The first shotgun blast nearly took Tracer's head off. The second one hurt like crazy. Hi there! Welcome to the Tracer chapter of this story, well I say Tracer chapter, but she'll only be in it for, like, a little bit. Ten minutes maybe? Well, for Tracer, that's probably like five hours for her.
Tracer slumped against the wall, her shoulder stinging. She felt it, winced as pain ran like fire up and down her back. Her hand was bloodied.
"Bloody hell," she grumbled. Tracer thought she had dodged it, but she was sloppy. Like always.
Don't remember Ro, Tracer chided herself. There wasn't time to sit around, pondering about the past. Despite her abilities, Tracer found that there was never any time for that.
He appeared in front of her, clad in black robes as if the shadows were a fashion statement and aimed his shotgun right at Tracer. "Death comes…"
He fired.
Time slowed down.
Literally, that's kinda Tracer's thing.
People seem to think that the chronal accelerator activates Tracer's time-distortion abilities. When really, it is as Angela said the last chapter. It inhibits her abilities.
When activated, Tracer is free to warp time and space all she likes (within reason, actually). That's when the fun starts. Tracer was able to see the wide cone of fire the shotgun blasted, they froze in mid-air. She stood up calmly, stepped to the side to avoid the blast, and whacked the dude right in his face.
Time sped up again, the pellets sprayed against the wall she was at, and the emo-assassin was blasted back from Tracer's punch as if he were hit by a truck. Tracer supposed with the speed she was going at, a punch would feel like getting hit by a car.
"Death comes!" Tracer mocked, immediately his impossibly deep voice. "Get a life, mate. Who are you anyways?"
Emo Dude stood up calmly and strode toward her. Tracer was certain she felt his jaw breaking from her punch but he seemed unscathed. "Your worst nightmare…"
Tracer groaned loudly. "Seriously? You need better one-liners, mate."
There was something off about this guy. He was pretty fast, there aren't many people that can sneak up to Tracer, he's certainly strong, being able to take Tracer's time-distorting enhanced right hook, but she didn't know a single thing about him. Someone like this would certainly pop on on Overwatch's radar, perhaps he is a new player?
Tracer needed a way to combat him. Her guns were left at home and she didn't want to risk blinking away to retrieve them. Perhaps his weapons?
The would-be assassin brandished two new shotguns from his coat and fired them at once. Time slowed again. Tracer could see the pellets, frozen in the air, and with ease she stepped around it and charged him. She reeled back for a punch but imperceptibly, he turned toward her.
That was impossible! No human on earth could have the reaction time necessary to follow her movements. Slowly, he began to turn his shotguns at her but Tracer put a stop to that. She grabbed his arm, twisting it with ease, leapt, and turned mid-air, and kicked him square in the chest.
Again, he was blown back from the impact as time sped up again. In the scuffle, Tracer managed to disarm him, holding his shotgun in her arms, but she was still unnerved by his reaction time. It wasn't that he was getting faster… he was learning at ridiculous speeds.
When you move as fast as Tracer, you don't necessarily have to mix up your movements. Tracer hasn't met anyone fast enough to keep up with her, so there wasn't any need for fancy maneuvers. But this guy… maybe he wasn't physically able to keep up with her, but he could see her movements.
Who the bloody hell was he?
Shadows rippled from the walls and like tendrils shot toward her. Startled, Tracer stepped back and watched the shadows condense and coalesce into a fist flying straight at her. For the first time in a long time, Tracer barely dodged the punch. The attack didn't stop, swings came from these semi-transparent, floating arms. Tracer dodged and weaved as the darkness continued to combine to form the dude's whole body.
He definitely wasn't moving any faster, but Tracer was constantly on the defensive, moving back and dodging each strike as he gets closer and closer to hitting her. He was able to predict where and how Tracer was going to dodge next!
The thought chilled her to her bones, to the extent where she didn't even see his next kick. It caught her straight in the abdomen, she was only able to redirect the strike but it still sent her flying.
Tracer crumbled against the wall, wheezing as she felt her ribs. Good, nothing broken, luckily. The assassin's body dematerialized and rematerialized right in front of Tracer, aiming his shotgun at her face.
Her chronal accelerator buzzed inertly. She wouldn't be blinking away anytime soon, Tracer overloaded the accelerator. She cursed inwardly, she was always like that. Blissfully unaware of the world around her, as she blinks through life.
"Who are you?" Tracer asked, uncharacteristically out of breath.
He chuckled darkly. "Reaper…"
He pulled the trigger.
36 hours earlier
Hikaru Shiota glanced over the biometric of one Gabriel Reyes as he lay, inert, before him. He shook his head at how grim the readings were, this man technically speaking wasn't even alive, yet Widowmaker insisted on bringing him in.
"There's no point," he muttered to the French assassin, but she wasn't paying him any attention. "Higher brain functions aren't even working. No amount of flash-cloning and prosthesis can bring this man back, there's no point."
Widowmaker responded in French. Hikaru sighed, shot back a response in Japanese, then translated. "English, please?"
"He is a valuable asset," Widow said. "Talon has use for him."
"I understand that. But he… can't do anything!"
Widow reached a hand in her pocket and Hikaru flinched instinctively. There was no telling what she would pull out and no telling what she would use it for. Widow was very efficient as an assassin but unpredictable. One moment she would be humming to herself, the next pulling a knife out on a teammate.
In her thin fingers she held a small vial. Hikaru relaxed but only slightly. She began to hook up her vial to Gabriel's IV. "What's that?"
"A concentrated form of CNT-4520," Widow responded. "The formula used for the United States Army's Super-Soldier program. With a few modification, of course, courtesy of Talon."
Hikaru knew the formula, being a head scientist in Talon's Science Division. It was the same formula they had used to enhance Amélie Lacroix into Widowmaker. It was highly unstable and relied heavily on other genetic predispositions and ancillary factors. There were unfortunate side-effects with nearly every subject, Amélie ended up with a dangerously reduced heart-rate and her now infamous blue skin.
"Gabriel was already exposed to this formula," Hikaru argued. "Providing another dose won't revive him."
"Perhaps," Widow agreed, stepping back to monitor his vitals again. "But with these new modifications, things will be different. Combined with his now supercharged cells, thanks to Angela Ziegler, it should produce an… interesting effect."
Hikaru started to understand Widow's intentions. Super-Soldiers like Gabriel and Widowmaker could heal at an accelerated rate, but it was limited. Their physiology was incredible, peak human even beyond if they pushed their limits, but regenerating entire limbs was beyond their capabilities.
Talon had been working on ways to work past that limitation. To regenerate limbs, to disregard illness or poison or disease, to literally transcend death… Well, having soldiers like that would mean you are unstoppable.
It never worked, but maybe in conjunction with Angela's Valkyrie's suit, it was possible…
Gabriel's vitals went crazy. Emergency alarms began blaring as he suddenly began to fail. Whatever that was left working was now dying, quickly. Hikaru sprung to help but Widow stopped him with a single arm and a glare.
"He'll die," he told her.
"Then he will prove himself useless."
Gabriel convulsed. An action that was impossible, he was brain dead there was no way he would be able to move. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he gasped. He didn't have any lungs but he managed a voiceless scream as he began to seize.
Hikaru watched in horror as blood splurted from his injuries… but then it began to move on its own. It didn't spray everywhere, it remained around Gabriel. Floating around him in thick clouds like metallic sand caught in an orbit. The blood and flesh coalesced into darkness, orbiting around Gabriel's twitching body.
The darkness went down, enveloping Gabriel and thickening… to form his limbs! Hikaru watched as he regenerated his arms and legs, he began to heal impossibly fast. His injuries, his burns went away. But it must've been painful, after two seconds of regenerating, Gabriel screamed, anguished.
Two hours later
"It worked," Hikaru reported. "But, I don't know what happened…"
Lieutenant General Henry B. Ackerson stepped over the threshold and into a completely ransacked hospital room. The hospital bed was turned over, torn in two. The windows were broken, the walls splattered with blood. It smelled like a slaughterhouse. Probably due to the dead guards by Ackerson's feet.
The attack was vicious, animalistic even. The two guards ran in to subdue Gabriel but had their throats tore out for their troubles. Ackerson sighed, irritated by this situation.
"You were told to monitor him," Ackeron grumbled at the scientist. Hikaru shrugged, gesturing helplessly at the room.
"Whatever Widow administered healed him but he grew out of control!" Hikaru said. "He barely recognized us, nearly took Widow's head off."
"A futile act," Widow said, smugly staring at Gabriel's unconscious and detained body by her feet. "It was under control."
"And the guards?" Ackerson asked.
"A little fun for Gabriel."
Ackerson bit back his response. There was no reasoning with Widow sometimes, but the results were promising if a bit unprecedented. "The reaper formula worked then," Ackerson noted, content with the results. "Get Reyes ready for transport and debriefing. He'll need to be reprogrammed and sent out for assignment. I want to see how good our Reaper is in action. Perhaps we can sic him on an Overwatch agent."
"Wait, reprogramming?" Hikaru asked. "Gabriel is hardly in a state to be reprogrammed. He was brain dead, there's no telling what will happen if we attempt to scramble his mind."
Ackerson looked Hikaru up and down, as if seeing him for the first time. The scientist was intelligent, of course, but far too green for Talon's tastes. "Reprogramming was designed to instill courage, unwavering loyalty in the subject. It was created to deter deserters, dissenters and traitors."
"I know," Hikaru interrupted. Widowmaker herself went through reprogramming. It was as Ackerson said, Talon's way of creating perfect loyal soldiers. "But is it necessary with Gabriel? His head is messed up already. Preliminary reports indicated he suffered from PTSD, unchecked aggression from his tours. Plus he was brain-dead just a while ago and brought back to life, what if it makes him worse? What if-"
"I knew Reyes from years back," Ackerson said. "I recruited him after all. Unchecked aggression? Hell no, the boy was fierce but focused like a laser. And PTSD, ha! A junior doc's diagnosis. He'll be fine, and even still, it isn't as if we're doing anything he wouldn't want. He created the reprogramming method, after all. Widowmaker, with me."
Without waiting for a response, Lieutenant General Ackerson stepped out of the room, Widowmaker in tow. Talon footsoldiers stepped in, ready to contain Gabriel but they didn't pay them any mind.
Ackerson turned to Widow. "Monitor Reyes," he told her.
Widow bristled, annoyed she was assigned, yet again, the babysitting detail but nodded.
"We'll send him on a test run," Ackerson continued. "This is his target."
He handed Widow a file. Her usual, neutral, calm demeanor melted into barely restrained anger as she opened the file and saw Lena Oxton, Tracer, smile back at her. It contained her details, obtained by Widow last time they fought, and last known address.
"Why her?" Widow asked, glaring at Ackerson.
Ackerson didn't falter under her glare, calmly responding, "She has proven a nuisance. And since you seem unable to eliminate her, Reyes will."
"I told you. She is mine," Widow snarled. "My target. I will be the one to kill her."
"Why hadn't you?" Ackerson asked, stopping Widow in her tracks. "You had ample opportunity on King's Row, yet you let her get away, unscathed."
"Tekhartha Mondatta was my target," Widow argued as she had the first time they questioned her about this. "Not her."
"The point remains. Not only did you leave a witness who saw your face, but a former member of Overwatch. Perhaps your former sentimentality got in the way, perhaps your feelings for her-"
"I was a professional," Widow snapped. "Taking out my intended target. Nothing more."
Ackerson sighed, uncontent with that response. "Perhaps it is you that requires reprogramming."
Widow instinctively froze up at the idea of needing reprogramming. The process was painful, she hated it. It was like taking her mind out of her body, microwaving it, then putting it back. But it was effective, she was a perfect soldier now.
"You will monitor Reyes," he restated. "You will assist in his assignment but he will be the one to deliver the killing blow. Not you. Interfere more than necessary and there will be consequences."
They stood there, glaring at each other for the count of twenty before Widow nodded briskly. "Yes sir."
Ten hours later
Memories flashed. Familiar faces appeared in Gabriel's mind. Wait, who was he. Who are they? Where was he?
The man. He had blond hair. It looked like the color of straw in the daylight.
"Jack Morrison!" he told him.
What did he say back?
What was his name?
Gabriel… Reyes.
Reaper.
"Reaper, are you aware of your condition?"
Reaper's head felt like cotton. It was difficult to remember what had happened. Where was he?
He looked ahead and saw a pretty blonde woman with a clipboard, jotting down notes as he reassembled his shotgun. Wait, had he cleaned it? He didn't remember.
"Reaper." Her voice was insistent, impatient, as if they had been having this conversation for a while now.
"Yes?" he responded, his own voice sounded foreign, unfamiliar.
"Your condition," she repeated calmly. "Do you remember how it is you became like this?"
Reaper looked at his arm. It was paler than the rest of his body. For a moment, his skin dried up, scabbed instantly, looking horribly burned, but just as quickly it regenerated, healed. He wasn't alive, was he?
"No…"
"Dr. Angela Ziegler," she said.
Memories of another blonde appeared in his mind. She smiled at him, shook his head, told him, "I am Mercy. I'll be watching over you now."
Reaper shook his head, a headache burning his forehead. "Who.."
"She is a former member of Overwatch," the psychologist explained. "An organization you were part of. You tried to destroy them but you were stopped. Dr. Angela Ziegler altered your physiology, made you into like this. We saved you."
"You saved me…"
"You are our weapon."
"Weapon…"
"Our… Reaper."
"Reaper, ready?"
Reaper blinked. He wasn't in the office anymore. He was standing on a rooftop. The air was humid. It smelled like rain. He looked across the city, it looked familiar. London?
Looking to his right, he saw a tall woman in a purple and blue suit. Her skin was blue, like she was a corpse. A sniper rifle slung over her shoulders as her mechanical visor covering her face as she looked to the west.
"The target is leaving the station," she informed him. "She is heading east up the street. Intercept and take her out."
The rest of the Strike Team geared up. Ten soldiers from Talon, all of them highly trained and capable. Considering who they were targeting, it may not be enough. Reaper looked at his hands. In one he held his shotgun, in the other a mask.
They would recognize him, Reaper was told, this was designed to keep his identity a secret from Tracer. What identity? Reaper didn't even know who he was.
"Understood," Reaper said, placing the mask over his face. "Repositioning…"
Tracer was walking down the street, enjoying the grimy London air. Granted, despite the London Clean-Up Act of 2024, the air was still a bit grimy and you'd sometimes end up with dirt boogers from the Underground. Still, Tracer loved it. She grew up here, after all, she always felt comfortable in London and in big cities in general. Quiet places drove Tracer up a wall, it was weirdly suffocating when she thought about it.
Anyhow, she had just gotten back into London this morning. So far the authorities haven't hunted her down, so that was good! But there was still worry in the back of her mind. This lingering fear that simply wouldn't go away.
This whole situation was sitting on the precipice of disaster, one wrong move and everything blows up! The public for one was very divided on how to approach Overwatch. Some hailed the group as heroes, some wanted to bloody crucify them!
She hadn't gotten any angry pedestrians, yet. Of course people recognized Tracer, it was a weird thing to acknowledge but she became the face of Overwatch over the years. It didn't help that she had a blooming chronal accelerator attached to her chest. At the airport even there was a lovely little girl that recognized her and asked for an autograph.
Whilst she signed the paper and gave the girl a hug, Tracer did notice a few strange looks from people. They looked… confused, angry even. Like, who does she think she is?
In her whole career in Overwatch, Tracer never felt more uncomfortable than at that moment and she fought in wars. She never had to watch over her shoulders… until now.
She had been surrounded.
The soldiers were well-trained, but confident. They didn't take any cover, they simply approached from her flank, armed to the teeth. Tracer counted twelve of them. She didn't recognize their uniforms, perhaps they were PMC. No, they were Blackwatch.
Tracer tensed. If they were Blackwatch, this would need to be handled differently. They raised their weapons. Standard assault rifles. Adrenaline pumped in Tracer's body.
"Fire!"
Time slowed down.
Tracer pulled down her goggles. She admitted, their reaction time was keen, they fired almost instantly, careful to keep themselves out of their line of fire. But Tracer was faster.
She weaved past the hail of bullets with ease and ran around the group of soldiers, deciding how to handle them. Tracer disarmed the first two guards, yanking their guns out of their hands and pulling it upward. To their credit, she didn't feel any bones break, but they would certainly feel this next part.
Tracer tapped the first guy in the chest, side-stepping to the right and elbowing the next one in the face. His jaw felt like it disintegrated from the blow. Moving to the next three, she took one of their guns, disassembled it in the speed of light and kicked him across the face.
She manipulated the other two's arms, moving them upward and pushing them toward their faces. Their increased momentum from Tracer's actions would knock them out easy, maybe even break a few bones.
Tracer tripped the next one, pushing him backwards against her foot so he would be sent flying at about twenty miles-per-hour. The next one looked beefier, so she needed to get cruel with this one. She disarmed him, snapped his wrist and broke his arm. This time, she fully punched him in the face, sending him flying toward his next two comrades.
The final two. Time was beginning to speed up, Tracer needed to work fast. She pantsed the first one and pushed him against the last soldier but for good measure she slapped the sides of his head. The concussive force would knock him out instantly, his helmet would protect him from dying but he won't get up for a while.
Time sped up. A tornado exploded around the soldiers and each one of them were knocked out or rendered useless by Tracer's efforts. She stood in the middle of the pile of unconscious bodies, proud of her handiwork. "All in a day's work," she muttered. Then she moved to discover who these guys really were.
What she didn't notice was the last guy right behind her, pointing a shotgun right at her back.
Present time
The shotgun fired and Tracer closed her eyes, waiting to die. When a thunderous crash exploded in front of her, she opened them to find a 7'4'' giant standing in between her and Reaper. Tracer gasped with joy when she noticed a familiar hard-light shield in front of her and a massive hammer.
Reaper was taken completely by surprise by Reinhardt's appearance and wasn't able to dodge the wide hammer swing that knocked him halfway up the street. Reinhardt laughed triumphantly, his voice being carried epically by his helmet.
"GET UP! SO THAT I MAY KNOCK YOU DOWN AGAIN AND AGAIN! HAHA!" he roared victoriously, but he did not advance on Reaper, instead turning to face Tracer. Tracer smiled as his helmet parted, revealing the aged expression of Reinhardt, smiling back.
"Rein!" Tracer called, leaping up to hug him. The Dragon Slayer hugged her back chuckling as Tracer nuzzled into his neck.
"It is good to see you too, fräulein!" Reinhardt said, squeezing her once more and then putting her down. "I see you have made a new friend! Shall you introduce me to him?"
Tracer broke the hug, still unable to break her wide grin. "Not sure mate, calls himself Reaper this one."
"Hm!" Reinhardt considered the nickname. "An odd choice for an odd man."
"Says the bloke called Dragon Slayer."
"VERY TRUE! COME OUT AND FACE ME, REAPER!"
Reaper stood and Tracer's heart dropped. Judging by Reinhardt's expression, his did as well. Reaper mask was knocked off his face, revealing the very scarred, very disfigured expression of Gabriel Reyes.