France, unknown place, unknown time
Savant looked at the heavy black marble figures on the equally exclusive and elaborate chess board placed on a small pedestal in the room. There were only black figures on the board, the white ones were represented by a holographic image. His opponent was some anonymous chess-player somewhere on the planet. All Savant knew about his adversary was, that whoever it might have been, was highly capable. He had forgotten how long this particular game of chess went on by now, but after long and careful consideration he had decided on the most advantageous move at last. He was playing a very long term strategy, something that required adequate foresight, long-lasting perseverance and an equally cool and sharp mind. In the end it would guarantee his victory; if he made no mistakes. He didn't make mistakes. If he made mistakes, he would have never gotten this far.
Reaching out, he moved one of the figures on the board with a content smile on his lips. His hard green eyes staring at the board, daring his invisible opponent to make a move. It would take a while, he knew. But he didn't mind. The longer his rival would take, the sweeter his victory would be in the end.
A careful knock on the door brought Savant's attention back to the real world. He reached for a glass of wine which was standing lonely on the large dinner table, before he allowed whoever dared to disturb inside.
"Forgive the intrusion, Mr. Savant, but this just arrived for you. It appears to be urgent." A beautiful young maid with almost white, blonde hair and steel blue eyes said. She was holding a neatly wrapped package with another, albeit much smaller one, on top of it.
"What is it?" Savant asked, perking up a curious eyebrow and watching the maid nervously shift her weight from one foot to the other under his intense gaze.
"I wouldn't know, Sir." She replied a lot more confident than the initial impression she made. "It has been cleared by security, so it does not contain any explosives or toxins. Do you want me to open it for you?" she asked, her voice pleasantly soft, flowing easily and being entirely soothing to the ear.
Savant paused for a second, creating a moment of tense silence, in which he eyed his maid carefully. He didn't know her name. Which was rare, he usually knew everyone who had direct contact with him by name. "No. I'll do that myself." He decided, gesturing to the table.
"As you wish, Sir." The maid said, setting the two packages onto the dinner table. He nodded his approval as she bowed, before she quickly returned to the door, without seeming like she was rushing to get out. Swiftly, but gracefully.
"What's your name, beautiful?" Savant asked, making the maid stop and turn back to her master again.
"It's Sarah, Sir." She replied with a small smile.
"Good." He set the glass of wine he had been holding down on the table again and walked a few steps closer to her. "What are your plans for tonight then, Sarah?" he asked with a charming smirk on his lips. He could be very charming when he wanted to. Not that there was a necessity for that too often. Most of the time he could just command what he desired. Which had its own appeal, but that didn't mean that Thiery didn't enjoy a good conquest too. Not that Sarah would be much of a challenge.
"I.. uhm, none so far." Sarah replied a little shyly, turning her head a little to the side, looking at something of sudden interest in the corner of the room.
"Excellent. Care to join me for dinner?" he asked with a grin. Her head snapped back to him, staring at him with eyes wide open.
"I... I'm your maid, Sir." She stuttered, losing her calm for the first time.
Thiery chuckled softly. "Ah." He said, his eyes glistering brightly. "And that means you obviously are forbidden to have dinner with me, right?"
"N-No, it's not what I meant, I just..." She took a deep breath, stilling her nerves and ceasing her rambling. "To be honest, Sir, I think you wouldn't find my company very interesting, besides, maybe it would also be-"
"Inappropriate?" Savant suggested, leaning to the edge of the table right in front of Sarah.
"Very much so." Sarah replied. "And also-"
"Weird?" he provided for her.
She let out a breath. "Yes. Maybe."
"What about interesting and exciting?" He smiled. "Doing inappropriate things can be quite... fulfilling."
The maid opened her mouth just to close it again, looking like a fish out of the water. She felt the heat burning on her cheeks. The mere thought about what he might have just suggested and the absolute knowledge that she surely didn't understand it the way he meant it made her burn up.
"Do you have a dress, Sarah?" Savant asked casually and before she could think about a witty thing to say to get out of that situation, she already felt herself nod.
"Good. I'll see you for dinner tonight then. Be ready by 8 sharp." He said, clapping his hands once and pushing himself off the table again.
Sarah blinked, before smiling "I- yes, Mr. Savant. That would be wonderful." She said and quickly excused herself from the room.
She wasn't working at the mansion for long.
Savant watched the door close with a smirk on his face, knowing that this day would be a good day. Chances of anything ruining it were rather slim. He reached for his glass of wine and took a slow, long sip from the ruby liquid as he turned his attention to the mysterious two packages sitting on the table.
He decided to open the larger one first. It was approximately the size of a box someone might use to ship a motorcycle helmet in. Which was the reason Savant had decided to open that particular box first. Back in the day he used to ride motorcycles with passion. Now he didn't have the time for it anymore.
Carefully peeling the clear tape off the brown wrapping paper Savant unpacked the package. He wasn't the type of person to simply tear wrapping paper off. Not that it would have been necessary in this case anyway. The paper simply slid off the package after he removed a couple of tapes and immediately revealed its content.
Which made Savant's head recoil slightly.
Carefully hidden underneath the wrapping paper was a box made of acrylic glass. Inside it was a silver tray and positioned neatly on top of it was nothing else than the brutally severed head of a bald black man with opaque eyes and a dried line of blood running down the corner of his mouth. The head belonged to someone Savant knew all too well. Doomfist apparently didn't succeed in what he was tasked to do.
Was that a warning? What was Reaper planning? He felt anger rising in his chest, but decided to not rush anything before he knew all the facts.
Savant quickly unpacked the other package and found a voice recording device inside. He pressed the play button and immediately heard Reaper's voice.
"If you don't like my way of leading your team, you should just tell me to fuck off. Which I will do. You put me into that position I'm in now, I never asked for a desk. You call me a traitor? Please. You hired me, have you forgotten? I don't give a shit as long as you pay me. I'm sending you the head of that idiot you sent to clean up. I have no time for petty games. You know, because I am running your damn show for you. Now, I will go and kill some Mexican drug lords, who didn't pay up as agreed. If you still want me gone by the time I'm back, leave me a fucking note. Can't be that difficult. If not, I'll just carry on as usual and consider this done. You pay too well to stay pissed. But try funny shit on me again and your head will be on that plate next. Not a threat. Just a warning to honor the contract we have."
Savant blinked. Once. Twice. Then he burst into loud and maybe slightly crazy laughter.
Only Reaper.
Only he could react to an attempted assassination with the verbal equivalent of a careless shrug. He wasn't even pissed off or angry or anything. That carelessness. The attitude in which Reaper didn't give a flying fuck about his position or Talon or whatever else.
Maybe Savant was wrong. Maybe Reaper wasn't a traitor after all. Maybe he had missed something and Abaraxas Schrödinger had been right all along? Not that it would have helped him. Reaper did have a point when he said that Savant was the one who wanted him. It was easy to forget that at the end, Reaper was a mercenary. And mercenaries were loyal to no cause except their paycheck.
Savant groaned, rubbing over the bridge of his nose. He was going paranoid. So close to the final victory. Soon it would all be done and he wouldn't have to worry anymore. When he was UN General Secretary, he'd have the authority and power to conduct all his businesses in a legal way.
Still, why did Katya Volskaya turn up dead? He seriously doubted that she committed suicide like everyone seemed to believe. Maybe it was true?
Or maybe Overwatch had found the offer Talon had made her and decided it was too risky to keep her alive?
Morrison had been growing rather ruthless over the last few years. He didn't seem to have the moral qualms he used to have. Which meant he was learning. Which meant Savant finally started to have an adversary worthy of his full attention.
How very fascinating.
Savant decided that he would keep a close eye on what Reaper would do for the next couple of weeks. And if he found that there wasn't even the smallest hint of him playing a double sided game, then he would let him off the hook. Savant had to admit that it had been a far fetch with the plan to bait Reaper with intelligence. It wasn't precise enough. It hadn't been ideally what Savant would have needed. Too detailed information would have compromised the goal he wanted fulfilled.
Alight, nothing was lost. Sombra was where she needed to be after all. And as soon as she would get the chance, her mental programming would trigger and she would do exactly as Savant told her.
She would find the Overwatch AI and would infect it with the godprogram they had prepared. All according to plan.
Telling Sombra to run away and let herself be caught by Overwatch was something Savant dreaded to do. Ever since she was gone, he was horribly bored. Oh well, maybe Sarah could levitate some of his ever growing boredom.
He sipped his wine, patting the top of Akande's glass box. Well played my friend. Well played.
Now, where was that script for the speech he was supposed to give the next day?
-/-
Watchpoint Gibraltar, approximately the same time, Tactical Command Center
The command center was busy as usual, the operators going about their hectic jobs coordinating and overseeing everything Overwatch was currently (unofficially) involved in. It was no easy job to do, for it required lots of concentration and impeccable multitasking skills. People in navy blue uniforms were either staring at satellite images while speaking into a headset, running around, carrying files and datapads, fetching coffee or running around in panicked circles. Usual business.
Jack Morrison knew that outside the glass walls of his office would be a loud and borderline chaotic environment. But despite being able to see the commotion outside, he couldn't hear it. His office was completely silent. Which was good for him, because contrary to his control operatives outside, he couldn't really concentrate when other people were constantly talking.
He was reading the latest reports on Sombra and the results of her questioning. They didn't get much so far, but that would soon change. He could feel it, the hacker was close to her breaking point. All they needed to do now was push a little further and they would find out what they needed to know.
The identity of Talon's boss.
And then it would be over. There was no place on this world where he could hide, no hole deep enough, no hideout secret enough, no isle unknown enough to stop Jack Morrison from finding that damned bastard and putting a bullet in between his eyes with his own rifle. There would be no capture, no negotiation, no process. No trial. Morrison would make sure that the son of a bitch would die the moment he was found. One way or another.
While it was true that they didn't have a lot of time to pull this off anymore, Morrison was confident they could do it. For the first time since he and Reaper started their secret mission, he felt like they might be able to actually pull it off. And then maybe, just maybe, they might be allowed to go back to their own lives, their families and friends who hopefully might find it in them to forgive them one day for their betrayal. At least Morrison hoped that would happen. Not for him, but for Reye's family, who thought that he died years ago in Zürich. Then again, maybe it was better for them, and him, if they didn't find out he was still alive.
With a sigh Morrison flipped the page in the report and started reading on the top again, but this time he didn't get far. A loud alarm went off in the entire Watchpoint and the Commander's head snapped up. Outside in the command center everyone stopped what they were doing and appeared to be listening to something.
In that moment he heard Athena's distorted, broken voice call out to him. "C-Commmmander. In-intruder alert. My core has been br-brrreached. My mainframe has been infected with a god-program. I am resisting but it's gaining on me."
Within a moment Morrison had jumped up from his chair and slammed his hands onto his table "How did that happen? Report!"
"Som-Som-Sombra managed to escape." There was an unusually long pause for an AI "Compensated language output for critical mission information: Commander, I am losing control over my core-programming. That includes all internal and external defense systems. The god program tried to gain access to my neurotoxin emitters. So far unsuccessfully. Thus, I activated the Dark Star Protocol and ordered evacuation to Watchpoint: Grand Mesa. I have already made the necessary preparations. I remote booted Grand Mesa and disabled it's hibernation routines. All non infected files have already been transferred. Self-Destruct sequence has been initiated at t minus one hours fifty five minutes."
"Athena!" Morrison bellowed. "Grand Mesa is only-"
"Officially a Watchpoint. I am aware of its true purpose, but you have no other choice. You will need the advantages it o-offers. Please hurry, Commander. I am fighting, but I ammmm losing. The god program is trying to access my internal point defense systems. I don't know how long I can keep it from accessing them. It will kill you all. I am buying as much time as I can. But you have to run. Now. Run..." Athena's voice turned into a painful screeching before it shut off.
"Athena!" The Commander shouted, but there was no response. Letting his head sink, he took a deep breath. This was bad. Really bad. How the hell did Sombra manage to get a god program into the Watchpoint? Where did she hide it? She was thoroughly searched before she was imprisoned and she had nothing with her. So how? He would find out. But not now.
"Winston is gonna be pissed" he grumbled under his breath as he rushed for the door of his office, yanking it open so hard that the hinges almost broke off.
The operators outside stared at him like he was a pink unicorn puking rainbows. One could have heard a pin drop, it was so silent.
A moment passed in which the Commander needed to take another deep breath. Gibraltar was their home. They all lived here. Suddenly leaving it, knowing that it would soon be nothing but a smoking crater felt... surreal. He looked into the expecting eyes of his brothers in arms.
"You heard the situation. We have an god-program infestation and will be evacuating to Watchpoint: Grand Mesa. I want armed emergency teams on all levels, we might be losing control over our internal defense systems, so be aware. They have to be prepared to take them out. I want to begin evacuation immediately. We will start at the top level and work our way down. I want everyone who isn't absolutely necessary out of here within the hour. We'll proceed with standard evacuation procedures, everyone is trained for that. Quick and precise, gentleman, we are on a schedule. Find out which section commanders are on duty and inform them right away."
"Right away, Sir!" someone called and started to issue more detailed orders to his subordinates.
"Alright, The heads of Task Groups A, B and C come to me." Morrison called out. He didn't have to wait long for three of his soldiers appearing in front of him.
"Group A you are in charge of packing up equipment and weapons. Make sure we are have enough gear for everyone, but the people do have priority."
"Yes, Sir!" A woman with fire red hair and green eyes replied quickly, returning to her station and informing her people about what exactly she wanted to have done.
"Group B, you are in charge of retrieving ongoing research projects. Go and ask Torbjörn, he'll give you a list of the important things. Pack that up first, plant C4 on the less important stuff and leave it here if need be. Personnel and weapons have priority."
"Sir!" A man in his early thirties replied, doing just what his colleague did before and informed his team.
"Group C, you will provide logistical support for evacuating all personnel. Make sure the evacuation procedure is going on smoothly. We can't afford to have any delays. I want shuttles filled with people and equipment at an even rate as long as it's possible. We need both. If I don't see the first shuttle airborne in ten minutes, I'll have someone's head."
"We'll make sure of it, Sir! I already got confirmation from level 12, they are packing up and will be heading toward the hangar in approximately three minutes. Only personnel. No equipment." A soldier informed him.
"That's what I want to hear. Once this is done, we will work on clearing all data and making sure there is nothing left to salvage. Set up charges on all critical systems, including the AI core. If that damned god program is able to deactivate it, we have a problem. Make sure that everyone who isn't on a shuttle makes themselves useful. And get me Oxton, she needs to work out a flight plan to Grand Mesa."
He turned around just to hesitate as if he forgot something. "And send a security detail to Athena's server room. This chaos here is all thanks to Sombra. Bring her back in and make sure she is never unattended."
"Sir!"
-/-
Watchpoint Gibraltar, infirmary
Amélie was lazily sitting in a chair, her impossibly long legs flipped up on the table in front of her while she reclined in her chair with her eyes closed. The autumn sun was brightly shining through the windows on her pale purple skin as she took a deep breath. She knew that it smelled a little bit of disinfectant, simply because she was in the infirmary, but that particular smell had lost its bothersome, repulsive touch a long time ago. Where it was once so strongly associated with forgetting and being improved it was now simply the smell of Dr. Ziegler's domain. Which would hopefully give no one cause to worry.
Widowmaker was feeling great. Not only because she allowed herself to feel this way, but also because she genuinely did. Balanced might have been a good word for it, which had definitely nothing to do with any post-coital bliss she was still experiencing from her little fun with Lena a few hours ago. Not at all.
A wicked smile on her lips she opened her eyes again, her piercing golden iris contracting immediately to adjust to the sudden flood of light. Her gaze fell on Fareeha, who was sitting in some training device a little to Amélie's side. The Egyptian soldier still had difficulties with walking. She could manage a few steps on her own without any support before she lost balance. For some reason it seemed that it was getting worse instead of better. Maybe Mercy was right and Fareeha was indeed pushing herself too hard.
Widow wouldn't say anything, simply because she knew that it wasn't her business, but if she was honest to herself, and she usually was, Mercy was right. Letting a hand run over her forehead, Amélie's fingers stopped when they came into contact with a soft patch. A band-aid placed there by Dr. Ziegler after she had cut out another set of control chips Talon had benevolently gifted to her. She was glad to be rid of them. And soon enough there would be nothing left, not even a faint scar reminding her of what had once been underneath. Just... nothing.
Still focused on Pharah, Amélie knew that if the roles were reversed, she wouldn't act any differently. She too would push herself as hard as she could to get back into her former shape as soon as humanly possible. She could afford to, her healing factor had artificially been increased as was her tissue regeneration. Fareeha's wasn't. Which was both good and bad at the same time.
Ironic how some of the most horrible procedures Amélie had to endure did give her an advantage over ordinary humans in the end. Some may have even been jealous of the results, but surely not of the procedure. Never the procedure.
"Stop it." Fareeha groaned under her breath.
Widow blinked, tilting her head a little and causing a strand of hair to fall over her face. "Stop what?" she asked innocently, not having the first clue what her comrade in medical misery was talking about.
"Playing with your band-aid. You'll get an infection." Pharah replied.
"Is that right?" Amélie smirked, but stopped rubbing over the patch on her head. She had to admit that she didn't even realize that she had been touching it in the first place. "Then you should stop, too."
"Stop what?" Fareeha replied, mimicking Widow's earlier tone.
"Exhausting yourself. You and I both know it won't do you any good."
An annoyed groan was all Pharah could produce as an answer. She, however, did stop what she was doing and moved herself back onto her bed, letting her legs dangle from the edge.
"It hurts." She said meekly.
"Oui." Amélie replied softly, pressing her full lips into a fine line. "I know."
"I want to walk again."
Widow nodded ever so little that it was barely noticeable. "It takes time." she stated simply.
"Don't think I don't know that. But I feel so useless." Pharah blurted and for a moment there she almost looked ashamed that she had admitted this.
"As did I for a while here. It will pass."
"But it already has passed for you." Pharah grumbled, shooting Widow a look. The uncaring shrug she received did little to help her feel any better.
"You're feeling bad?" Widow asked nonchalantly in her infamous direct approach. She handled conversations like she handled her job. Shooting in a straight line.
"Of course I feel bad. I'm stuck here like a useless child." Fareeha complained.
"You do realize that I am literally the single worst person you could chose for emotional support? In case you have forgotten, emotions and me? Not the best of friends."
Pharah shrugged. "Better than no one." She stated simply at which point Widow couldn't help but shrug as well. Fair enough.
A comfortable silence spread between the two woman from that point forward and Amélie turned her head to look out of the window again. The strait of Gibraltar was a beautiful sight and she occupied her mind by trying to count the various seagulls flying calmly above it. She might also have gauged how fast they were flying and how high and where she would aim to shoot them down. This way it was easy to reach some ease of mind where Widow didn't really think about anything in particular.
She was really looking forward to getting out of the infirmary tomorrow. Lena and her had planned to go to the city again, like they did when they went shopping for clothes and Amélie was definitely looking forward to that. Maybe they'd visit the small café again. She was relatively certain that doing so would make Lena very happy.
The sounding of an alarm bell told Widowmaker that her plans for tomorrow were definitely cancelled and she was even more certain of that once the voice over the speaker announced the news:
"Attention all personnel. This is not a drill. Dark Star protocol has been enabled. I repeat: Dark Star protocol is in immediate effect. Self destruct sequence has been initiated. I repeat, self destruct sequence has been initiated at t minus one hour 59 minutes. All personnel report to their section commanders immediately. Sections cleared for evacuation please report to the main hangar bay in a timely manner. Sections not cleared for evacuation please keep calm and stay on station until your section commanders are given the clear signal."
The announcement wasn't even done yet before Widowmaker had swung her legs off the table in front of her and stood up already. With fast steps she walked past Pharah, gritting a "stay here." Through her teeth. The closer she got to the door the more she got aware of the sound of heavy boots running down the corridor outside.
She quickly yanked the door open, peering outside. What greeted her was pretty much exactly what she had been suspecting. Soldiers and scientists were running down the corridor, most of them quickly heading for the exits, some of them going in the opposite direction. Everyone was carrying a box or a bag, some carrying especially large equipment together. It might have seemed like chaos on the first glance, but it really wasn't. There was order behind every move.
"Ma'am, please stay in the infirmary until you're picked up. We will evacuate the injured once Dr. Ziegler reported back to base." A fully geared soldier told her, stopping at the door. One of his comrades sidestepped him and proceeded on his way, telling him to hurry up.
"Timeframe?" Widow hissed at the soldier, who squirmed under her piercing gaze.
He gulped. "Can't be more than a few minutes. Please stay where you are for now. You'll be picked up." The soldier said.
"If not, I'll gut you." Widow snarled, making it sound like a promise, before she turned around and slammed the door shut behind her. Walking past the desk of Dr. Ziegler, Amélie opened a drawer in the cupboard behind it and retrieved a hand full of individually shrink wrapped items.
Striding back to her chair she gracefully sat down again, placing the items on the table in front of her before she picked up each one and peeled the wrapping off. As it turned out, whatever was inside was made of surgical steel.
"What's going on?" Fareeha asked, not referring to the general situation. She knew about the emergency protocols and she also knew that Widowmaker knew about them too. Though, how the French assassin did know this, Pharah didn't even want to think about.
"We'll be picked up once Angela comes back." Widow shrugged, peeling another metal object out of its wrapping. "It would have been easier if she didn't go for a coffee break in town, but whatever. Until then, just sit there and relax."
Pharah blinked at her companion, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. "You know, I would maybe relax if I didn't know there is a self destruct countdown going." She finally said, making Widowmaker look up from yet another metal item and looking at Fareeha. Stormy brown eyes were staring out of a slightly agitated face. Suddenly Pharah pointed at Widowmaker and shouted: "And if you weren't casually unwrapping scalpels as if they were lolipops!"
Widowmaker looked back and forth between Fareeha and the two dozen scalpels on the table, some unwrapped, most still in their packaging. Just by looking at her face it was utterly clear that Widow didn't have the first clue about what might have been wrong. "They might come in handy." She informed Pharah with a shrug.
"Nuts. You're completely nuts, Amélie." Pharah stated. She hadn't even said the last word a silver dart rushed past her and stuck to the post of her bed, still vibrating. Widow's throwing hand was still stretched and Pharah couldn't help but notice that the scalpel Amélie had just thrown was in the dead center of her post.
"Next time you want to call me crazy, know that I won't miss again." Widow said evenly.
-/-
A/N:
"Didn't you say something about finishing this before posting again?"
-Yes, I did, but they don't know that and it's not right to just leave without a word.
"Why?"
-What do you mean, why? It's just not polite, I was gone long enough as it is.
"You have your master thesis to take care of and you have been sick, too."
-I wasn't that sick, c'mon.
"You spent a month in a hospital bed. Not that sick he says. I'll slap you if you even think that again, patate."
-But...
"Eh! No buts. I won't always be around to watch out for you, will I?"
-awww, you actually care.
"Of course I care you idiot. What made you think anything else. Now come on we'll get some food. Before you collapse again."
Alrighty, seems like I am being dragged away from the typewriter again. Anyway, I want to clear some things up real quick: First of all, I am almost done with Addictions. There are the last few chapters to write and the fine-tuning to do for the rest of them. So I do have a huge pile of text already written.
You might be wondering, why the hell was he not posting this? Well, the answer is easy: I thought it would be better to have one long pause of updates before getting a new chapter every other day until the story is done than to have to wait however long between chapters. As was mentioned before, I do have to write my master thesis, which takes some time and I am rather busy with other stuff. I was sick for a while, too, even though it wasn't as severe as I made it seem.
Anyway, now you know the plan. I am working on this. And it WILL be finished. I swear, even if it's the last thing I'll do on this world, I will finish this. So please, please please stop begging for updates, they will come once everything is ready. It will only be your benefit, because you will get a whole package which will work great together. I hope.
Anyway, I hope you're all doing well and I also hope to see you all when I continue this adventure.
I love you all.
E82