain in your heart when Angela was taken, would you have ever confronted your feelings? Pain makes us learn. Believe me, I know."

Fareeha thought on that. The statement resonated with her more closely than she cared to admit. Before Angela had been taken, she'd been polarised by indecision. Her feelings had been jumbled, and she'd thought that what she needed was time. But then, suddenly, Angela was gone, and in that moment, all her confusion had just fallen away. The truth was painful in its simplicity, and she'd been left wondering why it had taken her so long to realise it.

"It's definitely taught me a thing or two," she conceded, regret creeping back into her voice.

"Then do not repeat my mistakes," Genji countered earnestly. "Do not let self-pity consume you. When she awakes, and I am certain that she will, go to her. Embrace the good that can come from this situation, however small, and follow your heart. You must seize this second chance, because few people get a third."

"I want to…more than anything…but is it really that simple?"

"All things are simple. They are only complicated in your mind." Genji paused to think for a moment. "Try throwing that mug in the air, and I will show you."

Fareeha looked at the cup she was holding. "Okayyy…"

What the hell, he's earned some benefit of the doubt.

Quickly, she downed the last few dregs. Genji watched impassively, but Fareeha's eyes caught the way his body tensed imperceptibly, preparing for action.

"You ready for…whatever it is you're going to do?"

"Proceed."

Fareeha tossed the mug upwards, gently enough that it wouldn't go crashing into the ceiling. For a moment, nothing happened. Genji sat as still as a stone.

Is this yet another cryptic lesson?

Then, just as the mug reached the highest point of the throw, he acted. Where Genji had been, there was suddenly nothing but a blur of motion, too fast for Fareeha's eyes to track. Green streaks accompanied the whine of steel slicing the air as a whirlwind of metal engulfed the cup.

One and a half seconds later, it was done. Genji snapped back into view, sheathing his blade at the same time that a scatter of white chippings fell to the floor. The mug had been shaved into almost a hundred different pieces. Most were smaller than a fingertip, but in the centre of the pile, cut neatly out of one whole side of the cup, was a small, porcelain silhouette of an angel.

"Holy shit…" Fareeha exclaimed, exhaling sharply. "Okay, now I believe you about the arrow. How…How did you do that?"

Genji took a moment to extend the pistons across his shoulders and vent a few wisps of green coolant.

"I focussed on the mug, and cut away every part that did not look like an angel."

Fareeha picked up the sculpture, still hot from the friction of Genji's sword. She turned it over in her hands, examining the craftsmanship. The design was simplistic, but each cut was precise, giving a result that was perfectly smooth and symmetrical.

"You can keep it if you like," Genji said. "It was your mug after all."

"Thank you. It's beautiful." Fareeha ran a finger wistfully across the angel's face. "But I can think of someone else who would appreciate it more."

How do I even begin to tell her?

"She may well do," Genji chuckled. "However, I believe it is the giver, not the gift, that will please her."

Fareeha's heart jumped a few beats.

Gods, I hope he's right.

Somewhere in the Pyrenees Badlands…

1 Week Ago – 2031 Hours

The trip had been conducted in dead silence; the guns constantly levelled at her had ensured that much. Trapped in the cramped belly of the dropship, with only the rush of wind and groaning of metal outside to inform her of what was happening, Angela was left with nothing but her fear for company. And she was afraid…terrified, if she was being honest with herself. She'd been in warzones before, even been directly shot at on more than one occasion, but never held hostage like this. All those past times the danger had been remote, and she'd had friends and comrades at her side. Now, she was truly alone…a captive of Talon. And Talon's record with prisoners was almost non-existent, mainly because the few they did take were never heard from again.

Faced with such a grim prospect, Angela's only defence against the panic was to force those morbid thoughts aside and try to imagine what Pharah would do, had their situations been reversed. The Egyptian woman was beyond brave, and where natural courage ended, training and a soldier's discipline picked up. She wouldn't buckle under pressure, or allow the intimidation tactics of Talon to grind her down; she'd already be assessing her options.

Fareeha…God, I hope you're safe.

The uncertainty about what had happened after she'd blacked out gnawed at Angela. It had all happened so fast, and the last thing she remembered was Fareeha's haunted expression as toxic smog closed in on all sides. Despite that, she couldn't find it in herself to believe that Fareeha was dead. Somehow, she knew that the other woman had made it out alive. The logical part of her brain, the part that retained the knowledge she'd acquired in Psych 101, told her that this was a coping mechanism; that Fareeha was the one beacon of hope that was preventing her mental state from unravelling, and her mind would instinctively protect that lifeline, no matter how irrational it was.

Well, if that was the truth, Angela welcomed it. Anything to avoid facing the alternative.

I cannot change what happened. All I can do is focus on the present. Like where we are going…

Angela expected that she was being taken to some remote processing facility. Although Overwatch's intel on Talon was patchy at best, it was believed that in addition to the public buildings they used as a front, they had several secret underground bases dotted throughout Europe. Any such site would be a perfect place to make her 'disappear'…or whatever else they had planned. The thought made her skin crawl, but at the very least, it offered hope that rescue or escape may be possible.

She had just resigned herself to an extended and exceedingly uncomfortable transportation when she felt a drop in her stomach which signalled that the vehicle was beginning to descend. It was followed half a minute later by the jolt of landing gear contacting the ground. But the sound that accompanied it was more like an impact with sodden earth than the metallic surface of a landing pad. In the moments before the door opened, Angela ran some quick maths in her head. Given their short flight time, and what she assumed was a similar speed to Overwatch transports, they couldn't be more than sixty miles from where they started. That meant odds were good that they were still in the Pyrenees Badlands. It was a strange move. Since Talon had clearly managed to avoid being followed, why not seize the chance to flee the area completely?

What are they playing at?

With a pneumatic hiss, the exit ramp lowered, allowing murky sunlight to spill into the compartment. At the same time, the door to the cockpit slammed open, and the hooded man and his slender sidekick emerged. He barely spared a glance for Angela as he passed, but the gesture he made with his clawed hand was clear.

'Bring her.'

Two burly mercenaries took her by the arms, while a third undid the harness that held her in place. They yanked her to her feet and roughhoused her out of the dropship, pressing the tip of a gun barrel into her back for good measure. Angela had to bite back the urge to flippantly point out that such force was unnecessary, as she had no way of escaping even if they weren't physically restraining her. Instead, she used the opportunity to take in as much of her surroundings as she could, trying to spot any landmarks that could help her narrow down where she was. There was no way to know when such information might be useful.

Her initial guess appeared to have been correct. All around, decaying ruins encrusted with vines and moss indicated that while people had lived here once, civilization had long since left this place behind. This town seemed smaller than Tarbes, although still big enough to play host to several sizeable building husks. To her left, the rocky slopes of the Pyrenees loomed upwards, their jagged peaks puncturing the sky like vicious teeth. It was a sight that could have been awe inspiring; but the dark, oppressive clouds overhead, coupled with her present situation, yielded a much more ominous atmosphere.

In her more immediate vicinity, it looked like the transport had landed in what had once been the town square. Some of the shopfronts facing onto it still bore peeling, sun-bleached signage, and to one side, a pile of rubble was just about distinguishable as a dried-up fountain. Rusted car shells were dotted here and there, their innards picked clean and reclaimed by nature. However, amongst the wreckage of the old world were signs of more recent, and more sinister, activity. Unmarked metal crates were stacked inside some of the stores. Black-clad soldiers stood guard in nooks and crannies, surveying the streets. And on a nearby roof, what looked like a surface-to-air missile launcher sat shrouded in camo netting. The closer Angela looked, the more she could make out. There was an entire hive of Talon activity hidden just beneath the surface.

The mercenaries escorting her moved quickly, heading not for any of the shops or houses, but for a crumbling church set slightly back from the main square by a small graveyard. The tombs and gravestones were even more choked with vegetation than everything else, but a path had been cleared to the front door, and it was down this path that Angela was led. As they passed the cloying brambles and vines, she saw that they hadn't been cut back, but had simply withered and died in this particular patch.

How odd.

"Big guy must feel right at home here," one of the soldier's muttered to his companions.

"Keep it down, idiot," another hissed. "You really wanna risk pissing Reaper off?"

"What, he got super hearing now too?"

"Who fucking knows? Better safe than sorry. I'm not about to end up like Justin."

Reaper…

Angela grimaced. So now she had a name for the face…or at least, the mask. She remembered hearing about a mercenary using that moniker some time ago. Records indicated that he had been part of the attempt to steal Doomfist's gauntlet, and had later attacked Winston at Gibraltar immediately after the recall had been issued. They also stated that he possessed some kind of supernatural powers, although Angela was hesitant to believe that was anything more than superstition. Still, whoever he was, and whatever his capabilities, it seemed that he occupied a senior position within Talon. That alone was enough to make him a serious threat.

As mysterious as the man was, the strangely pale woman was an even more unknown quantity. Angela hadn't managed to get a good look at her in the dim confines of the dropship, and she'd slunk away the moment they'd exited. Like Reaper, there was something bordering on familiar about her, but Angela couldn't place what. Her accent? Her hair? It was little more than a niggling feeling, but if it had caught her attention despite all the chaos and fear, it must be important.

A sound of ancient iron hinges screeching in protest brought her back to the present, as Reaper parted the heavy doors of the church. The inside was much like the outside; collapsed in places and thick with moss and lichen. The roof held firm however, leaving the only light sources as a set of cracked and faded stained-glass windows at the far end, and some dingy, fluorescent lightbulbs. It was a surreal sight, splendour mixing with squalor in equal measure, and all painted over with a veneer of modern Talon technology. This seemed like a central control hub or operations center, judging by the number of displays and a large broadcast antenna that occupied the center of the nave.

Their party moved through the space quickly, hustling Angela towards the rear of the church. The chancel was partitioned off by a mouldy rood screen, essentially creating a separate room whose interior was obscured from the outside world. It was a dead end, so presumably, it was their ultimate destination. Once Angela had been led inside, she saw why.

The altar had been displaced, and now sat smashed into rubble at the base of the stepped dais like someone had simply flung it down by hand. In its place sat a shiny metal frame comprised of two vertical posts, attached to which were thick-set chains ending in powered manacles. Another silent gesture from Reaper, and Angela was forced up the steps and into position. Her mind raced, looking for an opportunity to slip away before she was bound in place. Now was perhaps her only shot, but there were just too many mercenaries…

The shackles locked on with an electronic whirr.

"Prisoner secure, sir," a Talon soldier reported, backing away from Angela and finally lowering his weapon.

"Leave us." Reaper waved dismissively.

The mercenary nodded, then joined the others in retreating hurriedly out of the room. He was a young man who hadn't been on the transport, and as he left, he risked a glance back at Angela. Their eyes met for a second, and the look we wore made the doctor's blood run cold. Instead of a smirk of triumph, or even cruel indifference, his expression was one of fear…and pity.

The moment the door shut, there was a palpable shift in the atmosphere. A silence that was almost deafening flooded the chamber. It had been quiet before, but there had also been those tiny, inconsequential background noises that indicated the presence of life; the shuffling of boots, the ruffle of clothes, muffled breaths, and the murmur of distant conversation. Now, there was nothing. Reaper regarded her with a stillness that could have passed for a statue…or a cadaver.

Against her better judgement, Angela was filled with the urge to speak, if only to distract herself from the rising dread the quiet instilled in her.

"So…" she winced as her voice faltered "…w-what happens now?"

Reaper didn't reply. He cocked his head, as if listening to a sound only he could hear, then slowly paced over to where Mercy's staff sat propped against a wall. Angela thought she caught a snippet of him mumbling under his breath, but the words seemed to be soaked up by the deathly still.

"Some of your men must have been hurt back there," she offered. "I'm a medic. I could help them."

If I can just establish a dialogue with this man. Find out what he wants…

Reaper took the staff in one hand, idly twirling it to test its weight. Whatever the result, he seemed satisfied, because he turned back to Angela and approached her podium, device clutched in his claw.

"What do you say?" Mercy tried again. "You wouldn't have to release me. If you bring the wounded in, I could–"

She never got the chance to finish her sentence. Without warning, Reaper lashed out with the staff, swinging it in a large, powerful arc, and smashing the head across Angela's jaw. The unnatural silence was spilt by a savage crack, followed by a series of rattles as several loose teeth scattered down the altar steps.

Angela screamed, although what came out was closer to a wet, raspy moan. Her mouth was overwhelmed with the metallic tang of blood, and she could sense that the left-hand side of her jaw was now hanging very loose. At best, it was dislocated. At worst, and judging by the pain spreading from that area, most probably, it was completely shattered.

Oh gott, oh gott…shieße, das tut so weh!

Suddenly, Reaper was right in her face. He clamped his free hand over her ruined jaw, squeezing hard enough to fill her eyes with agonised tears. The metal of his gauntlet was like ice, and burned white-cold against Angela's blotchy, bruising skin.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" he growled, emphasising his words with more pressure in his grip. "Speak again without being asked a question, and I break your kneecaps too. Got it?"

Angela could barely process his words, but she had just enough presence of mind to give a tiny, panicked nod. Reaper stared her down for several more seconds, then relaxed his grasp. Immediately, she coughed out a stringy gobbet of blood and saliva, mixed in with a few more fragments of tooth.

"You have no idea how satisfying that was," Reaper said coldly, wiping the head of the Caduceus staff on the leg of his robe.

"W-Wu…" Mercy struggled to articulate some response, but with her mouth unable to close properly, she had difficulty speaking around a steady trickle of frothy red drool. "Wuh-y?"

"Why? WHY?!" Reaper roared, and Angela flinched as it looked like he was about to strike her again. "You have the nerve to ask me that after what you did?"

"Wah…wah-t, duhd ah d-do?!" she pleaded. "Whu…ah yuh?"

Reaper's hand clenched into a fist. His whole body was shaking from what Angela could only assume was anger. But more than that, there seemed to be faint ripples oscillating around his form, as if there was something moving beneath his clothing. It was like a scene out of a dream, and Angela couldn't be certain it wasn't just the pain playing tricks with her brain.

"You really don't know," he said at last; a statement, not a question. "Of course…why would you? You never did believe you were capable of making mistakes. Good to see that sickening arrogance hasn't changed."

Mercy heard the words, but they made no sense. He spoke as if he was a part of her past, as if he knew her…but, how could he? There was no way she'd have forgotten meeting this man before.

"You're fortunate that I don't have time right now to educate you," Reaper continued. "Your little band of misfits continue to play at being heroes; a problem which I have to deal with. So, here's what's going to happen. When I get back, you are going to give me the access codes for the Overwatch satellite network. And don't waste my time feigning ignorance because I know how Jack operates; he'll have given them to you. If you don't tell me, I will make you; starting with breaking every bone in your body, one at a time. One way or another, I'm getting those codes, so I suggest you use the next eight hours to think long and hard about whether it's worth resisting."

Reaper stepped back, spreading his arms, and as he did, a biting draft swept into the room. Before Angela's disbelieving eyes, pieces of him began to collapse, dissolving into smoky ash and peeling away into the air current. In just a few seconds, his whole body, save for his hood and mask, had transformed into a thick, black gas. It hung in the air, swirling and eddying, not at random, but with a sentient malevolence. And when he next spoke, it emanated from every mote in the cloud, rolling around the chamber like thunder.

"Don't think I'll stop when I run out of bones. There other ways in which you can be persuaded."

Then he was gone; blown away like dust on the wind.

Angela blinked, mind reeling. No number of tears blurring her vision or pain-induced delirium could explain away what she'd just seem. It defied everything she knew to be true, yet it had happened all the same. The reports had been correct.

What chance did she have against such a creature?

Please Fareeha…save me from this nightmare.