"Oxton!" A voice bellowed as the door into the mission briefing room in the back of the hangar opened. It was usually used by the pilots before or after they went on various missions to be either informed of mission critical data or to discuss the results of any given operation. Right now Lena was standing behind a lectern, projected behind her was a map with various differently colored lines showing what had to be planned courses. Sitting in front of her, almost like in a classroom, were a group of pilots, all attentively listening to what Lena had planned for the upcoming evacuation.
"Ten-hut!" a soldier called out, spotting the Commander storming into the briefing room at fast pace, prompting everyone to stand up from their seats half way, before Morrison had already dismissed them. For a moment, the pilots awkwardly stood
"Sir?" Lena asked, putting the remote she used for switching between the projected images to the side and waiting for the Commander to tell her whatever he needed from her.
"What's the situation here? I want an update on the flight plan." Morrison demanded.
"We are following standard operation procedures, Sir. The current plan is to have a split evacuation in three waves." Tracer said with a curt nod. "Wave one is mostly personnel, which means we will have the Watchpoint void of all non-essential personnel in roughly-" she checked her watch. "20 minutes. The first Orcas have already cleared for lift off and will head to their RV-Point." Tracer pointed out a certain location on the behind her. "Captain Kava is in charge of wave one, he is already carrying out his orders." She explained.
"While wave one is clearing the hangar, we are loading up wave two, which will contain mostly equipment and what little personnel is required for it, or whoever isn't needed by then anymore. Wave two will head for their RV-Point once they are good to go, possibly parallel to wave one. We are using separate launch platforms for each wave. Second Lieutenant Yamabushi is in charge of wave two."
"Wave three is going to collect everyone who isn't included in wave one or two. It will consist of two shuttles at most and will be led by myself. I will wait until every last one is out of the Watchpoint or until I cannot wait any longer." Tracer explained.
Morrison nodded but had a slight frown on his face. The plan as such was solid, but "Why do you make it sound like someone might not make it out?" he asked.
"I sent some of the new Speznaz to go and help wherever their help is needed and told them to do whatever they can. I said I'll wait until the last moment. They don't strike me for quitters, Sir. If I say they have until 1538, I expect that they will show up at 1538 sharp."
Morrison was quiet for a moment. "I see." He said. "Good work, Agent. Carry on."
"We aren't gone yet." Tracer shrugged, knowing full well how many things could go wrong.
There was a knock on the door before it was opened. "Commander?" Another soldier asked as he stepped inside. "Zenyatta for you." He announced, stepping out of the way to let the Omnic monk float into the briefing room with unrivaled grace.
Tracer knew exactly what was going on in Morrison's mind right now. It was obvious by the way his eyes widened in surprise. They had an active god program fighting Athena for control and as it seemed now, it was winning. So, what were they going to do about their Omnic friend? There was one possible answer to that question, but no one was yet willing to consider this.
Oxton thought that Morrison had asked for the Omnic monk to come to him. But by the way Zenyatta was followed by five Speznaz soldiers, two of which were dragging an unconscious Sombra between their thick, muscular arms, this was obviously not the case. The petite Latina seemed to be almost squashed between the two hulks. "Commander Morrison." Zenyatta's pleasing voice stated calmly. "I was made aware that you wish to return Ms. Colomar here into custody. I regret to inform you that I wasn't fast enough to stop her from uploading the poison she brought along to Athena." He admitted, sounding almost defeated.
"You were in the AI core?" Lena asked before Morrison could.
"Indeed. I spend most of my time there. I find the company to be very... pleasant."
Morrison and Tracer exchanged a quick glance. "Alight. Put Sombra in chains and throw her on the next shuttle. You two are responsible." He pointed at the two Soldiers carrying the unconscious Latina between them. "You are allowed to do whatever you deem necessary to keep her detained. But we need her alive. Don't kill her." Morrison stopped for a moment, before adding "Unless you are absolutely sure she will escape otherwise."
"da, tovarishch komandir!" The soldiers replied in unison and dragged Sombra out of the room again.
"With your permission, Commander, I will also leave. Or is there a task you need me to fulfill?" Zenyatta asked.
"Actually, I do have a concern. There is a god-program in our systems and forgive me for saying this, but if we can't stop it, what will happen to you?"
"A valid concern, Commander. But rest assured that it is of no consequence. I deactivated both WiFi and Bluetooth."
If Lena would have had a cup of coffee in her hand, she knew that she would have taken a sip from it in that moment and she also knew that she would have spit it out all over Zenyatta. So, she was rather grateful that she didn't have any coffee.
"This is not the time for humor, Zen." She said instead, after not being able to suppress a bemused snort.
"Of course, yet it is a simplified version of what I did. I deactivated all communication protocols apart from audio in a band which covers the human vocal capability. Do not worry. My order has never allowed a god-program to invade our thoughts. Though it is important to note that my capabilities are now severely limited. I am no longer able to pass into the iris."
"Will that be a problem?" Morrison asked.
"Not unless its healing capabilities are required. But I am confident that Dr. Ziegler is more than capable of dealing with whatever injuries might occur in the foreseeable future." Zenyatta clarified evenly, while folding his hands differently.
"Speaking of Ziegler, where is she?" Morrison wanted to know, being reminded that his medical chief was still notably absent from base together with Reinhardt. "She was supposed to be back here twenty minutes ago!"
"Sir, she is... stuck in traffic." Someone told him reluctantly.
Morrison groaned in disbelieve, the situation entirely too surreal for an excuse like that. "Stuck in... for fucks sake! Tell her and Wilhelmson to move their asses here asap. I don't care if they have to steal a motorcycle to do it."
-/-
"I swear you are driving me crazy with those scalpels." Fareeha said with a huff, leaning back into the cushion she had propped up against her bed. She looked over to Widowmaker, who was skillfully spinning one of her many blades between her fingers, still sitting at the nearby table.
"Would you prefer bullets?" the assassin asked, perking up a questioning eyebrow. She didn't stop twirling the razor sharp precision tool around her slender fingers without even looking at it, almost as if it was nothing but a simple pen. Definitely not like it was an instrument which could probably cut ones fingers right off the hand with little effort.
"Bullets?" Pharah frowned "Where and how would we suddenly get bullets from?" she wanted to know, swallowing a comment about Widowmaker acting slightly crazy.
"Listen." Amélie hissed, suddenly stopping the moving blade with her thumb before lazily throwing it tip first onto the table, where it stuck. "You heard what's going on, right? That Dark Star Protocol they were talking about. You know what it's for and what it does, oui?"
Pharah hesitated for a moment, staring quizzically at Widowmaker. There was technically no reason Amélie should be privy to that kind of Overwatch internal information. Then again, there was something in the other woman's eyes, a certain way they lit up, like she knew more than anyone else. Which seemed to be impossible until you remember that Widowmaker was a highly skilled assassin who had pulled off more impossible missions than anyone else ever did. Impossible was her second nature, the very word more than likely printed in her passport between her first and her last name. Could it be that she was acting far more logically than Pharah gave her credit for, just because Amélie already saw a much bigger picture? A picture that Fareeha herself was still missing? "I do know what Dark Star does. Question is, how do you know?"
"I did research." Was all that Widowmaker deemed necessary as an informative reply. The truth was, ever since Morrison had unofficially recruited her, she did have access to all the proceedings and protocols Overwatch used. Not that she didn't have that before. But no one needed to know that. And neither needed they know that Lena's password was equally flattering as it was obvious to Widow. "The point is, Dark Star is only enabled when the Watchpoint is already lost. So I am asking you: Did you see any enemy troops? Or soldiers? Look out of the window, do you see a huge attack force?"
It was a good point, Pharah had to admit. She had been wondering about that herself. They didn't seem to be in any kind of immediate danger. So why would the Dark Star Protocol be enabled? It made little sense. "I'll give you that much," she conceded. "But there are other viable threats. Like.. an incoming rocket?"
"With a two hour advance warning time?" Widow asked skeptically before shrugging "Unlikely, but possible. If it was a really old rocket, maybe. But then again, doesn't make much sense either, does it? Just take the rocket closer to the watchpoint." She regarded Fareeha for a moment and considered telling her why she had chosen to grab the scalpels. It was a far fetch, Amélie would admit as much, but in the past she did well following her instincts. But Pharah would only call her crazy again and Widow could really do without that annoying discussion with the pig-headed warrior. "I have a theory. Let's just hope it proves to be wrong." Widow said instead of an explanation, sitting back down in her chair and picking up the scalpel to spin again. Her attentive eyes were roaming the room as if she was waiting for something to happen.
"And you wonder why people call you scary." Fareeha muttered under her breath, but Widow merely chuckled throatily as a response.
People thought she was scary because she was. They feared her. And they should. Because no matter what, Widowmaker was still very much dangerous.
The two women spent the next ten minutes in a more or less comfortable silence. At least Widowmaker wasn't bothered by it, what Pharah thought about it didn't truly interest her. It was after those approximately ten minutes that Widow's unspoken theory was, unfortunately, proven right. Outside the doors of the infirmary a loud beeping noise could be heard followed by automatic gunfire and the screaming of men.
In a fluent and faster than humanly possible movement, Amélie shot up from her chair, grabbed her scalpels and sprinted over to Fareeha. The other woman was stunned, when Widow grabbed her at the collar of her hospital gown and yanked her off the bed. She was vaguely aware of another loud beeping noise and a red laser beam pointing in their direction. The next thing Pharah knew was the sound of bullets being fired and her bed being ripped apart. She couldn't really tell what had happened, but somehow she found herself slammed against Dr. Ziegler's heavy marble desk. Widowmaker was right next to her in a kneeling position.
"What is happening?!" Pharah gasped, trying to regain her composure. She was a soldier. She was trained for this. But she was also barely able to walk without a cane.
Widowmaker peeked out from behind the desk for but a moment. Loud, terrifying beeping filled the room again and the red laser beam previously wandering around the medbay wooshed over to Widowmaker. She had enough time to spot a clean white gun-turret with a black, large caliber machine gun mounted to it. There was some kind of red eye underneath the gun, which was emitting the laser. The entire construction was hanging from the ceiling, sticking out of a newly opened port. It was one of the Watchpoint's many automated defense platforms which usually were able to differentiate between friend and foe. Either that function had been turned off, or the friend-foe identification protocol had been tampered with.
Either way, Widow quickly ducked back in cover as the bullets began to rain against Dr. Ziegler's massive desk, causing dust and debris to explode into the air and all around them. Luckily for them, the massive stone the desk has been crafted from was providing enough protection.
"Turret." Widowmaker replied swiftly, grabbing one of her scalpels and sitting up a little, preparing to lean out of cover again.
"What are you doing?" Fareeha shouted and grabbed Widowmaker to pull her back again.
"Do you have a better idea to get out of here? Because I don't." She hissed. "Now let me do my thing, or I'll knock you out and carry you."
From anyone else but Widowmaker, this threat would have been metaphorical or empty. But form her it was neither. She would knock Fareeha out and carry her out. Quite literally.
Staring into the Egyptian's deep brown eyes as if to check whether or not she had to add something earning her a knockout, Widow paused for a moment. When Pharah didn't speak up, she rolled off her and got back into position. She twisted the scalpel in between her fingers and took a deep breath.
This needed to be done quickly and precisely. She had one shot at this. She wanted to hit the optical sensor with the scalpel, making the gun blind. But for that to work, she needed to get out of cover and to throw the knife. Of course Widow would use a different angle than the one she used to peek out of cover, she wasn't suicidal after all, but still. If she missed, she would probably not be able to get back into cover before the gun acquired her and riddled her with bullets.
Sucking in a deep breath, Widowmaker lunged forward from the cover of the desk and out into the open. Her keen eyes immediately fixed on her target, the red eye underneath the gun glowing brightly. The turret beeped in its crushingly loud, low to high pitched sound, before it tried to lock on to Widow. The assassin could almost feel the laser-dot rushing toward her when she reached out to throw one of the scalpels with force and precision.
The laser dot landed on her body.
The machinegun fired.
The scalpel smashed into the red eye, smashing it to pieces.
Widowmaker rolled back in cover, looked over to Pharah, who was staring at her, pale like death.
"Still think I'm crazy?" Amélie smirked with a perked up eyebrow.
Pharah shook her head. "Now I know you are." She said, skidding over to Widow and grabbing her shoulders. A tiny line of purple liquid was seeping through her hospital gown. "You're hit!" Pharah exclaimed, immediately lifting up the flimsy gown to check Widow's injury. Her movements, however, were halted rather quickly when Fareeha realized what she was doing.
Widowmaker wasn't exactly wearing much else apart from the hospital gown.
Pharah froze.
Widowmaker gave her a deadpan look. "Like what you see?" she asked in a honeyed voice.
To be fair, Fareeha was a hardened warrior, fighting with determination and purpose and calling her righteous would definitely hit the spot. Her social skills were grounds for improvement, however. Her eyes stayed glued to that perfect, slightly purplish skin wrapping around tight, well defined muscles underneath. Amélie had the body any woman would gladly sell her soul for, with her flat stomach that showed the faintest hints of some abs, her legs were impossibly long and connected to absolutely breathtaking hips. Perfection, if it wasn't for the cold, blue skin. And the long slanting gash running down her side, lines of deep purple blood coming out from it.
"I...You...It..." Pharah tried ever so eloquently.
"It's just a scratch." Widow hissed with impatient venom in her voice, not linking the weird stare the other woman was giving her in the slightest. "None of your business." she pulled the gown back down harshly, before shoving a deeply flustered Fareeha off her.
"S-Sorry, I didn't know you-" the warrior stuttered, pressing the touching hand under her arm, like it somehow hurt.
"I'm sure you've seen a naked woman before. I'll live." Widow cut her off, leaning out from behind the desk again. The automated defense turret was making whirring noises as it spun around all its axes. It was definitely done for. At least the designer had the decency to not have the turrets shoot blindly around the room once their targeting system was taken out. Which was a relieve.
That didn't mean there weren't any more turrets out there. If there was one thing Widow knew for sure it was that she definitely wouldn't be staying here for a moment longer than necessary. Something has gone horribly wrong and she was relatively certain that should someone come to pick them up, they would definitely arrive too late. If they arrived at all. The hallways had transformed into death-traps.
No, she needed to get out of here, that's for sure. But the only way to do that was through the hallways and that was just plain suicidal. There wasn't any form of cover available in the corridors. Once a turret had acquired its target, it was basically like shooting fish in a barrel. Nowhere to evade, nowhere to hide behind, nowhere to duck out of the way. Which meant you were dead. Which also meant it was a bad idea. Widowmaker leaned back against the desk and regarded the orange windows, still allowing the infirmary to be flooded with warm light that didn't fit the situation at all. She could probably break one of them and just climb down the walls. Didn't seem too much of a hassle. But that was when Amélie's piercing golden eyes caught sight of Pharah next to her.
They needed to get out of here, not only she herself, Amélie decided, cringing internally. It wasn't so long ago when Widow would have simply sliced the other woman's throat and be done with it. Not anymore. It wouldn't be right to leave her here or even kill her. Lena wouldn't approve and neither would Angela. For some weird reason Widowmaker didn't even feel the urge to kill as strongly as she used to.
It hardly mattered now. What did matter was, that the idea with climbing out of the window to avoid the corridors had just been nullified by the decision to take Pharah with her, too. There was no way the injured woman would be able to climb down the walls of the Watchpoint and possibly even the wet and slippery cliffs. Carrying her was also out of the question, the risk of losing grip and falling to their deaths was just too high.
That left them with the corridors again. With a deep sigh she concentrated on the plans of the Watchpoint, which Amélie memorized a while ago. It was always helpful to know each and every corner of a building, if only for the fact that she never got lost. Widow went through the different corridors in her mind, looking for something helpful for their escape.
"We'll leave." She announced after a while, coming up with a good enough plan.
Pharah nodded, having regained her professional composure again. "Agreed. We don't have much time left. But we can't just go. The corridors are-"
"Oui, oui. It thought about that. There is a supply room on this level, which contains bullet proof riot shields. It's not far and I will be able to take out a turret or two. I'll go and pick some up. Be ready to head to the hangar once I'm back."
"Wait! Let me help you!"
"You'll just slow me down."
-/-
"Sir!" someone sprinted toward Morrison. "All surviving non essential personnel has been evacuated, Sir! We are loading up the last of the supply crates before we can-"
A loud beeping noise cut the soldier off and somewhere in the distance a machinegun fired. Moments later there was what could only have been return fire. This had been going on for at least ten minutes and it was beginning to grate down on the Commander's nerves. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes left until they would have to leave. They were cutting it close, but they would make it. It had been their luck that most of the personnel had already gathered in the hangar when Athena had apparently lost her battle with the god-program.
"What's the status on the charges inside the AI-Core?" he asked sharply.
"Set and ready to be blown up, Sir. The sappers are just returning with losses. Three men lost to defense gun fire, four accounted for and uninjured."
"Good, I want to get anyone out before we hit the switch. The coolant in there is highly explosive. I don't want to blow us all up. Now, where the hell is Ziegler and Wilhelmson?"
"ETA for them approximately two minutes, Sir. We're doing a headcount once they are here."
"MORRISON!" A female voice shouted loudly, and the Commander knew immediately who it was and what she wanted. "The turrets! We need to! I mean, Widowmaker and Pharah! With Mercy gone and..."
"Oxton!" Morrison bellowed. "Get a grip on yourself. We'll get them out."
"Will we? Because this has been going on for way too long now! I swear if they are dead I'll-"
"Oxton!" Morrison hissed. "I said, we will take care of it. I've sent a squad to pick them up a few minutes ago. And before you ask, you know as well as I do that we don't have radio inside the Watchpoint anymore. So no, I don't know for sure where they are. Now, please, would you kindly return to your task and make sure we all get out of here alive."
Lena huffed, but nodded "Yes, Sir." She said, turning to leave but staying behind never the less. "Commander, the last shuttle will leave in five minutes. I recommend you get on board of that one. I'll be waiting until the last moment."
Morrison looked at her sternly and then turned to the people in the makeshift command center they had set up inside the hangar. "You heard her. Pack up everything we need and board the last shuttle." He announced.
"Sir!" someone acknowledged him and people immediately started shutting off mobile computers and storing them into standard olive green transport boxes which served as makeshift tables up until that point. "I will fly with you, Oxton. No way in hell will I abandon my post before my men do."
…
Cutting it close. Cutting it very, very close.
They were the last ones to leave. Lena had the engines of the Orca fired up and running in idle, waiting for Amélie and Fareeha. They should have already been here. They should not be missing. But they did. As did the team of men Morrison sent to pick them up. Something went wrong. It was the only explanation. Lena could feel it in her guts, it was gnawing away at her, tearing through her flesh like a parasite stuck inside her biting its way to freedom. She was nauseous and if she would have looked in a mirror she was relatively certain that she'd have looked into the shallow, dead eyes of a ghost. There was just no realistic way that there would be any color left in her face. Realistically she knew that she should probably grab a small bite to eat, but she couldn't.
She checked her clock for at least the 30th time in the last minute and noticed that there were still only 7 minutes to go.
Looking out of the windows of the Orca shuttle she saw Reinhardt and Mercy talking to Morrison. The two had arrived maybe five minutes ago and after a harsh lecture from the Commander were updated on the situation. That they would be the last ones to evacuate. They were still waiting on six missing people. Everyone else was either alive and accounted for or confirmed dead. They had lost 63 people to the automated defense turrets inside the Watchpoint once they activated.
It could have been so much worse. The fact that they weren't drowning in neurotixines by now meant that Athena was still putting up a fight, albeit evidentially a losing one.
Through all of that Reinhardt hadn't said a word. Now however he was in a highly aggravated state, shouting at the Commander.
Lena decided it was definitely time to leave the Orca and check what was going on. She made sure all critical systems were ready but locked and jumped from her pilot seat. She nodded at three of the Speznaz sitting in her cargo compartment, Lieutenant Alexej Pavlovena was one of them. He had offered to go and search for Widowmaker and Fareeha, once it became clear that they and the team sent to get them were well overdue, but Morrison had declined. The Lieutenant returned her nod, biting off something stuck in his mouth. It made a loud snapping noise which was enough to stop Lena and made her perk up a confused eyebrow. Was she imagining the slightly sour smell tickling deep inside her nose?
"What'cha eating, luv?" she wanted to know, coming back to that thought of maybe requiring some form of nourishment.
The Lieutenant frowned for the smallest fraction of a moment before he lifted a glass placed in between him and another one of his soldiers. "pickled cucumber." He shrugged. "Chets rid of the chunger." He explained after he noticed Lena's confused look on her face.
The soldier next to him leaned forward. "And chrestores your chelectrolytes, blyat." He said with the heaviest Russian accent Tracer ever heard. "You chwant some?"
She formed a silent 'ah', politely declined and quickly left them to their own accords. She shuddered at the thought of eating pickles like that, out of the glass and with nothing to go along. But whatever they preferred, she wouldn't judge. There were more pressing matters at hand anyway and she thought that it might not have been the best idea to munch on a cucumber while talking to the commander. That wasn't even considering the feeling of having to fly, joysticks in her hands, without washing her hands.
Rushing down the loading ramp into the hangar Tracer quickly moved toward Reinhardt, Mercy and Morrison. She could hear Rein's voice all over the hangar, he was basically yelling.
"I will go and get her out of there, Morrsion. That is not up to discussion."
"Agent Wilhelm, I gave you a direct order."
"And I don't give a shit. This is where I draw the line. I will not stand by and watch as the only family I have left gets slaughtered by our own base! I have already lost my wife, I will not lose my daughter as well!" he slammed his fist on a cargo crate next to him, his hand sinking into the surface and leaving a deep dint in the surface. Impressive, since those crates were made from a reinforced alloy. Then again, it was Reinhardt they were talking about.
Not a moment after these words had left his mouth a heavy silence spread over all of them as everyone except for Mercy seemed to process if they just had heard right. Tracer was still a few steps away, but she just stopped dead in her tracks. She couldn't see Rein's face from where she was standing behind him, but she could imagine it perfectly.
"Your… daughter?" Tracer asked, causing Reinhardt to spin around, his face showing nothing but the cruel mix of anger and regret. A ever so faint nod was all he could give her as an reply.
Morrison was heard inhaling sharply through his teeth. "Alright, I admit that this might change-"
Something rattled loudly and everyone was quiet, listening keenly.
It rattled again.
There wasn't a thing in the hanger which was supposed to make an even remotely rattling noise. Naturally that was cause for some concern. The four agents were looking around the hangar, but the strange rattling seemed to come from every direction at once.
What the hell was that? It sounded like metal being dragged over metal. Not a pleasant sound at all.
Reinhardt and Morrison exchanged a meaningful stare as the group moved in closer to each other.
"Do you have your shield?" Morrison asked in a hushed whisper, while he was pulling back the leather strap over the pistol in his holster, ready to draw it at a moment's notice.
"I wish I had it. But it's with my armor." Reinhardt replied, his eyes scanning the surroundings in search of the noise's source.
The rattling got louder and louder, but all of a sudden it stopped. A slow second ticked past, followed by another, not helping either one of the four Overwatch agents to calm down.
Then there was a loud metallic bang right above them and four sets of eyes snapped upward just in time to jump out of the way of the service cover of a ventilation shaft crashing down toward the ground. It crashed to the concrete floor with a loud bang, blowing up a bit of dust in the process. Immediately all eyes shot up to the newly created hole in the ventilation duct.
It was weird because there was a faint noise coming out of it and it almost sounded like... voices? Definitely not metallic this time, but it was too indistinguishable to clearly tell. With a little bit of fantasy some might have came to the conclusion that maybe someone was arguing.
There was a loud "tais-toi!" to be heard, followed by yet another metallic object apparently being thrown out of the air duct. It was rectangular and almost sailed to the ground like a paper, just a lot faster. Sparing a quick glance at the object Lena noticed that it had a small viewport on top and was made out of bullet proof metal. Which was good, because the front was covered with more dints than she cared counting.
Tracer looked up again, seeing someone stick their head out of the hole in the air duct. Morrison had luckily let go of his pistol again, knowing that whoever was in the duct had to be human. Which meant they were no danger.
"ello?" a female asked and it was easy to match her voice to the almost glowing golden eyes peering out of the darkness of the air duct. "Are you still around?"
"Yes!" Tracer shouted. "But hurry up, we need to leave!"
"I have the stubborn Egyptian with me and some poor half dead soldier we found on the way." Widow replied. "If I hold them and hand them down-" she was interrupted by someone else, most likely Fareeha, judging from her accent at least.
"You're in no condition to hand someone to anyone!" She admonished. "You need to get up here and help us down."
"Absurdité! It's just a scratch. I hand them down, someone needs to relieve me of them half way." Widow said sharply.
"That won't work, luv!" Lena yelled. "You're way too far up."
"Then someone needs to catch them!" Widow retorted. "I'll help them down. Ready?"
Morrison shoved Reinhardt "That's your job, you're the tallest and strongest." He said. The German knight looked gob smacked for a moment. He was having massive difficulties comprehending the situation. Nothing made sense to him at this point.
He had been convinced that Widowmaker had only been waiting for the moment to strike, that she was merely lurking around to catch the perfect opportunity to deliver another lethal blow to them. Yet, now, in a situation as perfect for eliminating any target of value, he found her crawling through a tight, dark air duct. Not only that, she was apparently bringing two wounded soldiers with her. One of which just so happened to be his daughter.
He didn't know what to think.
But he knew that he would have to do something. So he pushed an empty cargo crate underneath the opening in the air duct and climbed on top of it.
"Ready!" He yelled.
"I'll drop the wounded one first! He's in a bad condition." Widow announced and loud shuffling and pained groaning could be heard followed by someone obviously cursing in Russian. Widowmaker said something to him in his native language. Her voice had something velvety and warm, in a honest, sincere way, not the eerie illusion of kindness she used to give her pray shortly before she struck. The only part Tracer was able to understand was the word 'Mercy'.
A second later the feet of a soldier appeared and he was lowered down from the duct, his hands tightly gripped by Widowmaker, as she was expertly bending down the hole. The soldier had a badly applied bandage all across his chest and he there was blood dripping down already.
"Ready to catch him on my mark."
"Ready!"
"Three. Two. One. Mark!" Widowmaker announced with complete professional calmness, before she let go of the soldiers hands. He fell for a second before he was safely caught in Reinhardt's arms. The knight jumped off the cargo crate and placed the wounded soldier on the ground, where Mercy immediately started treating his injuries.
Meanwhile the livid discussion between Amélie and Fareeha could be heard. "You're just as injured! You'll go first."
"I will not. You can't even walk. No discussion, you're next." Widowmaker hissed.
"I can't walk. My arms work fine. You're bleeding. And I don't need to be able to walk to fall down. Gravity does that for me."
"And how exactly are you going to not fall out of the duct if you can't use your legs, madame? Have you thought about that? No you haven't. Now stop wasting my time and give me your hands. You're next. Period."
"Fine." Pharah replied, obviously not really happy to admit that Widowmaker might have a point.
"Ready!" Reinhardt announced loudly, looking up toward the air duct with keen eyes. He was still not sure why Widowmaker was doing this. It didn't fit into the picture he had of the woman, not at all. But sure enough, the dreaded assassin was carefully lowering an angry looking Fareeha out of the small ventilation shaft and, just like before, dropped her into Reinhardt's arms.
"Are you alright?" He asked with a deep grumble.
"I am, abi. No need to worry. Just put me down, I can manage a few steps on my own." Fareeha replied. Carefully letting go of his daughter, as if testing how well her footing really was, Reinhardt let her step away from him. He noticed that her hospital gown was smeared with a weird purplish liquid, but didn't really think much of it. Maybe some kind of coolant?
"Old man, will you let me crash to the ground or can you bring it over yourself to actually catch me too?" Widow sneered out of her place in the duct.
"Tempting" Reinhardt grumbled, but sighed at the razor sharp glare of doom he received from Tracer at this statement. "But I fear that Lena will probably murder me." He said.
"Damn right I would." Lena muttered and looked up at her girlfriend swinging herself out of the air vent. She was lacking her usual grace and refinement and instead just slumped out of the hole.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Ja." Reinhardt answered and Widowmaker let herself fall. She landed securely in Reinhardt's arms, who immediately put her to the ground and let go of her. Amélie wanted to turn away, but he caught her at the arm with a little more force than strictly necessary. Talon's former master assassin spun around, looked at the hand on her arm and fixed him with a predatory glare.
He removed the hand. "Why?" Reinhardt wanted to know.
Widowmaker perked up an eyebrow, frowning. "Why what?" she asked, but Reinhardt didn't get to clarify anymore, interrupted by the Commander.
"Alright you're the last ones. Board the shuttle immediately, we're leaving." He said, checking on Angela, who was still tending to the soldier's wounds.
"How is he?" Morrison wanted to know, waiting for Mercy to look up at him.
"Not well." She told him. "I'll do what I can inside the shuttle."
With a nod Morrison picked the soldier up and carried him into the waiting Orca. Lena was already behind the joystick again and was only waiting for Mercy and Morrison to come aboard. As soon as they had set their foot into the cargo area, the Orca was off.
2 Minutes to go.
While Tracer was busy flying the shuttle out of the hangar and onto the open sea, Morrison was typing commands into one of the consoles in the Orca's large cockpit. Apparently some things weren't working the way he wanted to, because he was starting to use more and more curse words.
"Everything alright?" Lena wanted to know.
"No." Morrison replied. "The charges we set in the AI core. I can't detonate them." He said.
"Just wait a minute and that problem will solve itself." Lena shrugged, turning the shuttle to adjust their course and meet up with their little migrant fleet.
"Maybe, but it should work." He uttered under his breath, trying the whole sequence again. It didn't work. "This should not happen."
"Maybe the device is jammed just as our radios are?" Tracer suggested.
"Unlikely, it's completely different' tech." he replied. "I have a really bad feeling about this."
Tracer didn't need to be a genius to figure out what Morrison was hinting at. There was a godprogram loose inside Athena's hardware. If it somehow managed to spread faster than they had anticipated and if it had overwhelmed Athena quicker than she had calculated, the godprogram might have been able to disable the remote controlled charges. Which meant it would have also been able to turn off the self-destruct. "Let's not jump to conclusions just yet, shall we?" she provided, looking over to a running countdown. There were only fifteen seconds left until they'd have an answer.
The Watchpoint was visible through one of the windows in the cockpit and Tracer only now noticed that basically everyone they had on board who was able to walk was watching. Mercy was supporting Fareeha, Widowmaker was leaning to a wall, feigning disinterest and Reinhard was towering over them all, watching from the backlines.
Five seconds.
Only the humming of the engines could be heard, as no one dared to even blink anymore. It was weird seeing the Watchpoint from such a distance, facing off bravely against the surf of the sea. In what were its final moments, the station which had been a home to many of them, seemed to be almost at peace with the world around it. Like it was always there.
The countdown hit zero.
-/-
A/N:
"hey, Patate, do you want to grab some dinner?"
-Hu? Sure, what's on your mind?
"I don't care, just take me out somewhere. I want to go out. You need to eat. Come on now."
Well, fair enough, I guess.
That's it for this chapter, I won't bother you with lots of stuff in the AN this time. Hope you all enjoyed, tell me what you think and all that good stuff.
I love you all, enjoy whatever you're doing these days!
o7
E82
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