"Sombra? Sombra could have easily become my biggest problem. She could have destroyed me and my organization with the press of a button. Her skills as a hacker are second to none, and I freely admit that. She caught us with our pants down and took full advantage. She knows everything there is to know; my deepest secrets, who I used to be, who I became, and what I want to do.
She is a first-strike weapon the likes of which I have never seen before. I hear she always had a certain talent and passion for computers. So much was obvious, really. In her pursuit to become the greatest hacker the world has ever seen, she did take some... risks. Risks not a lot of people would have taken. What Los Muertos did with her should have killed her. It didn't. But such is Sombra: high risk, high reward. It has always been her style. What prompted her to implant a device for directly interfacing her brain with a computer in the first place? I do not know. I can only guess it was to allow her faster direct system access.
Ironic how the same cybernetic augmentations and implants which enabled her to reach her goal and, ultimately, even reach us were not only her greatest strength, but her biggest weakness.
Sombra is, or better was, arrogant. She made herself into an attack weapon. She never thought she would have to defend herself one day. That one day she wouldn't be at least one step ahead. But I was. She didn't get far with the data she stole from me.
Reprogramming her was really easy, from what I hear, from the scientists. She had all the necessary interfaces already implanted. They made it so that she still thinks she has a free will. But a simple voice command will override everything she wants and implant an order deep inside her brain. It's beautiful, really, how she thinks it is what she desires when, in reality, it is what I ordered her to do. She wants to obey. All thanks to what she did to her own brain. In a way, she is more machine than the Omnics we created. I wish we had this kind of tech back in the day when we improved Widowmaker. Oh well, maybe we will still get around to implanting her with a neural controller.
But that's not what you wanted to talk about when you inquired about Sombra, is it, Lieutenant? Didn't think so. Well, since you are responsible for my safety, I guess it's in my own interest to keep you focused. I'll send Sombra to your private chambers tonight. And don't worry, she will be very willing to please."
-Thiery Savant in private conversation with the chief of his personal security squad, two years ago.
-/-
Somewhere in the forests around Stuttgart, Germany, late afternoon.
There was something about forest air which most people enjoyed. So did Tracer when she sucked a breath of the pleasantly cool air deeply into her lungs. It had a very distinctive, totally unique smell to it, like nothing else ever could have. The loose ground allowed a multitude of flowers and other plants to grow freely, each one emitting their own scents into the balmy winds softly brushing through the forest. The best thing was that each forest seemed to have its very own distinctive smell to it. Together with the multitude of different noises, the rushing of a nearby beck, birds singing, the gentle wind quietly rustling through the tree's canopy of leaves, or woodpeckers creating their homes, this mixed forest was definitely one of the most beautiful and placid places the planet had to offer. The sun over Germany was shining through the dense foliage of the ancient trees, shimmering to the ground like rays of golden stars. Tracer had always liked the woods, back when she was still in the Air Force she would go running in the forest next to the base a lot. Especially during the summer when the cooler temperatures were a welcome inclusion to her route and she was usually left unbothered.
"It is easy to see why the Bastion we are searching for sought out this place. I would have done the same given its beauty. How wonderful." Zenyatta said, sounding almost admiring. He was levitating completely silently through the forest next to DVa's mech. The whirring and cracking of her machine was the only artificial sound in a radius of probably a few hundred miles.
"You think it chose this place because it's beautiful here?" DVa asked skeptically. She wasn't so sure. Did a machine even have an understanding of the mere concept of beauty? And if so, were the same things beautiful to a machine as they were for a human?
"Well, I certainly understand Zen here. If I had to hide and could choose this place, I'd be daft to not go here. Give me a small hut at the edge of that clearing we passed a few minutes ago and I can live in peace here forever." Tracer hummed, not giving voice to the fantasy of who she would like to spend her life at this place with. She was sitting cross-legged on top of DVa's mech, letting the machine carry her through the forest. Lena had justified this by telling everyone that the higher up she was, the better she could oversee an area, effectively making her better at searching. While that was certainly true, the real reason was that Tracer simply didn't want to walk anymore. Zenyatta was levitating with no problem, and DVa was comfortable in her mech. Why should she be the only one who had to walk?
"Song Hana, should your question aim toward whether we can understand beauty just because we are artificial beings or not, the answer is yes. Beauty is a concept not lost on most conscious Omnics." Zenyatta said.
"I..." DVa stuttered "Sorry, I didn't want to be rude or anything."
"Not to worry" Zenyatta replied calmly. "I do not know if our Bastion is capable of understanding the same concepts that I do. But if it gained self-awareness, then by all means, I don't see why it wouldn't."
"Am I the only one who always thinks of Bastions as a he?" Hana asked, expertly maneuvering her pink mech around an old fallen tree, covered with moss and tiny fungi. The dead stem was probably older than any one of them and, despite blocking their way, DVa didn't want to set the metallic foot of her mech down on the remnant of a long forgotten time. "I mean, they are just so big and bulky and overall just not very... feminine, you know?"
"So, what would a female Omnic be like, then?" Tracer asked, slightly bemused that they were really talking about this.
"Well, I don't know." Hana shrugged in her mech, causing the machine to make a funny movement with its arms, too. "Athena, maybe?"
"She doesn't have a body, though. Apart from her server-rack." Tracer argued, resisting the urge to make a rack-related joke, partly because she couldn't come up with a good one anyway. "But she has a damn sexy voice." It was true, the Watchpoint's artificial intelligence did have a really fine voice…right after Widowmaker's criminally erotic French accent. Which, by all means, should have been illegal since it was enough to make smart girls very, very stupid.
"You find Athena's voice to be sexually stimulating, Agent Oxton?" Zenyatta asked with evident curiosity in his voice.
"Well, sexually stimulating might be a bit farfetched" Tracer lied smoothly, knowing full well that she once admitted to Winston that, given the opportunity, she'd pin Athena's voice against the wall and run her tongue down her jaw line. "But I like hearing her voice. It's so silky and flawless. That ain't weird, is it?" Lena frowned slightly. Now that she thought about it, she might really have a thing for someone's voice. Amélie talking in that incredibly sexy French accent of hers got her hot and bothered more often than not, too. Especially when she was whispering things into Lena's hear from behind, nibbling on her earlobe or the piercings while doing so. Lena could swear her lover did that on purpose during the most inappropriate times. Lena swallowed heavily, almost feeling Amélie's cool lips on her ear and her hands sliding up her body. She shivered and shook her head to get her mind out of the gutter. This was neither the time nor the place for thoughts like that.
"I have to honestly admit that human sexuality is still a foreign concept to me. That said, I cannot think of a realistic reason why the appreciation of someone's voice should strike me as odd."
DVa wanted to ask a thousand questions at this point. She already bombarded Tracer with questions on the shuttle en route to Stuttgart, but Lena expertly evaded most of the answers Hana needed so desperately for reasons the former pro-gamer didn't really understand. Tracer was obviously very experienced (DVa was not thinking of her as easy; she would never dare to do so!), so what was so bad about wanting to know how to ask a guy out? One Hana liked as well. But Tracer dodged every question with such an air of confidence, re-directing each inquiry to a different topic altogether. So, DVa couldn't work up the courage to ask the really important ones she had been burning to have answered. Just…why was Lena so damn confident in anything she was doing? And she was genuinely this way, absolutely certain in her thoughts and opinions. Hell, Hana was sure that if she looked up 'self-confidence' in the dictionary, there would be a picture of Lena Oxton next to it. And not in an arrogant way either; not at all. Before they left for Stuttgart, during their preparation in one of the hangars at the Watchpoint, DVa saw Tracer in a playful banter with Lucio. She was cracking a joke and he was laughing before Lena left. Hana wanted to be like her idol so badly it almost hurt. All she managed to do was seem confident when she really wasn't. Hana was hiding all her insecurities, and there were a lot of them, behind a mask of arrogance, pushing people away. People always demanded her to be strong. Her parents wouldn't allow any weakness. She had to be the best in school. Her trainer wouldn't allow weakness either. He set up one of the toughest training schedules for Starcraft ever and Hana had to follow suit. The military wasn't any different either; there, the doctrine dictated duty first and everything else later. And since she was the Republic of Korea Army's poster girl, later usually meant never.
Lena Oxton made everything look so easy.
For Hana, it was anything but.
She sighed to herself. Probably better for her to stay focused on the mission.
"Are we still on course?" DVa asked despite all the thoughts running through her mind. She heard Lena shuffle on top of her mech, pulling out a little device Torbjörn gave them when they left for Stuttgart.
"Sure are, luv. We should be at the little river soon. The EM-Signature is still coming from there. It hasn't moved yet." Tracer replied in high spirits. "Any ideas why this Bastion might be sitting next to a river for this long?"
"Defective?" Dva suggested with a shrug, causing her mech to mimic her motions in a strangely adorable way.
"Speculations are not the path to answers. Only going there and finding out will reveal the truth." Zenyatta said.
And he was right. A few minutes later, the team was hiding behind an especially dense bush with dark green leaves and funny red berries on it. They were lurking through the small gaps in the bush's foliage, observing the old Bastion unit they were looking for. The machine was overgrown with grass and heavily weathered. It was sitting on a large boulder near the water, it's head tilted sideways in a curious manner. A beautiful little bird was bathing in an area near the otherwise rather violent waters, where the cool beck was more calm.
"What is he doing there?" DVa whispered silently.
"Again, the only path to enlightenment is not speculation." Zenyatta said, and before anyone could stop him, he found his way through the bush and out into the open, approaching the Bastion.
"Zen! Stop!" Tracer hissed, but the Omnic monk was already gone, causing Lena to roll her eyes in disbelieve. Did he want to get killed? "Oh, let's walk up to an old defense-bot armed with a Gatling-gun the size of a full grown man. Sure. Go right ahead. I don't see what could possibly go wrong here." She rubbed her hand over her forehead, contemplating whether she should follow Zen or not.
"Technically, Zenyatta is floating, Unni. Not... walking."
"Not helping, Hana. Not helping at all." Tracer groaned. She found herself wishing that Widowmaker was here. They would have an expert long-range marksman with them if things went south. Just in case.
Also, because of the company.
-/-
Watchpoint Gibraltar, infirmary, four days later, early evening.
Mercy was sitting behind her spacious desk, filing away all the reports and medical charts which had unsurprisingly piled up the past couple of days. Between caring for Amélie and tending to Fareeha, the latter taking considerably more of her time than the former, there was hardly any time to spare for the necessary paperwork. Still, it had to be done, and Dr. Ziegler was meticulous enough to not let unavoidable tasks slide for too long.
Some of the reports she was reading were from Dr. Laguardia, who was doing a fantastic job now that he had settled in despite his somewhat bumpy start at the Watchpoint. He had pretty bad luck with his second patient, though. Widowmaker wasn't exactly easy to deal with, by any stretch of the imagination, so much was for certain. Especially not when you just so happened to be a complete stranger, someone she had never met, and thus, didn't trust for even an instant. Being a doctor on top of all that as well and then be unlucky enough to get too close for her comfort and you inevitably end up in a bad situation. Mercy shared a rather loosely defined friendship with Widowmaker now. They knew and trusted each other, but even Angela would never go as far as to call the former Talon master assassin benign. She was anything but. Widowmaker was still very much capable of being as deadly as she was in her prime as Talon's top assassin. The only difference was that no one was now forcing her hand.
So, Laguardia was pretty lucky in that regard. Hell, sometimes even Angela had her difficulties with Widowmaker. One moment she was in a talkative, almost playful mood and then, from one blink of an eye to the next, she'd grow cold and distant. The glare in her golden eyes would intensify a thousand-fold and Mercy got the scary impression that her French friend was getting ready to murder someone. It happened seemingly at random, with no recognizable pattern or connection between the topics the doctor and her patient had been talking about, and it definitely happened more than once.
Angela was relatively positive that the only one who understood - truly understood - Widowmaker was Lena. She somehow did so purely on intuition and by watching closely. Somehow this worked like a charm, and it was easy to notice for anyone who had spent even a little time around Amélie that she almost started glowing whenever Lena was around. Well, as much glowing as Widowmaker could, but the change was still very much visible.
Tracer was the sole reason Amélie was able to carry on. The reason she stayed sane until now. She told Mercy so in one of their conversations. She also told her just how much Lena really means to her, how important she is, and how much she truly needs her.
Angela was baffled to hear how deep the connection between her best friend and Widow really was. There were facets to what Amélie said; little details and small hints, and none of them were lost to Angela's attentive ears, which proclaimed how deep Widow's devotion for Tracer was really rooted inside her. It was beautiful. Almost a bit scary. But mostly beautiful.
Lena had somehow become Amélie's anchor, allowing her to function relatively normally and not lose her mind.
The problem was, Lena wasn't here. She was on that pickup mission to Stuttgart with Zenyatta and DVa, a mission which surely sounded a lot easier on paper than it actually was.
Amélie, however, was still here, as she had nowhere else to go.
Looking up from her paperwork, Angela blinked twice as she glanced around in her otherwise empty office. Well, at least Amélie was supposed to be here.
And she had been just that a few minutes before, idly sitting on Mercy's desk. Her absurdly long legs had been dangling off the front, the palms of her hands flatly placed on either side of her well-shaped behind while she was staring at the door, as if she was waiting for something or someone. She had pulled her trademark ponytail over her shoulder, so her long, silk-like purple hair wouldn't get in the way of Angela's documents. Something the good doctor had greatly appreciated at the time before she apparently got completely absorbed by her work. Mercy furrowed a brow, looking at the clock on her desk. She swallowed heavily, noticing that her initial guess of merely minutes passing couldn't have been further off.
Amélie was gone.
She shouldn't be gone.
"Scheiße" Mercy uttered under her breath, getting up from her chair and walking around the shelf behind her, hoping that Amélie might be somewhere in the sickbay.
No such luck.
The only one who was there was Fareeha who had been taken out of the ICU a while ago and had been transferred to the regular sickbay afterward. The Egyptian warrior was making great progress; much better than Mercy would have guessed at first. Fareeha was incredibly determined when it came to getting better. Through careful training and therapy, supported by highly specialized nanoprobes, she was already able to move her arms again. Still not to their full extent, for she couldn't lift them over her head or reach behind her back, but Pharah was at least able to eat her own food, giving her back a lot of human dignity. A part of her had hated it that she had to be fed and that part was very vocal about it, too. At least until Angela took the feeding of Pharah upon herself.
"Said something?" Fareeha asked, looking up from a magazine she was reading. It was placed in her lap, holding things for longer periods of time was still causing her pain. It would go away over time, Angela knew.
"Ah, no." Mercy muttered "Say, you didn't happen to have seen Amélie?"
"Who? Your French replacement bodyguard?" Fareeha quipped with a smirk.
Angela rolled her eyes. Pharah had been pushing that particular button on her quite a lot since she woke up again, loving the reaction she would get from Mercy, always slightly embarrassed.
"I told you already" Angela huffed "I have to keep an eye on her; not the other way around."
"I didn't know her name was Amélie."
"Well, it is. I hate calling her Widowmaker. It's what Talon made out of her; not who she is."
Pharah shrugged, noting that Mercy, indeed, didn't call her by her call-sign even once. "It's not a very positive nickname, I suppose. She brought me that magazine here" Fareeha nodded into her lap "Not too sure what I'm supposed to do with the Heckler & Koch catalogue or where she got that from, but I'm not very picky right now." Fareeha smiled goofily "Then again, I might want that thermo-scope for my rocket-launcher?" She lifted the catalogue up half way, looking at the item in question. "But it's two thousand bucks... And I don't know if I will ever walk or even fly again because my doctor has been filing documents all day long." she pouted playfully.
"Sorry" Mercy blushed a little "Am I neglecting you?" she asked, sitting down on the edge of Fareeha's bed, like she had always done when she had still been feeding her patient and ever since. It was strange how fast they had gotten familiar with each other. Maybe it was because Angela had been spending a great amount of time taking care of the woman who took a bullet for her. But even before she spent what felt like almost each wake moment in close proximity to Pharah, talking to her always came rather naturally to Angela. It was like she didn't even have to think about what she was going to say. That was something which didn't often happen to Mercy, because she usually had the habit of talking about things no one else really understood, like nanobiology. So, in order to make herself more socially accessible, Angela taught herself to be very careful when it came to picking topics for a conversation. It was rare for her to naturally find something to talk about with non-doctors. Tracer, of course, came to mind, but somehow that was different.
"It's ok, it's ok." Pharah laughed. "You have responsibilities. My boredom is my problem." she grinned "So, Amélie?" Fareeha brought Mercy's attention back to the reason why the two were talking in the first place.
"Yes! I'm looking for her, you know she is supposed to stay close to me." Angela looked around in the infirmary one final time, just to make sure that Widow wasn't standing in a corner staring away into the distance, like she did from time to time. She was so zoned out then, not even calling her by her name would bring her back. Mercy sometimes wondered where Amélie's thoughts wandered off to, but she was relatively certain that she didn't really want to know exactly. "But she isn't."
"Well, as I said, she brought me that... reading material. It was maybe two hours ago. Since then I-" Pharah stopped herself from talking further, a frown covering her features. "Oh, she is good."
"I'm sorry?" Angela asked in confusion, not able to follow. What was Fareeha talking about?
"Think about it, why would Widowmaker care to bring me a something to alleviate my boredom? She is here now, sure and all, but at the end of the day, she is an assassin. Shot my mom square in the face. I think we can agree she isn't the person to line up some entertainment for someone out of the goodness of her heart, right? I mean, why would she care? Since I was the only one who was around in the back of the sickbay she only had to distract me to leave through the backdoor. You would have noticed her slipping away through the front."
Angela blinked. That was highly likely. "We'll have to talk about your disquieting attitude toward your mother." She admonished.
"She abandoned me, Angela; sent me off to some boarding school so she didn't have to be bothered with me. And then she got shot. There is nothing tying us together. That woman was dead to me before she... died." Fareeha frowned for but an instant.
"As I said, we will talk about this." Angela insisted, deeply worried about her patient... her friend's mental health.
"We will not." Fareeha stated coolly and with such finality it gave Mercy the chills. "It's none of your business" she snapped, the cold pain turning Pharah's voice frosty not lost on Mercy. She sharply sucked in some air. Fareeha didn't mean it like this. She didn't mean to be rude, the doctor was aware of that. It still stung to hear it.
"Alright. If that's what you want" Angela sighed in defeat, letting that issue slide for now. However, she knew that one day they would have this conversation, if Fareeha liked it or not. "Anyway, I have to find a certain culprit before she causes trouble..."
-/-
Widowmaker wasn't out to cause any trouble. She just wanted to get outside for a while and clear her mind from all the thoughts creeping through it like little bugs. She took in a deep breath of the salty sea-water air when she had successfully avoided all guards and soldiers inside the Watchpoint and had snuck outside. She wanted to be alone so she could think. Her eyes fell on a location which seemed adequate and she headed for it.
What was she going to do now? She was here, at Overwatch, with Lena and in safety. Sure. But what now? The talk she had with Lena a few days ago came back to mind. They were discussing if she wanted to join Overwatch's fight against Talon. At first, Amélie hadn't been so sure, held back by the uncertainty of what she might become. Lena reassured her that no one expected her to fight if she didn't want to. But the more Widow thought about matters, about the people who she was with now, Lena and Angela in particular, and about the unspeakable things Talon did to her and whatever small fragments she remembered of her past, the more she wanted to fight. Ever since Lena had been off to Stuttgart and she herself had only been sitting around idly Amélie started to burn for it. The thought of crushing those sick bastards under the heel of her boot made her giddy with excitement.
But she knew that this excitement was what Talon wanted her to feel. That the urge to fight and kill was what they made her feel because it suited their goals. And that appalled her.
But at the same time, the chance of revenge on those who did all those gruesome things to her seemed like an opportunity to satisfy a long unsated hunger. Her body was aching for the chance to experience the thrill of the hunt again. It craved the warm rush of taking someone's life away, and the excitement she felt when her gun recoiled into her shoulder and she saw a life at the other end of her scope perish in a cloud of exhilarating blood.
She feared that feeling, for it was what made her lose control. But she also missed it. Usually, Tracer made her feel the same way whenever they were together, ravishing each other, both burning from primal desire in a dance of messy lovemaking. But Tracer wasn't here now, and Amélie's thoughts became more and more clouded. She held no sympathy for Talon. Hell, she hated Talon.
Time after time again, Lena had reassured her that this was only natural and nothing to be afraid of. That it was perfectly human to feel hatred toward those who had been using and abusing her for so long. That it only surfaced now because Amélie was allowed to recover.
Still, it wasn't so simple. It never was. The excitement she felt…it was what Talon wanted. And now, to Amélie, going back to what she did best seemed like fulfilling the purpose Talon had created her for in the first place. It felt like some sort of twisted applause to Talon even if they were at the business end of her rifle.
Did all of that even matter as long as she was using her unique skills for a just cause? And was it a just cause? She had no concept of morality whatsoever, solely relying on what Tracer said. Did she even care about the cause or was it more because Lena wanted it? That particular answer at least was easy enough to give.
That bubbly, annoying little Brit was her everything.
During her discussions with Mercy about her upcoming treatment of all her implants, the Swiss doctor had been going on about the fact that she would be able to leave Widowmaker's skills untouched. She would be in the same fighting condition as before, maybe even a little better. Amélie knew that Angela only told her these things to help alleviate her insecurities and fear of lying on the operating table, but it still helped. It gave her options. Amélie didn't have those before as far as she remembered.
Widowmaker was quickly climbing up a rain water downpipe, or at least she was using it as support for climbing up the side wall of one of the Watchpoint's auxiliary buildings. At first, she thought about climbing up the radar dome on the building next to it, but she didn't have her gear with her, and the dome's surface was really smooth, so no way she would pull that off. The high tower next to it, however, was no problem.
Some physical exercise was exactly what Amélie needed now. Hopefully that would help her focus again. She had nearly lost her mind inside Mercy's office where there was nothing to kill apart from time. Her thoughts haven't gotten her anywhere.
Did she want to fight?
She didn't know. It was a two-sided sword. Her own revenge seemed sweet, and Lena told her it was what she deserved, but ultimately it would be Talon's making, wouldn't it? Then again, Tracer had been going on about how she would destroy Talon at every chance she got, the Brit's voice full of agitated hatred the likes of which Amélie had never heard from her lover before. And if Lena was so passionate to bring Talon down, Widowmaker would stand right behind her. In the end, what did it matter that they made her into a precision weapon if they were all dead?
Amélie skillfully halted her movements, noticing a group of soldiers passing by underneath her. They were chatting about petty things, apparently not too concerned with what was going on around them. Naturally, none of them noticed the former assassin holding on to the side of the building's facade. Incompetent fools. If she was here to cause damage, they would be caught by complete surprise. On her way out, Widowmaker had noticed at least half a dozen critical security issues a skilled assassin like herself could have easily exploited to get inside the Watchpoint and do their dirty deeds.
Finally, the group of soldiers walked out of sight, and Amélie continued her way upward, easily climbing the wall like a spider. She had been doing things like this for so long. She masterfully reached positions no one else could.
What was wrong with her these days? She used to simply pull the trigger without any remorse or any thought about it. Where did her resolve go? Widowmaker felt lost without Tracer around to guide her and she didn't like that feeling one bit. Lena gave her direction and purpose. She never had any doubts before and she wouldn't start that nonsense now. The question of if she wanted to fight was purely academic anyway. She didn't know if that uptight, stick-up-his-ass Commander Morrison would even let her. Probably not.
And if not, what then? Apart from the one kill she would have to do because of her debt to Reaper, what would she do with her life? Would she even care what Morrison had to say? Or would she become a stay-at-home wife to Lena, patiently waiting for her beloved to return home? Amélie cringed internally at the thought, almost losing her grip to the wall. She loved Lena and would do anything for her, but a housewife wasn't who she really was or wanted to be. Widow was rather certain that Tracer was acutely aware of that. She wouldn't ever want Amélie to live such a life either. Widow wanted to do something that wasn't sitting around all day. Talon at least put her into cryonetic hibernation when they didn't need her for longer periods of time. They just shock-frosted her room with her still inside. It didn't feel nice, but it did beat the feeling of being completely useless.
Amélie hated being useless. She just hoped things would get a lot better in the long run, because right now it felt like hell. Having to follow someone around all day, going where they go, not getting to do anything useful…it was close to torture.
It wasn't Angela's fault. The woman had a job to do and Widow wouldn't be the one keeping her from it. That's also why she had decided to just sneak off. Distracting the Egyptian who apparently was called Pharah or something (Widow hadn't really listened at the time), had been easy enough. The woman fell for it immediately, and she seemed even thankful. Not the least bit suspicious. What an amateur. But to be fair, if Amélie had been tied to a bed with no way of getting out anytime soon she would have probably accepted any form of distraction without asking, too.
Widowmaker smoothly pulled her lean body over the edge on top of the tower, matching the grace and elegance of a lean cat silently sneaking past an obstacle before she got up on top of it, the breathtaking sunset giving her pause. A soft and warm wind was blowing through her silken hair, and Amélie inhaled deeply, eagerly sucking in the salty ocean air. From where she was standing, the view out over the strait of Gibraltar was even more breathtaking than from any other place in the Watchpoint. She walked a few steps toward the middle of the small platform on top of the tower, her heels clicking on the metal ground and let her eyes wander. It was peaceful up here. She would have to convince Lena to come here with her sometime. This really seemed like a nice place to talk, enjoy the view, and then enjoy themselves. Widow was sure Lena would be an eternal sucker for doing something naughty up here.
A small smirk crossed over her lips at the thought of just what she would do to her lover in this place, remote enough to be safe from unwanted eyes and ears but close enough to the Watchpoint to still feel naughty. The wind and noises of the ocean below them would wash their moans away, unheard by anyone but themselves.
"Most unusual to have company up here" a slightly metallic voice suddenly said from Amélie's left side. She immediately spun around to see who managed to sneak up on her here of all the places. But what she saw made her quickly conclude that no one snuck up on her. Quite the opposite, apparently. It would seem she wasn't the only one seeking a remote location to clear her mind and think some things through in peace.
The eyelid of her left eye twitched in annoyance. She wanted to be alone. Bothering with this fool was not on her list of things she intended to do today.
Genji was sitting cross legged in front of an iron girder, the face of his metal mask was placed right in front of his legs and his hands were folded in his lap.
Widowmaker was about to sneer at him for being up here, but then some of Tracer's social lessons kicked in, where she tried to teach her a few things of how she should act around everyone. 'Professional politeness' she had called it. It would help her get accepted more easily, she had said.
"Pardon" Amélie said instead of the harsh comment she wanted to use before, yet her voice still cold as ice and dripping with contempt. "I didn't know you were up here." she added with a distinct tang of arrogance, turning to leave. For but an instant, the urge to just kick the ridiculous ninja off the tower and be done with it overwhelmed her mind, but Widowmaker didn't act on that. Of all the people she got to know by name at the Watchpoint, Genji was actually one of the few she could see herself getting along with. At least on a professional level. He had his reservations toward her, but he was rather... rational when voicing them. Still, he was annoying.
"I come here often if I need time to think. It is a good spot." he said without looking up. "Come. Sit with me." Genji pointed a hand to the sunny place next to him.
"And why exactly would I want do that?" Widow sneered, not the least bit inclined to just sit down and talk to this person.
"I see I haven't done much to earn you trust." He stated calmly. If he was offended by Widowmaker's snarky comment, he didn't show it.
"Non." Widow replied, not knowing why she was even still here. She should have just left. "I'm not welcome here, I understand that. I would be a fool to trust you." She said, now finally turning to leave.
"Allow me to change that." Genji said, and Widowmaker almost overheard it. She stopped dead in her tracks, contemplating if she really understood his words correctly and decided that there was no harm in taking this chance. If he wanted to try something, Widow was sure she could still kick him off the tower and to demise. She turned back around and walked over to Genji.
"Pardon?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest, staring at him, the orange sunlight reflecting intimidatingly in her golden eyes.
"I have been doing a lot of thinking lately, especially since my master returned" Genji continued, allowing Widowmaker her distance and distrust, not inviting her to sit down again. "I didn't trust you back in Diskon. I heard many bad things about you and your work, and I was concerned for my friends' wellbeing. Especially for Dr. Ziegler, who is very special to me and whom I am rather protective of. But, at the time, I failed to see that you weren't the one to cause her harm. Quite the opposite; you saved her where we almost failed." He sighed deeply and with a painful sounding metallic rattling in his voice, as he looked up and into Amélie's burning eyes "Angela was, of course, right to draw some... painful comparisons between you and me." he paused for a moment, taking in the presence that was Widowmaker, her persona intimidating and dangerous. She was a formidable opponent for certain. While he studied her, Widow got a good view of his scar covered face, the skin almost molten, yet his eyes brighter than usual and never more alive. "I want to apologize for distrusting you." Genji continued, looking away again. "I should have learned more from my own past. We all are but a product of it, and I for one should know that people change. Should there be anything I can help you with, please feel free to speak to me."
Amélie chuckled silently. She had to admit that she did not expect an apology.
"Not trusting me from the beginning wasn't a mistake. Anything else would have been foolish." She said before she had thought about it.
"How so?" The younger Shimada brother asked, seeing Amélie visibly stiffening, her lean body tensing up. "You went to great lengths to bring Dr. Ziegler back."
Amélie laughed painfully "Trust needs to be earned. It doesn't come from nothing. You haven't earned it yet. But neither have I" She said, painfully reminded of how her first encounters with Lena Oxton went and how long she had tried to kill the Brit before eventually realizing that all she wanted to do was help her. The night in London. Being carried to safety. "And make no mistake, I would have disposed of you and the cowboy if not for Angela stopping me." She added, cold as ice.
Genji nodded silently. "I thought you might say that."
"I deemed you a threat to her" Widowmaker stated matter-of-factly.
"We didn't know each other, no one can blame you for doing your job. But our behavior was far from honorable afterwards, when everyone's intents were already clear. It was not the way." The ninja said. "You brought Dr. Ziegler back and we disrespected you. I came to realize that this was wrong." Genji said and sounded deeply hurt. For him, it felt like he had tainted his own honor, something he had taken great pride in. Zenyatta taught him how important it was to be at peace with himself. "For that I want to apologize to you."
Amélie was honestly taken aback a bit "You... truly want to apologize." She repeated carefully and on her guard. That smelled fishy. But Genji didn't move or even flinch. He just nodded slowly.
"You deserved to be thanked for bringing her back; not treated with hostility. You and Angela both. We did ourselves great dishonor that day." He said, and Amélie found herself chuckling with bemusement.
"Well, I hear Talon hostages usually have some rather dangerous habits. They generally come with nasty surprises." She said shrugging "It's not like it matters now. I don't care."
"You refer to your own past." It wasn't a question. Amélie didn't know. They made her forget. They made her do a lot of things. Yet, it was strange, for she always had some twisted kind of purpose. There was a goal she was living for. And now? It got so complicated.
"That's none of your business, enfoire" she hissed angrily, aggressive enough to make most people with a little bit of common sense back down. But Genji remained unfazed. He just looked up at Amélie with a strange expression in his eyes, something akin to worry.
"When Dr. Ziegler saved my life and built this body for me, I hated her so much that I tried to kill her. I tried twice. No one knows about this, not even her. She must never find out."
"Why would you tell me this?" Amélie asked, frowning slightly. This was going into a direction she had not anticipated.
"As you said, trust is something you earn. You give and take it. There needs to be balance. Yin and Yan, give and take. How can I expect you to tell me something if I don't trust you with the same?"
Widowmaker laughed aloud at that "You sound like a monk. An insane monk." She said. "You don't seriously expect me to just open up to you, do you?" she said, turning around to leave the ninja to his own little world.
"Maybe not now, but one day" he said and, yet again, Widowmaker found herself stopping. Damn. This was not some bad slapstick comedy show, but he had managed to stop her from leaving a third time by adding some afterthought.
"I know someone who would use what you just told me against you with no shame or remorse" she said, referring to a Mexican acquaintance of hers, looking over her shoulder.
"I don't care about someone. Would you?" Genji asked.
Amélie hesitated for a second, contemplating her reply. She wasn't here to cause trouble, nor did she want to bring one of her lover's friends into any. "No." Amélie replied, and for some reason she felt good while saying it. She turned around and walked back the few steps to where Genji was sitting.
He, once more, gestured to the spot next to him, silently inviting Widowmaker to come and sit with him, enjoying the marvelous sunset on this warm evening, the mild winds carrying salty air into their noses.
Amélie sat down with some distance between her and Genji. A part of her felt uncomfortable, but another part of her caused her to speak up despite not really knowing why.
"Things used to be so simple. Not good and definitely not easy, but... simple. I knew their wicked rules. I knew them and played along. But now..." Amélie stared into the distance, acutely aware of Genji next to her. Sharing a few concerns, she reasoned, wouldn't be a problem, and maybe she would even get a few ideas that would help her get along until Lena was back. That said, she wouldn't let her guard down. This discussion was already heading into waters she wasn't sure she wanted to cross.
The ninja hummed carefully, apparently choosing the words of his reply with some thought.
"You have been ripped out of everything you knew. I don't want to suggest I know how it must feel, because I have no way of doing so. I have never been fond of speculations and rumors, contrary to the many versions of what might have happened to you which people talk about. They discuss the effects and motivations of Talon and your relation to them like they are sports. Most are just trying to take blame off themselves. But I did read some old reports years ago." Genji inhaled deeply, looking Amélie straight in the eyes, her golden glare suddenly losing its blazing burn, the fierce anger usually so apparent no longer lighting up inside of them as Genji apparently peered into her soul. "You will learn to be free again; I'm sure of it. The shackles they placed on you will be broken, and the ties of your past will come free. People will grow to accept that they have been seeing you for someone you are not. They will accept you, given the time. You won't feel lost forever."
Amélie blinked, shocked to notice that the ninja was able to pinpoint her deepest, most secret thoughts in a few sentences; something she wasn't able to do herself. The glare in her eyes returned, and she directed it at Genji.
"What makes you think I'm lost?" she asked defensively.
"Experience." he said easily, throwing Widowmaker off balance. Damn, that ninja was almost as irritating as Tracer was at times. And almost as insightful…in a different, less pleasant way. "I was ripped out of my life, too. Not like you, of course, but also rather violently. Betrayed by my own brother. When it was all said and done, and I was left to bleed to death, Overwatch made me an offer which I accepted and fulfilled. Afterward, I had no place to go and no home to return to. I was lost and confused like no one else. Filled with hatred toward my brother, hatred at humanity for what they are, hatred at those who saved my life, and hatred at myself. All that even though I voluntarily agreed to do what Overwatch wanted me to. I did it because I wanted a choice. I still felt lost. My own decisions led to that point. I have no one else to blame but myself." He said, yet again, sharing a piece as if it was some kind of trade. "But you, Amélie Lacroix? You were never given choice. Your hand was forced from the day Talon abducted you and turned you into their puppet…maybe even before that day. You expect me to believe that the puppet can stand on its own after years of being held by strings? And you were their puppet, weren't you? You know where you are and what you do? I doubt that."
"I-" Amélie snapped before huffing in annoyance. "Usually Angela gives me these speeches. What are you? A monk and some kind of psychologist? I'm starting to dislike you."
Genji laughed loudly.
"No, I merely had a wise mentor." There was a long pause of complete silence between them. "Tell me, do you at least know where you want to be?" Genji asked, and it sounded like he knew the answer already. Amélie's eyes drifted away over the ocean, dreamily gazing into nothing but still seeing what she desired the most.
"Oui. Like nothing else." The answer was ridiculously easy, and Amélie cringed internally that she couldn't stop herself from just blurting it out like that. When she thought about the future, there was only one place she wanted to be, and that was at Lena's side no matter where that was exactly.
"Then your path is set. You already know a lot more than I did when I was in a similar situation. Not quite comparable, I know, but I too was in a... difficult place, dare I say."
"Oh? You were turned into a weapon by a Terror organization too? Against your will?" Amélie scoffed.
A chuckle escaped Genji.
"Obviously I wasn't. As I said, I was given a choice. I hated it at first, and it didn't feel like one at all for quite some time, but ultimately, it was a choice. I have long since forgiven my brother. Though I am still deeply ashamed for what I said and did because of it. Especially to Dr. Ziegler."
"You forgave him?" she asked with a hiss.
"Yes. But it is not the message I wanted to tell you with this. No one expects you to forgive Talon for what they did; trust me."
There was another second of silence in which Amélie regarded Genji's words. He spoke them calmly and with peace. She wasn't able to speak about Talon like this. It always left a sour taste in her mouth and a tingling sensation in her stomach. Genji had obviously made his peace with his past a long time ago. She would never make her peace with Talon. Never.
"I see" Amélie replied. Maybe they did share more similarities than she initially thought; especially the altered bodies. Though Angela constructed Genji's cybernetic body to save his life, whereas Amélie was modified because someone wanted to have the perfect assassin.
"As I said, I had a very wise teacher. Someone who guided me on my path to understand myself, who I was, and who I wanted to become. I wouldn't be where I am now without him." Genji said, sounding like he was extremely fond of that person. "If you want, I can ask him to talk to you too. I'm positive he will be able to provide some much needed answers for you."
Usually, Widow only discussed these matters with Lena. She was the only one who she trusted enough to talk about anything concerning the details of her past. But maybe a new perspective would help? Maybe it would help her figure out what she wanted to do. Amélie would have to talk to Lena about it first and make sure that she was ok with it all.
"I'll have to think about that." Amélie replied after some hesitation. "The last time someone tried to talk to me about such things it didn't end nicely."
"Very well." Genji nodded, easily understanding that Widowmaker did not wish to discuss this matter further. "In the meantime, I suggest we do something a little more active than sitting around here." he sighed "Angela is going to have my head for this, but there have been bets among the others already."
"Bets?" Amélie perked up an eyebrow. "What kind of bets?" she was getting suspicious.
"Tell me, are you bored?"
"Out of my mind" Amélie rolled her eyes.
"Then you'll see." Genji replied, attaching the front of his mask back onto his helmet. "I promise, you'll love it."
-/-
Talon headquarters, yellow sea, 2015 hours
"Mr. Reyes?" Gerda's small voice asked, the maid obviously unsure whether she should interrupt her master or not. But he hadn't left the office for a few days now, and she was growing increasingly worried. Of course, the attentive maid was very much aware that her new owner didn't like sitting behind a desk at all, so that made him not leaving his office all the more strange.
"I brought you some snacks, if you don't mind..." she tried carefully. When there was no reply, Gerda swallowed deeply, gathering all her courage before she opened the door into the office occupied by the new leader of Talon. The small maid had to use her elbow for pushing the handle down since she was balancing a silver tablet with coffee and some sandwiches in her arms. She didn't really know what she should prepare for Reaper since she also didn't know his preferences, so, lacking other options, she decided to prepare a few choices everyone liked. One tuna, one ham, and one tomato mozzarella, all three meticulously self-made by the maid.
Upon entering Reaper's office, she had little difficulty spotting the black-clad man inside the sparsely illuminated room. He was standing in between pile after pile of documents, the towers made of paper almost as tall as he was himself. His back was turned to Gerda, but she could see that he was reading a dossier on something, the brown cover standing out past his elbow, a few pages close to falling off. How the man could see anything in this light, let alone read, was beyond the maid, her eyes needing a moment to adjust to the darkness.
It was obvious that Reaper didn't realize his maid's presence as he turned to walk over to another huge pile of documents, ripping out a dossier from well within the stack. Only by doing this extremely fast did he prevent the entire stack from collapsing.
"Mr. Reyes?" Gerda spoke up again, this time with a little more urgency in her voice.
Reaper heard her now. He spun around, startled, clearly not expecting someone to just come into his office. The documents he was holding were flying out of their cardboard covers, spreading evenly around his dark figure.
Gerda gasped, immediately blaming herself. She rushed over to the desk, quickly putting down the tray she had been carrying. She noticed that Reaper's mask was lying on top of the desk. "I'm sorry, Master! I didn't mean to startle you! Please forgive me" she squealed in panic, experience having taught her that she would be punished mercilessly. Immediately she rushed over to Reaper, almost sliding to her knees, attempting to pick up the documents she had caused to fall down. "Let me clean that up for you, Master!"
But before Gerda could land on the expensive wooden floor covered with thick carpets, Reaper caught the maid at her wrists, pulling her up and displaying just how much his reflexes were honed by many years of brutal combat. It all happened within the blink of an eye. Gerda's feet lost contact with the ground as she was helplessly hanging in the air. Reaper was easily able to hold her lithe frame up with only one hand. He held her high, yet his face was facing toward the ground, obscuring the view of his true visage.
"What did I tell you about addressing me, Gerda?" he grumbled deeply.
"I'm sorry! But I can't help it! You are my master now, and I was taught to address you as such!" the maid whimpered, and Reaper couldn't help but shake his head in defeat. He knew that there was most likely not a chance he would get her to drop that habit of hers anytime soon. At least, not completely. She was trying to improve, calling him by his name most of the time. Rationally, Reaper knew that it was hardly the maid's fault. Emotionally, it still bothered him more than it probably should have.
"Haven't I told you to take the day off?" Reaper asked, his voice still as low and dangerous as it got. Gerda could have sworn he was furious.
"That was four days ago, Ma... Mr. Reyes. I was worried about you since you didn't leave the office! I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you some snacks and coffee! Please eat something and let me take care of the documents. I accept any punishment after I corrected my mistake!"
She, again, heard Reaper grumble deeply in his throat and felt her heart skip probably a couple of beats.
He would kill her; she was sure of it.
That was it.
She overstepped a boundary and signed her fate by doing so. Her old master always warned her that one day she would cross a line and that it was only because of his merciful nature that she was still alive. Reaper knew no mercy. She was foolish; so very foolish. Gerda should have known better. Reaper was infamous for his cruelty and his overly strict and harsh expectations.
And, indeed, Reaper was angry. But not at the maid. Naturally, Reaper wasn't showing it, but the man did shed an invisible tear for the girl. Fates like hers made up a large portion of why he was still doing what he was doing. Not that Gerda would know or could ever find out about it. It wasn't right. Nothing was right. The girl was barely of legal age at most; probably even younger. He didn't even want to think about where she came from or what happened to her. How she ended up in this place, her mind stripped of all individuality, only programmed to serve her master. He was disgusted. Infuriated. Outraged. But not at her. Another angry growl escaped his throat.
It wasn't Gerda's fault. She had no choice. Just like Widowmaker never had a choice. Numbed down and forced to obey against her will. Until she ran into a certain Brit, who freed her of her shackles. A knight in shining armor coming to her rescue. Gerda didn't have that knight. No one would come to save her. Certainly not Reaper, for he had much higher stakes to poker for.
Gerda expected a lot. To be put down onto the floor again and roughly turned around wasn't one of these things she thought would happen. Reaper walked past her, his leather coat brushing against her legs, sending a cold shiver through Gerda's spine. He reached for his mask on top of the desk.
"Come here and sit down" he said with a firm voice. Gerda obeyed immediately, appearing at his side out of nowhere and proceeding to sit down on one of the two chairs reserved for guests. But Reaper's hand stopped the maid, instead pointing at the huge dark red leather armchair which was usually reserved for the boss.
"Sir?" Gerda asked in confusion, but Reaper just gestured at his seat. Not really knowing what she was doing or what was going on, Gerda naturally obeyed, walking around the large desk and nervously slipping into the extremely comfortable, softly-cushioned leather chair of Talon's head.
Reaper pushed the plate with absolutely delicious smelling sandwiches toward Gerda, noticing that she gulped heavily. Right, this might feel like the last meal to her.
"Eat something." he ordered "I'm not hungry."
"But... but Sir, you haven't eaten anything in four days!" Gerda exclaimed, looking at Reaper with worry written all over her face.
"I haven't eaten anything in many, many years" he chuckled "I don't need food to keep my body working." Reaper turned to face the documents scattered across the floor. It was true, ever since Dr. Ziegler decided to resurrect him he didn't need food anymore. It was just an unnecessary pleasure to him now. "Or what's left of it." he added more for himself, though he suspected Gerda still heard. That blonde cunt just couldn't let him die. He was dead for more than an hour and his soul long transitioned into another world when she just had to pull him back. Some things are better left the way nature intended them. Death was one of those things.
"But what do you eat to survive, then?" The poor maid dared to ask, immediately regretting that she opened her mouth. She decided to stuff it with one of the sandwiches she had prepared, noticing that she, indeed, did a good job. They were delicious.
"You don't want to know that." Reaper replied, crouching down to pick up the papers he needed.
"Please, Mr. Reyes, let me clean up the mess I caused. I don't deserve to sit here, eating what I prepared for you." she stated submissively.
Reaper glanced over his shoulder "And why is that?"
"B-Because I'm here to serve you! It's my sole purpose"
"If you want to serve me, then eat up." Reaper says curtly. "Wasting food should be a crime."
A brief moment of silence spread between him and the maid before the latter spoke up again.
"You don't trust me, do you, Master?" she asked, sounding broken. It almost seemed like it would be the worst insult to her persona to distrust her.
"Trust has nothing to do with it," Reaper replied with a careless shrug, placing the different sheets of paper back inside the dossier.
"Then why don't you let me help?"
"It's for your own good."
-/-
A/N:
First of all I want to apologize for the seriously long wait on this. It's my fault and I'm sorry for it, I never wanted to make you all wait this long, but you know how things go with real life and stuff.
"Excuses, excuses"
-Amélie...
"what, you were sitting on that for how long? Three months?"
-Yeah, yeah, I know. I feel guilty already, don't tell me these things all the time!
"You are slacking"
-Remind me, why exactly am I cooking dinner for you tonight?
"Because you like me?"
-No, because for some reason I agreed to take you in to keep you out of prison.
"See? You like me"
-Ok, ok, I do like you. And I will remind you of that the next time you decide to bang Lena on the kitchen table. Now get out of here and at least prepare the table for dinner. And before you ask, yes, you can ask Lena to come over. I have enough ingredients.
Soo, there is that, she's busy now. Alright. Where were we again? Ah yes, I'm sorry again that this took me forever to publish. I'm not dead or anything else, some of you were worried and I apologize for that, too. Just life and being busy as hell.
Ok, to address some concerns: I WILL finish Addictions. The final draft is done and I can tell you now that there are going to be around 12 more chapters, including this one. I have written quite a bit ahead by now and I think things are turning out okay.
I hope that it won't take me months to publish again, as a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure it won't. But be patient. My trusty beta-reader, who is working very hard to help me with this, has a life too and needs time to correct my shit. He can't work wonders and he is doing such a lovely job, so I don't want to rush him.
Special thanks to my two Angels, I guess we have lost one on the way.
EhMattissimo said he wants to publish a Overwatch-fanfic too, I'll tell you once he puts it out there.
I'll see you in the next one!
o7
E82
Translations:
Well, you should know them all by now and I'm drunk as fuck so I really don't want to translate now. Ask if you need to know something.
-/-
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