Chapter Text
Her drink was too sweet.
Satya pushed it aside, tapping her prosthetic fingers restlessly against her thigh. It was a small thing, ordering a different drink than she normally did, but instead of the refreshing sense of excitement she had expected, all she was left with was a bad aftertase and irritation buzzing in the back of her mind. She scowled at the drink, a brightly-colored thing - some new iced waste of money. A disappointment.
I should’ve expected as much, she thought, turning to look out the café’s window at the sterile beauty of Utopaea outside. People passed by, some with businesslike strides and serious faces, others with easy smiles as they chatted with the person next to them, and more with their eyes on their holovids. The streets were filled with sleek, round cars, all zipping along to their destinations at dizzying speeds. It was the same view she had enjoyed every day for years now. Utopaea - paradise. A beacon of order and perfection in a world of chaos.
The shining white buildings seemed dull, lately.
A shadow fell across the table - the familiar, thin shape of her usual omnic waitress. “How is your drink, ma’am?”
Her gentle, robotic voice was a welcome comfort. “Far too sweet,” Satya said, not looking at her. “Could I just have my usual instead, please?”
How childish, she thought, to expect enlightenment from something as frivolous as trying a new drink.
It had seemed a reasonable thing, all things considered. Perhaps a deviation from the norm, a break in the givens - perhaps one small thing would give her the clarity of mind to see what she needed to do, to pick the truth out of her cluttered thoughts. After what had happened in Rio de Janeiro three years ago, it was something she still needed badly. But now, she only felt a slightly desperate need to return to normalcy, even if she’d never strayed far from its safe shores in the first place, and even though she knew that normalcy was nothing more than a shoddily-made dinghy that was barely making it over the smallest waves.
The disappointment lingering on her tongue deepened. A shadow fell across her table again.
For a second, Satya expected to hear the waitress’s smooth voice announcing the arrival of her usual tea, but then she realised the shadow was far too large and not the right shape. She looked up and caught the brown eyes of the man hovering over her table. He smiled; she frowned.
“May I help you?” she asked icily, not liking the way he loomed over her.
“Satya Vaswani?” the man asked. An American, judging by his drawl. “Mind if I sit? There’s somethin’ I’d like to discuss with you.”
She looked the man up and down. The cowboy hat he wore sat atop unruly brown hair; a beard surrounded his slightly grizzled face. A red sarape was draped over his broad shoulders, falling to his belt buckle - a gaudy gold thing with letters engraved in it that read BAMF. She noticed, with some trepidation, a gun in the holster on his right hip. The sarape he wore covered most of his left arm, but she saw the glint of metal as his hands moved to grip his belt. He was wearing chaps, and as Satya’s eyes fell to his feet, she saw his riding boots had spurs. He really was taking the cowboy thing all the way. She looked back up to his face, frown deepening.
“Who are you,” she said slowly, “and how do you know my name?”
The man tipped his hat to her as he slipped into the seat opposite her, apparently no longer interested in waiting for her permission. “The name’s McCree - Jesse McCree. And your name, Miss Vaswani, is plastered across just about every magazine I’ve come across in this city, but that’s not how I know you. I’m sure you’ve heard from my friends.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Your friends… from Overwatch, I presume.”
He nodded. “That’s us.”
Overwatch. She knew what it had once been; she knew it had fallen apart and she knew that all Overwatch activity was outlawed. She’d heard whispers of its revival and chose to ignore it, thinking that their vigilantism would be taken care of quickly… only it hadn’t and, a few months after hearing that Overwatch was active again, she had received correspondence from someone named Winston who claimed to be the new leader of Overwatch.
Winston, as it turned out, was a talking gorilla.
That fact had not fazed Satya too much. What had bothered her more than anything was that Winston had asked her to join the new Overwatch. The world needs heroes, he had said. Satya had told him she was nothing of the sort and wasn’t keen on being one.
“Then you’ll know I told your friend Winston that I was not interested in becoming an international fugitive,” Satya said, scowling and tapping the fingers of her left hand against her thigh again. “I should report your presence here to the authorities.”
“You won’t do that,” McCree replied easily. His confidence was irritating. “I know you turned Winston down, Miss Vaswani. That’s why I’m here.”
“Your tea, ma’am.” The waitress returned, setting Satya’s tea in front of her before turning her optics to McCree. “Good morning, sir. Can I get you anything?”
“A coffee, if you please. Black, no sugar.”
The waitress walked away and Satya crossed her arms, openly glaring at McCree. “If you intend to ask me again, my answer will not change. I am not interested in ‘being a hero,’ as Winston put it, and I’m certainly not interested in being a criminal. I have no intention of joining you. I am quite happy with Vishkar Corporation and I don’t intend to abandon my position.”
McCree stared at her for a long moment. “If you don’t mind my sayin’, Miss Vaswani, you don’t look like somebody who’s happy with her position. If you ask me, you look like someone who’s lost. Real lost.”
She opened her mouth, closed it again, and settled for glowering at her tea.
“I heard about what happened in Rio three years ago,” McCree went on, leaning back. “Didn’t pay much attention when it happened; I had my own business to attend to. But I heard that the folks livin’ in Rio didn’t take to kindly to - what’s it called? Vishkar? They didn’t take too kindly to y’all comin’ in and doin’ whatever it is y’all do.”
“What we do is shape order from chaos,” Satya ground out. “We were going to make their lives better. Give them structure. Housing. Jobs. Bring order to their lives, and with order, peace.”
“Sounds like a good deal,” McCree said, nodding. “So why’d they chase y’all out of town, then?”
“If all you have known is chaos, you will be quick to reject order,” Satya replied, lifting her chin. “They were too concerned with their freedom.”
“I’m American, Miss Vaswani. I’m all about freedom.” McCree looked at her hard, leaning forward and resting his arms atop the table. “But the people of Rio chasin’ y’all out of their city… you’re sure it had nothin’ to do with the fire in the favela that happened when y’all’s competitor’s building suddenly exploded? Or that the housing y’all promised them never came? Or the fact that y’all started imposing strict laws and harsh punishments, or usin’ them for cheap labor - “
“Shut up.”
Satya had barely whispered the words, but McCree fell silent all the same. The waitress came with his coffee, setting it down in front of him before ghosting away, saying nothing to break the tense silence that had settled between them.
When he spoke again, it was quietly. Satya did not look at him.
“I suggest, Miss Vaswani,” McCree said, “that you take a good, hard, long look at your company and the things they do. Both inside and out.” He paused. “ I don’t think you’re a bad person like I've heard. I like to think you really do have good intentions. But I think that you might just be bein’ used, ‘cause you’re a little too trustin’.”
Satya stood abruptly. Her seat scraped noisily against the floor, but she didn’t care. Without another word, she shouldered her bag and left, leaving McCree behind with her now-cold tea and his steaming mug of coffee.