Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Peace is all Overwatch ever wanted. Even if as soldiers, it was their job to fight, the end goal was always to eliminate threats to humanity and allow those who can’t defend themselves to live in peace. Yet, even with all Overwatch’s efforts, the innocents turned their backs on them, leaving them to twiddle their thumbs while terrorist organisations all over the planet ran rampant. Much to everyone’s surprise, the fate of the war was placed in the shoulders of a dead man walking. No, I don’t mean Reyes. The catalyst that put everything in motion was a revenant swordsman, a renegade who seemingly arrived from nowhere and tore into his enemies as though it was all he was meant for it. He was a wild card, his presence alone forced both Overwatch and Talon to change the plans they had in place and forced us to adapt. I only saw the look in his eyes a handful of times; His eyes were distant and full of sorrow, regret and memories. To this day, I wonder if he’ll ever share those memories with me.”

-Sombra’s statement on the appearance of Arcane

It was evening, just a little way back from a cliff, overlooking what was once Yarra Valley, the gem of Australia. Once filled with lush greenery and nature that would make you stop and stare: Now a barren stretch of burning hot sands and rusted metal. Among the remains stood Junkertown, a settlement built by the survivors of nuclear pollution. The smell of fallout, and old fuel was in the air, rusted metal walls separating the settlement into sections, buildings on the verge of collapsing. Junkers roamed the streets, like the undead in an apocalypse, weapons of choice slung over their backs. Maces, axes, hammers, grenade launchers, you name it, at least four residents probably used it when roaming the wasteland. In a way, these people were living in an apocalypse.
Woosh .
A dark, streamlined figure slunk through the shade, undetected. Navy blue armour coated his muscular, athletic build. A large, matching blue sword sat in the straps on his back, a smooth seam down the centre. His black, metal mask covered the top of his face, showcasing a jawline as sharp as the weapon on his back, both of which could cut diamonds easily. His lips were curled upward. His head twitched around, wary as a feline predator, searching, scanning the area for signs of danger, watching the catwalks as men, women and children dragged themselves from A to B. Junkertown wasn’t a fun place to live. Well, Arcane couldn’t really say much, he lived in a kitted out cave, himself. But at the very least, he wasn’t suffering from radiation poisoning just by his choice of residence. When the omnic factories had been built, the Outback had been plunged into chaos, and yet the strongest survived, and rose up like zombies. They had come together, built this place on top of the heap, established as close to a society as they were ever going to get. That was going to change, if Arcane had anything to say about it.

With the elegance and grace of a tiger, the swordsman climbed up one of the corroded walls, perching on the slanted, corrugated roof of one of the ‘buildings’ and keeping a keen eye on the lesser beings below. The junkers were strange, their main communication involved a lot of shouting, their entertainment was watching robots fight to the death, it was different here to say the least. It made these people interesting, and Arcane would stay to study them if there wasn’t a prize for disbanding them. Besides, honing his skills as a swordsman was also on the table, and that was very important to him.
Slip.
A few loose pieces of gravel shifted underfoot, fleeing as though intimidated. He dropped to flatten himself against the warm metal as a couple of junkers looked in his direction. He was out of sight by the time they had their attention fixed on his position. One of them, a woman with a patchwork, hooded trench coat and an ammo belt, pulled a makeshift sniper-rifle off of her back, and put the scope in the direction of the sound, lining her eye up with what looked like a beer bottle for a scope, gazing through the cracked glass. Arcane almost snorted, wondering how that worked for her. Her free eye squinted, but Arcane was nowhere to be seen.
“Put the place on low alert. Could be an intruder, but no proof yet” Her accent came through thick and harsh, clearly a local.
“Merda…” He cursed in Italian, his native tongue. Arcane wasn’t one to set off any alarms, at least not until the kill was made, but he could easily fight his way out of here should he need to.

A minute passed, Arcane remained completely still. He remembered watching Jurassic Park as a child, how Alan Grant was sure the Tyrannosaurus Rex wouldn’t see them if they didn’t move. He thought it stupid at the time. Now he internally scolded himself for undermining the validity of staying completely still to avoid being seen, even if he was the predator in this situation. The Junkers eventually lost interest in the spot and continued on their way, allowing him a moment of relaxation. Gears grinded and chains screeched causing him to wince as a large door opened up, like the jaws of a beast swallowing the Junkers whole. The voice of the Queen echoed through some crackly speakers on either side-
“Welcome to the Scrapyard!” Her accent was also thick, Australian to the core, he guessed. He also guessed that she’d be somewhere through that door, he just needed a way in without detection. He scanned the panels of rusted metal, the sheets thrown together in a miss-matched pattern that was very unpleasing to the tasteful eye. There were windows in the ceiling of the scrapyard, and they had no glass in them at all. Perfect. Without even bothering to calculate, Arcane leapt from his current roof and reached out for the ledge to the top of the Scrapyard, clutching it in his fingers and using all the upper-body strength he could muster to bring himself to a place where he could stand. With one quick move, he brought one hand through his chocolate-brown hair, wiping it back from his vision. His chin was covered in a thin layer of sweat, the light glancing off his now-reflective jaw like bullets off a blade. This heat would be the end of him if he didn’t hurry up; His cyber suit wasn’t exactly cooling. He tread lightly towards the first set of windows and looked down into the building, the group of junkers he’d seen before still making their commute, a loud, echoing conversation between the two rose up to him.
“What does she want with us this time?” A large, bulky man with a crooked nose, a metal arm and a vicious-looking, jagged machete was the first one he heard talking.
“She wants to up the security. Tired of having Junkrat and Roadhog tryin’a get back in, I suppose.” The sniper responded, her hood now down around her neck, allowing greying hairs to roll down around her shoulder.

Junkrat and Roadhog, those names rung a few bells. Arcane wracked his brains in an attempt to find something. It suddenly came to him, they were world-wide thieves. Jamison Fawkes and Mako Rutledge, they went on a heist streak recently, stealing over 7.3 million dollars. Nobody knows where it went. Snapping back to reality, Arcane tuned back into their conversation. A 3rd junker, one who appeared to be piloting a large, spherical mech and talking in an automated voice piped up.
“I haven’t been here long, but I trust the Queen a lot. I’m sure whatever she’s called us here for is important.” It seemed as if the voice was reading off a text-to-speech program, rather than whoever was piloting it speaking into a mic. Maybe there wasn’t a pilot at all, maybe it was a fully automated robot? Arcane had seen this mech on multiple posters throughout the place, Wreckingball, was the callsign; The champion of the mech arena. Plenty of posters around the place had showcased the event of the Junkertown Queen gifting a shining trophy to the metal ball. Suddenly it clicked in his mind. A tiny hamster had been reaching out of the mech to receive the trophy. He had no clue how an animal was smart enough to pilot the Wreckingball, but given some of the things Arcane had seen in life, it didn’t seem too far-fetched. Judging from the battle scars on the sphere, Arcane could tell that the mech arena had been a recent event.

Enough of the trivial stuff! He thought to himself. He knew he had to focus. He was wise to guess that this trio was headed to see the Queen, he intended to follow them. They’d lead him right to her, right to the heart of Junkertown. As the trio began to make the large U-turn, Arcane noticed a titan-sized fan that spun in slow, clunky motions, spinning with a noise that made one wince the same way nails on a chalkboard would. Arcane dropped through the window, landing on the trundling fan’s blade and crouching, following behind Wreckingball and the other two with predatory stealth. The group reached the end of the U-turn, and down the home stretch from them, a woman sat on a metal throne. Bright blue, spiky hair clung to her scalp with a single plait that came to her chest. A torn leather jacket was slung loosely over her shoulders and a large, crooked axe-like weapon was leant on the side of her throne. Arcane tapped a button on the wrist of his armour, bringing up a small holo-image of his target, it was a perfect match.
“Target acquired…” Arcane muttered under his breath. The large fan brought him to be level with one of the walls to the Queen’s right. He jumped on the opportunity and began running along the wall, turning around the sharp, inward corner until he was clinging to the wall just above the woman. None of the walking junkers noticed him, it was perfect. He was ready, stuck to the wall by the flats of his feet and the palm of his left hand, his right resting firmly on the hilt of the sword. Now, all that was left was for the junkers to leave, so he could make the hit without detection.

But it wouldn’t be a contract from “Ol’ Smokey” if things were that simple. Smokey was one of Arcane’s clients, who had a habit of making unintentionally hard missions for mercenaries and assassins in their arsenal. Last time Arcane had worked for them, he was supposed to break into a museum and steal the reconstructed skeleton of some dinosaur without damaging any of the bones. Reminiscing of it nearly made him chuckle at how he had been thinking about Jurassic Park earlier. He barely made it through that contract, he ended up just taking one bone each night over the course of a long time. The point at hand being Smokey was irritatingly difficult to please, but also very rewarding. This was no different. If Arcane managed to slay the Queen and disband the junkers, 1.2 million dollars were at hand here, and possibly an escape route if Arcane ever wished to return to a normal life. At least, that's how Smokey made it sound. Arcane had no idea what they had in mind, the changes weren't exactly reversible.

The trio stood before the Queen for what seemed like hours, Arcane was becoming impatient. His suit was able to handle this, he could play this game all day if he wanted to, it was simply a question of if he wanted to or not. Having avoided detection thus far, he was leaning towards the former, but the latter was a tempting option as bore and uninterest threatened to consume his better judgement. There’d be snow here in Australia before he would be leaving at this rate. Then, voices raised. He leaned in a little further, it sounded like an argument taking place. He peered over the edge to see the Queen raising her axe. She kneed the rifle-wielding junker in the stomach, bringing the poor thing to her knees before brutally ending her life with a well placed axe hit to the back of the neck. The severed head rolled forward, blood spurting out of the stump in a way that he couldn’t help but cringe at before shaking off the shudders. 
“How fitting…” Arcane said to himself. The machete-man recoiled, while the mech showed no reaction.
“If you’re gonna survive in Junkertown, you’re gunna have to learn where your place is!” She threatened the two that remained with the blade, pointing in one direction before taking aim at the other, switching between the two as she spoke. “I’m all that most of you have left, remember that…'' She turned on her heel, retreating to a corridor on the left of the throne, towards what looked like a treasure room. It was now or never.

“Vatenne via!” Arcane dropped from his position, raising the blade high above his head. As he fell, time seemed to slow down, the moment frozen as he calculated his strike. The blade alignment, the swing speed, the part of the Queen’s body he was aiming for, everything had to be perfect if he wanted to end this here and now. It was perfect. Time seemed to unfreeze, and Arcane dropped, bringing it through the Queen in a single, swift strike from the base of her neck to her opposite waist. She froze, paralysed from the shock, both literally and metaphorically. Her top half slowly slid off, like an ice cube on a slope, her blood carving intricate patterns into the little mounds of dust on the floor. Her spine protruded from the severed flesh. Arcane bitterly eyed the corpse. Wreckingball and the other junker looked at the figure before them, shocked. The man’s jaw gaped as his eyes scanned the assailant. The modern armour, the blazing purple light gathered around the sword, and then, without warning, he shook himself free of his paralysis and darted forward. The machete junker raised his blade high above his head, preparing to bring it downwards and cleave into Arcane with the untrained brutality of a berserker. The remorse vanished from the arcanist as he slid into a quick riposte. He countered with a tripping manoeuvre, the junker stumbling and falling to the ground. Arcane clenched the handle of his sword in both hands, taking aim. A harsh beam of blazing energy that seemed almost eldritch erupted from the sword. What looked like dark flames devoured the target in moments before dissipating, leaving a large pile of ashes. Wreckingball advanced next, his mech tucking it’s legs into its body and rolling towards Arcane with break-neck speed. The spinning metal became a blur, all the seams and patches fading together into a metallic sheet that charged him. The warrior braced himself, holding the sideways stance again and digging his heels in as the sphere began to push him backwards. Then, like a deer caught in the headlights of an eighteen wheeler, Wreckingball saw his mistake. The seam down the middle of the weapon widened, separating into dual blades, one keeping up Arcane’s defence, holding steady as he aimed the second and jammed it into a chink in the armour. The robot recoiled like a cat with its eyes covered, pulling back instantly and trembling violently. The eighteen wheeler drew closer once more, charging Wreckingball and raising the blades high above his head. Clang! The metal surface shuddered and rippled at the impact, threatening to buckle and give way. A loud thunk was followed by a zip, a harpoon gun embedding in the propeller blade Arcane had rode in on and dragging Wreckingball away from the fight. One of his mech’s arms extended as he trundled past an alarm button.

The ringing of the bells had a short reign before a thousand Australian roars took over, multiple warriors flooding into the scrapyard and blocking the exits. To his right, atop the ledge the propeller was welded to, four Junkers readied makeshift assault-rifles, taking aim at the phantom below them. It was all in vain, the moment there was muzzle flash, he darted off to the left, scampering up the wall and pushing himself off. He completed two somersaults before fusing the swords together again and blasting another beam, annihilating two of the men and sending a third fleeing for his life. The formidable swordsman landed in a crouch on the same ledge as the last Junker remaining, who sent a well-placed sonic-grenade to Arcane’s feet. His ears were filled with a high-pitched wail that refused to let-up. He took one hand away from his sword and moved up to his mask, pressing a small button that extended the metal over his ears, protection from any further damage. Then he was back to the combat. He looked around for a moment, the Junker in front of him was charging forward, holding the rifle by the barrel, stubborn in the losing fight as he brought the butt of the firearm down. Arcane brought the blade up to deflect the attack, knocking the rifle into the ground and shoving the cross guard of his sword into the Junker’s face, the hand-guard gouging out his eye. Even through the metal shielding his ears, the slayer could hear the man’s agonising pain; he’d dropped his weapon and was clutching his bleeding socket, blinded. Arcane took advantage of the disabled foe, holding the longsword in a reverse grip and driving the blade into his stomach, then out through it. Intestines were skewered on the blade, drenching it in even more blood than what the Queen had given off and tinting the blue metal in a thick layer of crimson red. The smell of blood filled the air, metallic and gross, infiltrating Arcane’s nose and causing him to cringe. For now, he had a moment to breathe.

It was a short-lived moment. A new wave of Junkers roared below that had come to continue the fight. One of them was another sniper, he raised his rifle up to aim and sent a well-placed bullet into Arcane’s shoulder, knocking him from the high ground. He sprawled to the floor, an action figure being tossed aside by a young child who had already moved on to the gaming console. His armour clattered on the ground, a little of the blood from the Queen splashing against his back. His legs kicked into the air, the momentum bringing him back onto his feet in one quick movement. The blade split again, the dual configuration, one in each hand. The tips dragged along the ground, sparks flying and lighting stray piles of sulphur as he dashed underneath the ledge he had just been on, dipping down, then leaping up. Then the flats of his blades smacked into the sniper, sweeping his legs out from beneath him and finishing with a quick stab into the man’s chest. He was dead before he hit the ground. Two more of the new opponents came towards him, slow and intimidating this time. The adrenaline pumped through Arcane’s veins, sweat seeping from the pores of his skin like a carpet of volcanoes sent into eruption. This was what he lived for now, sharpening both the Enigma Blade and his senses as though they were one. The first warrior, wearing little armour and equipped with a large, stiff mace, swung with the might of a bull, fire in his eyes. The base of the ball-end clung to the sword in Arcane’s right hand, who slid the blade down the handle and sliced at the hands clenched around it. The man clutched at his bleeding knuckles, dropping the blunt thing with a resounding, metallic sound. Arcane twirled clockwise, spinning to the right of him and driving the blade into his back with a reverse grip while blocking an attack from another junker with a scythe using his free hand’s sword. Retracting the bloodied blade from the spine of the fallen soldier resulted in an easy follow up to the block, a hilt smash straight into the reaper’s rejected Junker cousin. He doubled over, his head in a perfect position for a swift decapitation. Every move Arcane made seemed to flow like water. Aware they were on the losing side, the remaining three began to flee from the scene, but were halted by the door falling violently shut after another beam blasted the open-and-close mechanism to pieces with ease, the chains squealing and the gears splintering from the attack that left them shattered. The victims watched as the arcanist closed in, their piercing screams of terror filled the streets of Junkertown shortly after.

Just around the bend from the entrance to the scrapyard, the locals had set up a temporary roadblock, consisting of striped bars and a rusty truck, setting themselves as guardians behind it and readying their weapons over the top. Screams reached their ears, echoing, reverberating through the cramped spaces and sending multiple chills down each of their spines. Wreckingball, now partially patched up, was with them, hiding in the wings for an ambush attack from above. They waited.

And waited.

Nothing, no signs of Arcane anywhere.

For 5 minutes.

“Lascia che ci sia l'oscurità!” Everyone turned their heads, looking over the shoulder to see their target standing behind them with a questionable stance: His blade pointed towards his own chest. Everyone began to cackle.

Taunts.

“Look at this guy! He can’t even hold a sword roight!”

Jeers.

“Oi, ya cocky cunt! You’re dead, ya hear me?”

Unawareness of what was in store.

“Is… is 'e cutting himself open?”

Cockiness, Arrogance, not a spark of fear anywhere within their forms or souls.

That Junker was right, Arcane was indeed cutting himself open. With the tip of his blade, he brought it to his left shoulder and pressed it inward about an inch, gripping the blade with both hands and pulling in a diagonal slice from there to his right flank. The move was quick and clean, the dark energies flaring up and trying to force their way through the wound. But he wasn’t done. Next was a strike from the right shoulder to the left flank, creating an X drawn into his front. Then he began to pick up the pace. He went from left flank to left shoulder, left shoulder to right shoulder, right shoulder to right flank, and finished with a horizontal strike across the bottom, carving a square around the cross, imprisoning it. A smirk crawled onto his features before the junkers were blinded, a screen of dark aura eradicating all life in-front of him, washing over each and every one of the fighters. It burned skin from flesh, flesh from bones, and bones from existence within a second of the wave hitting them. Mechs toppled, barriers flew, the large truck in the road-block rolled over, even Wreckingball was not safe, the hamster quickly vaporised by the energy thundering from within the swordsman.

The darkness was gone as sudden as it had appeared, leaving Arcane floating mid-air for a second before dropping to the ground, clutching at where his wounds had been but a moment ago. Soreness coursed through his chest, searing him. That move always took a lot out of him, but it was so satisfying to see the confused look on their faces when they saw the questionable decision of hurting himself in the heat of a fight. Finally, he picked himself up and threw his longsword back into the scabbard, looking at the last line of defence Junkertown had, the line he had just up and deemed destroyed. Gone in the blink of an eye. Flames spread across the flammable items on the floor, spilled gunpowder from the weapons, loose grenades. Even a mech’s wreckage was about to overload and explode, and Arcane didn’t want to be around to see that. The blue figure turned and ran, dashing across the low flames like a coal-walker. The merciless mech showed no signs of leeway, the low hum of its energy core raising and raising, until it could take no more. The horrid sound cracked around the clearing, the blast kicking Arcane out of Junkertown through a window while flames licked out after him, the tongue of a serpent, searching for him. He evaded. He landed on the desert sands with a graceful roll, finishing in a low crouch, cat-like reflexes returning to him in a time of need. His lips were parted slightly, small breaths blowing little grains of sand in different directions, skittering across the solid terrain, each one a tumbleweed in a tornado, being thrashed by the comparatively strong wind-force. A pair of shadows stretched out across the ground in front of Arcane. He quickly looked up and saw who they belonged to. A scrawny man with a bionic arm, and a peg-leg, wielded a grenade launcher. No shirt covered his bare, hairless chest and a pair of torn jeans didn’t do much to compensate. His spikey, blonde hair had little embers dancing between their strands, and his skin was coated in a thin layer of soot. Rather disgusting. His entire body abruptly shuddered with each breath. His companion, a tall, morbidly obese man with a compact shotgun and a dark-grey mask fashioned to look like the face of a pig hiding his mug from recognition. A large, metal hook chained to a winch at his waist was clenched tightly in his other hand, and his belly heaved with timed inhales and exhales.

Junkrat and Roadhog.

The two thieves glanced first at Arcane, then at the smoke pouring from the place they had once called their home. The Italian assassin slugged his sword from its resting place on his back, swinging it threateningly before bringing it into a two-handed stance with the tip facing at them.
“Roadie! Hold ‘im off! I’ll get the bike started!” Of all the accents Arcane had heard today, the high-pitched cackle that emerged from the lips of Junkrat was arguably the most irritating one. The one-legged man bounded off behind the wooden shacks from the founders of Junkertown, whereas his ‘friend’ stood his ground, brandishing his hook and readying his scrap-gun. Arcane bolted from a stand-still, swiftly closing the gap between him and Roadhog. The bloated crook swung his hook horizontally, cleaving through the air and just barely missing. Arcane felt a few strands of his shaggy hair brush against the cool metal. The demon ducked and slid beneath the strike like it was nothing at all, appearing behind Roadhog. Hog lumbered forward, pulling the trigger a couple of times on his gun and sending nuts, bolts and any other scrap he could cram into the barrel out towards him. The jagged metal chipped at Arcane’s armour, sending scratches across its pristine craftsmanship. He extended both arms, pointing the weapon at his new-found foe and blasting with his Unknown Beam. The One-Man Apocalypse pulled a yellow canister out of his belt and shoved it’s nozzle into a small gap in his mask, inhaling hard as the concentrated attack bore into the boar. When the beam faded, not a scratch appeared on him.
“Urgh, I love this bloody stuff...” Roadhog’s voice was unlike anything he’d heard today, it was deep and guttural, almost like the voice of a smoker in the way that it sounded like he was struggling to breathe, combined with the tiredness of a hardened mercenary who’d seen more than his fair share of cursed shit. With one final attempt, Arcane sprinted at Roadhog, switching the sword into dual wield and dragging their ends across the ground. At the last moment, he brought the swords up, aiming for a double slash from left to right. Hog caught both blades on the inside of his hook, bringing the three intertwined weapons over their heads in a wide arc and digging them into the ground. The roar of a motorcycle filled the air.
“C’mon Roadie, hop on!” Roadhog left Arcane with his swords buried in the dirt, trying to pull them out. He lumbered towards the motorcycle and knocked Junkrat into the sidecar, taking the driver’s seat for himself and speeding off. Arcane finally loosened the blade’s from their terra firma prison with one final tug, but the dynamite duo were long gone. He slung the sword back into its hold and pressed a button on his wrist, a small, light-blue light firing up.
“Mission complete, come on down, Phoenix…” The small, black airship soared overhead, landing on the ground and sending even more dust to resettle elsewhere. Intricate patterns were painted on in sapphire and lapis. The door opened, inviting Arcane inside which he happily accepted, climbing aboard and dialling a set of coordinates into the navigation system. Once he pressed enter, the engines roared to life once more, lifting the Phoenix into the sky and carrying him out of sight.

Halfway across the world, the Phoenix finally docked, swooping low over the rushing waves of the English Channel. Foam from the sea splashed up, clinging to the jet-black paint of the ship before being whipped away by the wind. The white cliffs of Dover appeared, rising breathtakingly from the horizon. Arcane’s home, inside those cliffs. As he came nearer and nearer, a mouth began to open in the cliff-face, a cave with electric-blue lighting lining the crevices like the golden trim on a fantasy knight’s suit of armour. The Phoenix slowed, the speedometer chopped down, stopping at the 20 miles per hour mark. Arcane looked forward to getting some rest as ship closed the gap, sliding into the bunker and settling down on a helipad-type landing spot. Air hissed as the jagged mouth of the entrance sidled shut, any evidence of the hideout’s existence invisible from the outside once more. Just the way he liked it. The latch of the ship detached, and laid itself down, the smooth metal transforming into a set of steps for Arcane to exit back onto ground. An automated voice echoed throughout the room.
“Please confirm your identity?” The voice was male. Despite being a recording, it was smooth and rich. Arcane responded: “Bigger than Giants.”, a second door opening on cue, the gears groaning in protest as they forced the two heavy metal sheets away from each other. The voice sounded out again.
“Welcome home, Arcane!” Arcane walked through the doors, T-posing against a wall to his left and whistling. Almost immediately, an armada of metallic tendrils reached down, closing on different pieces of armour and removing them from his body, leaving just his under clothes and mask as all that protected him from the cool air of his very own Batcave. The arms retracted, and another pair bearing a blue T-shirt with an Italian flag on the sleeve reached down, Arcane raising his arms and letting the fabric fall over him. A pair of denim shorts were pushed up his legs by yet another pair of arms, spawning from the floor. With the new attire, all tendrils retracted into their homes, Arcane continuing. The ‘Enigma Blade’ still remained on his back, there was a special place for that.

As he continued on, there appeared a small, simple computer setup, a chair tucked neatly under the desk it sat on. A small, empty glass case sat behind it, sandwiched between the podium below it and the small aquarium on top, the fish tank containing a few Blue Tang. The office. Arcane entered the small room, taking the sword off of his back and carefully sliding it into the glass case before pushing the lid shut. He walked around the tank, casually tapping a knuckle against a button that released enough fish-food to go around. He let out a large, exaggerated sigh as he slumped into the chair, sending eerie creaking sounds throughout the cave as they bounced around the tight spaces and found themselves back in his ears. He winced.
“I need a new chair…” He growled to himself. He reached out and grabbed a tissue, wiping the sweat from his forehead before logging onto the computer, inputting a different password to the previous entry word he’d used: Mugello The word hurt Arcane to type it, but it was a password he was sure nobody would ever guess, should anyone get this far into his base. The computer whirred and hummed, slowly coming to life and showing a barren desk-top. Only two short-cuts existed, ‘Hit-list’ and ‘Holonet.’ The cursor slid across the screen, resting on the Hit-list and clicking, opening the new window, filling the screen with a spreadsheet. He ticked off a box next to the name “Odessa Stone'' with the callsign “Queen of Junkertown” beside it. He did a double take.

“Odessa Stone?” He repeated, opening the holonet and typing in Stone of Junkertown, bringing up an old article about a family cast out to the Wasteland 13 years prior. One of the previous founders and his family, banished and left to die. He remembered reading the story back when it occurred, feeling nothing but empathy for those poor children. Now, the lone survivor's blood was stained on his blade. Remorse kicked in for a few moments, and a part of him wished he had followed in Odessa's footsteps. Show up to the Reckoning, cause some havoc and banish her from her own city before handing the crown off to second place. He wished he gave her a chance to fight. She seemed like a challenge, from what he was reading about her. A vicious, ruthless competitor and combatant who ruled with an iron first. He shook his head to banish the doubts. After a few minutes, a notification appeared on his screen, alerting him that 1.2 million dollars had just been deposited into his funds. He clicked on the window and typed a message out to Ol’ Smokey:
“What about that other thing you mentioned? I’m not particularly interested in giving up my life, but I’m curious what you had in mind?” He waited for a response. Sweat leaked off his palm and onto the computer mouse. Nothing came back from the equally enigmatic contact. The glowing peripheral slid across the desk, the same fingers that twirled the Arcanist Blade with ease pushing the mouse wheel to scroll the screen through the list, scanning the countless names on it. Finally, he settled, a dark-grey Omnic by the name of Maximilien. He clicked on the attached file, opening more details other than a picture and a name. Age, affiliations, current workplace, but the organisation that he was working for is what shook the harbinger of blood to his cold, enigmatic core.

Talon .

“Holy shit…” He muttered under his breath, almost afraid someone would hear him. He’d never been tasked with a hit on a Talon member before. This would be one of the hardest challenges of his life. It seemed futile. Fruitless. No possibility to gain anything from such an outlandish task. Except for $10,000,000, just for short circuiting a big-headed bot? A big-headed bot, likely residing in a heavily defended stronghold under the protection of an a thousand-man-strong army? Arcane’s hand moved back and forth, searching for the correct way to go about this. Seeing a pro and hovering over the accept button, then thinking of a con and retreating towards the back button. He checked the contract details again, unsurprised to find it to be another deal from Ol’ Smokey. Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

10 million, one target, one night… His mind was made up. He set the contract into stone, pressing his index-finger into the mouse button and solidifying a life-changing decision. The next chapter in Arcane’s life was about to begin. He just didn’t know it yet…

Chapter Text

Computers whirred and hummed deep below the ground. A tanned woman with purple attire sat at a desk of her own, her isolated room dark, illuminated only by the purple lights dancing across her computer rig. Images flashed across her screen, images of an invincible swordsman halfway across the world. Beams, explosions, tackles, slashes... The violence was beyond gruesome.
“Who is this guy?” Her Hispanic accent came out strong as she tapped away at her computer, a vain attempt to find some facial matches. The mask covered too much, that jaw could belong to hundreds of thousands of people. ‘He’d be amazing to have with us if he can fight like that…’ The woman was silent, lost in a train of thought as to why she’d been sent this in the first place. Why her? Arcane wasn’t a Talon agent, he had nothing to do with their plans. Even though the train of thought threatened to fall off the rails, she remained still, glued to her seat, searching. The only indication of what was happening in her mind was a slight shudder that coursed through her form before fleeing from the sound of another voice.
“Having fun there, Sombra?” The gravelly voice called out to her. A ball of dread immediately formed in the woman’s gut, as it always did when this mercenary was on the scene. Sombra turned in her swivel chair to face a man cloaked in a dark coat with a skull-like mask neatly covering his face. Through his armour and clothes, it was clear that he was muscular, as all soldiers of his calibre should be.
“Fun’s not quite the word I’d use.” She responded, gesturing for him to sit down and watch with her. “Take a look at what I just got sent.” Reaper came over and took a seat next to her, his elbow resting on his knee. Sombra had never seen the Angel of Death look so relaxed.
“What’s up?” He put his attention to the screen and watched the same footage of the assassin: Dropping down from the wall and killing the Junker Queen with a single strike, then fighting tooth and tail to escape with his life. His confidence, his efficiency, he looked like he’d honed his craft for longer than he should have been alive. “Who… Who is he?” As the video ended, Reaper turned to face Sombra. “I’ve never seen anything like him.”

"I have no idea.” She responded, slightly panicked. “I can’t find any information on him anywhere. Name, base of operations, anything. He’s a total wildcard to me, his tracks are covered better than anyone I’ve ever seen.” Reaper let a small chuckle out at this remark, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head.
“What? Somebody losing their touch?” He continued to laugh at his own joke, although Sombra was clearly not pleased. She turned away from him and tapped at the computer once more, trying to find anything, a frame of video she had overlooked, a slip of the mask due to Arcane’s movement, just something that would give her enough information to find him on the holonet...
“Pffft! As if, I just need a facial scan and I’m sure I can find something!” She looked over to the Reaper again. “It’s just that mask that’s the problem-”
“I wear a mask.” Reaper responded quickly. “You identified me.”
“Urgh, your powers were familiar, Gabe. I saw you use your mist… thing and I instantly recognised you from the night Antonio died.” She pointed at the screen once more, replaying Arcane’s grand finale as he slashed his flesh open and unleashed a pulsing wave of shadows. “Tell me where you’ve seen that before, Gabe?” Reaper scowled, throwing his voice around the room before pushing himself up from his seat. He towered over Sombra, to the point where it was almost comedic. Their height difference was like comparing a star to a campfire.
“If you find anything, let us know. We need all the information we can get on this wildcard, so we know if we should eliminate or recruit him.” He began to transform into his “Mist thing”, the black cloud floating away from the scene and leaving Sombra tied to the railroad track as her train of thought thundered towards her.
“Who are you…?”

An alarm woke Arcane from his sleep. With incredible reflexes he bolted upright and checked the clock. Time to try his hand at a Talon member. The man tried to ignore the pain in his temple, where he’d bumped it against the wall as he sat. He pulled himself out of bed and ambled out of his bedroom, returning to the main foyer. Before he made his way to the suit-up contraption, he opened the contract on his computer once again and glanced over the details to make sure he had everything right.

No alarms, in and out operation.

Satisfied in spite of his doubts, he stood on the metal plate and stretched his arms out, letting the robotic limbs reach down and encase him in the metal one-piece suit he’d grown accustomed to over the years. Once, this armour had felt foreign and strange, heavy in comparison to what he’d known. It was like driving your first car, a tiny Fiat 500 for years of your life. Light-weight, zippy and small. You could buzz around the road to your heart’s content without a care. Then, you get a job as a truck driver, you hop into an eighteen-wheeler for the first time and it’s nothing like it. It’s slow, it’s dull, it’s limiting. You don’t have the agility you once had, you feel like a hulking beast on the road for the line of work you’ve picked up, rather than a spunky, little Fiat you drive for the sake of driving. That’s how Arcane had felt about his new armour when he first put it on. He’d built it himself, he’d obtained the skill to build such things long ago. Driving the eighteen-wheeler for the first time had been clunky and odd to him. Now-a-days, it simply felt like a second skin he donned in a time of need. He returned to the fish tank and picked his sword up, feeling it’s weight in his hand bringing him comfort. Carelessly, he slugged the blade over his shoulder and into its sheath, wearing the weapon as a badge of honour before marching towards the Phoenix. The airship’s engines roared to life once more, the door in the cliff opening like the jaws of a dragon. The entire cave trembled with the motion as Arcane climbed aboard the ship and dialled in the given location, somewhere in the middle of the Badlands in Montana. The ship heaved and lifted, turning on the spot before rushing through the opening and out into the clear evening sky.

The ocean below the Phoenix gave way to the landmass of North America. Before long, there was desert below Arcane, the ship homing in on his destination. When the ship landed, he was still 400 meters away as a precaution. He activated the lock on the jet-black steed and began to creep through the sandy dunes, crouched and balanced. His footsteps were light, leaving barely a nanometre deep print in the ground, padding silently through the dying shrubbery.
Rustling…
Arcane dropped flat on his stomach behind a mound of sand. A few stray grains of sand wandered carelessly into his nose. ‘ Shit, don’t sneeze, but don’t blow either… No noises… ’ His breath held strong, a bulwark against the grains. There had been movement in the bush in front of him. Was it a sniper? Or some other kind of guard? The crunching of the sand beneath their feet was enough indication that it was no human at all.

A lynx poked its curious head around the mound and locked eyes with the prone mercenary, who shooed it away with a single hand. The cat didn’t move, she just sat in her spot and stared at him.
“Urgh, oh my God…” He brought the sword off of his back and rose to his feet, swinging in menacing arcs that finally warded the thing off. Then he continued on his way, brushing through the skeletal bush that he’d first seen the lynx appear in as he shoved his weapon back into its scabbard. The loose sand grains tumbled from his nose, letting him heave a sigh of relief without inhaling them.

He came into a clearing, surrounded by banks of sand and a circle of cacti. This wasn't natural. Curious, he retrieved his sword and switched into the dual wield mode, swinging one of them into the nearest cactus. No water bled from the wound, these were man made and synthetic. A small hole in a sand dune, barely the size of the lynx he’d seen earlier, caught his attention, the darkness inviting him to investigate. It might have just been the lynx’s nest, but it was the first lead he had. The sword found itself back in it’s hold, crying for attention, yearning for a fight against something more than a plant’s plastic flesh. The enigma dropped onto his front again, pulling himself along the ground and into the pursed, whistling lips of the otherwise-dead terrain. The dark swallowed him straight away, he had no idea where he was going. He simply kept crawling wherever the walls lead him to. He knew his eyes would adjust eventually, he just had to give them time. After a while, the sounds of his knees and elbows colliding with the ground beneath him began to sound a lot less like sand and a lot more like the crumpling of metal. 
An air vent…

It couldn’t be this easy, right? They'd be monitoring in the vents? He stopped in his tracks, listening for any sound that might be coming from cameras, microphones, traps, or even the room this might lead to. Silence. Sickening silence. Not static, nor white noise. It was eerie. Arcane moved forward a little bit more, nearly falling down a vertical drop. He scrambled against smooth metal to prevent his fall. Again, he peeked his head over the edge to see if there was anything visible. Down below, he saw the light at the end of the tunnel, there was a small speckle of an air-vent grate leading into some kind of corridor.
“I’m in…”

Chapter Text

In the gloomy darkness, the arcanist slunk on all fours around the base. Footsteps, stop. Footsteps, stop. Footsteps, stop. Over and over again, Talon operatives continued to halt his progress just by being near enough to expose it. The vents were already cramped to Hell. His mask clung to his face, sweat forming and running down from where his eyes were. As he caught his eye in his reflection of the metal wall, he had the appearance of a crying child. Two people in particular caught his ear, a scientist and a foot soldier walking side by side. He could see the duo through a grate, walking in unison the way he expected from trained soldiers like them. The soldier was coated in red and grey armour, a light pulse rifle swinging loosely from his grip. The scientist, however, was covered in a light-grey lab-coat with the same red accents on it, with short, curly, red hair, like hot lava pouring off her head to match. A clipboard was nestled in her arms, clutched against her. Clearly Talon had a thing for the white and red combination. In the dark hallway, the duo appeared as the bloodied claws of a bird. But Arcane feared no bird claws.
“Tincan fucks...” The soldier complained. "Why? Why do we have Omnics among us? They don't deserve to be members of Talon!" Arcane had to stop himself from laughing out loud at the soldier's self-righteous attitude.
“We need the money, duh!” The scientist answered him dryly. “By protecting the Omnics, 25% of all Maxie's profits come here to Talon. ” She shook her head, her glasses sliding to the end of her nose before she caught them and pushed them back up. "Besides, he won't be here long. Dr O'Deorain needs the greenlight on an up-coming project, and all of the council members have to be there in order for the greenlight to go through. Max will likely be gone soon after that." Now it was time for the soldier to guffaw.
“The greenlight? Since when did she care about permission for her wretched experiments?” The soldier growled back. “The only reason she’s with us is because we don’t stop her from doing unethical crap.” The scientist shrugged again.
"Can we just hurry up? I don't come to this part of the base very often and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried." They were about to leave earshot. Arcane strained his ears as much as he could to pick out what the soldier had said in return.
“Urgh, his bunk is 078, he’ll be pretty low down.” He pressed two fingers to a button on his helmet. “There should be an elevator just over here, let’s get going.” The two companions left Arcane behind. In spite of the cramped space, he quickly managed to  tap a button on the armour of his wrist, capturing the recorded conversation he’d just heard. A holographic map of the facility appeared from his arm, a red blip fading in and out of existence in bunk 078 on the bottom floor. If his gut was right, Maxie was in that bunk.
“There you are…"

He backtracked down the vent to find an opening, an exit that would allow him to slip into the hallway. He found one, a grate that was easy to open. His first instinct was to slam his elbow into it and send it downwards, but that would be too loud, and he couldn't be too sure if he was alone in the sector. He hadn't been found yet, and he wasn't about to start now. With dexterity that would win a thousand thumb wars, he wrapped his fingers around the edges of the grate and hoisted it upward and into the vent. The swordsman dropped down from the entrance, landing elegantly on his feet with all the feline grace in the world, and slipped up against the nearest wall, pressing his back against the cold stone. He edged forward, cautious, treading as lightly as possible in an attempt to make no noise. Stealth was always interesting. Playing the long game with his target only made his anticipation grow, and the thought of being discovered only raised the stakes. That rising tension made him more alert, it made him more careful. Just as a predator should be. He reached a junction, where he recognised the lab coats of the men and women standing around the table, a plume of smoke arose from the hair of one of them. They all furiously scrawled something onto the clipboards in their hands. A couple of soldiers watched in amusement from the far side of the room, pointing to the smoke. Were they supposed to be standing guard? Because they weren’t doing the greatest job.
“Okay, snakes-” He whispered, drawing his sword and approaching the soldiers. "Let’s rattle…" And he stepped into the nest of serpents.

A hulking man-beast marched through the hallways, the flagstones beneath his feet bending to compensate for the weight of his muscle. He chuckled menacingly to himself as he raised a cup of coffee to his lips and sipped.
“Ahh, Kofi Aromo. I miss you so dearly...” Before he could take another drink, a commander skidded around the corner of the hallway and gave a quick salute.
“Mr Ogundimu? Come see, it’s urgent.” He beckoned for Doomfist to follow.
“Urgh, what happened this time?” Doomfist impatiently followed the commander, his features creased and irritated. They rounded a corner and entered into one of the many security offices, or rather, what was left of it: The two guards stationed there were slumped over their seats like ragdolls, their necks snapped. As for the computer monitors with all the security footage, they had gone dark. A gentle hum emitted from them, but no footage. Doomfist snatched out at the mouse and aimlessly waved it around on the desk, desperately clicking, but nothing came of it. He peeked his head around the set-up and saw the problem. All the wires were cut, sparks flying between the loose ends in a fruitless venture for a device to connect to. Doomfist growled to himself and slammed the desk. Had he been wearing his gauntlet, it would have shattered beyond repair. Even without, the force caused the wood to ripple and buckle “Urgh! Go and get Sombra in here! Quick! And put the place on alert!” The commander raised a hand to his forehead in salute before turning on his heel and following orders. “And on your way, check the other security offices!”
“Of course, sir!” The commander’s voice rang out around the hallway as Doomfist angrily shoved a dead body off a chair and slugged it onto the floor, taking the spot for himself and throwing his weight into the seat. The swivel chair rolled backwards for a moment. He buried his face in his hands when it finally came to a stop. "Who... Who could do this?"

“Here she is sir!” The commander dashed back into the room with Sombra in tow. Her hair seemed damp.
“What took you two so long? This is important!” Akande stood up from the chair and turned to face them. The commander had a big bruise on his forehead.
“Well, sir, she was in the shower when I arrived.” The commander trailed off, Sombra took his place in the conversation as she rubbed at her hair with a towel.
“This had better be important.” She scowled, her eyebrows arching in anger, but Doomfist swiped her complaint aside.

“I’m sorry to cut the waterworks short, but right now, we either have a traitor or an intruder.” He gestured to the busted computers and dead bodies in the room, Sombra scanning her eyes over the scene of destruction in front of her.
“Holy shit…” She exclaimed, picking at the arms of one of the guards before letting it flop back to the floor. She moved over to the desk and brought up her keyboard, reaching behind the monitors and tweaking with some of the wires. Suddenly, the computers blazed to life with static. “Must’ve broken the cameras, too…” She muttered to herself in complaint.
“Can you rewind to before they broke?” The commander suggested. She threw him a venomous gaze in response before he hid away behind Akande. Satisfied with this reaction, she returned to the computers and rewound the footage, the cameras blazing to life one at a time.
“Here we go…” She took a closer look at each of the images, now at the point of what happened two hours ago. A falling image in one of the screens to her right caught her attention first, the descent of a familiar, electric blue figure falling from the ceiling plain as day on the monitor. “Well, look what we have here!” Doomfist leaned over Sombra’s shoulder to get a better look.
“You know him?”
“He’s the guy who killed the Queen of Junkertown. You heard about that, right? If he’s still here, we might be in trouble.” Doomfist cackled manically at Sombra’s warning, feeling cocky again.
“We might be in trouble? There’s one of him, we have an entire army at our disposal!” Sombra sighed at Doomfist’s arrogance, tapping at her keypad and bringing up an image of her own on the monitors. It was Arcane fighting at Junkertown again, disposing each of the warriors throwing themselves at him with invincible skill and grace. He looked untouchable. Akande’s expression fell, any arrogance he’d displayed before was gone with the heartbeats of the slain junkers. "Well, let's face it. The residents of Junkertown don't really compare-"
“Numbers don’t matter to this guy, Akande.” Sombra said, gravely. She looked him over with a telling look on her face. “His target there was to kill the Queen of Junkertown, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you were next...” 
“No, it won't be that simple for him.” He tried to assure her. “The Queen had nobody to hand her power down to, whereas we have an entire council designed for situations such as this. You cut off one head, there's four more waiting to bite.” He turned to leave the room, each step he took sending a wave of force through the floor. The commander was left alone with Sombra, now.
"For the record, miss, you have a very nice singing voice." He stammered. Without skipping a beat, the women fired back.
"Tell anyone you heard it and you're dead, got it?" The commander didn't even try to respond before scrambling away. The room fell silent as even Akande's titan footsteps slowly faded out of earshot. In the darkness of the office, the only light illuminating Sombra's features was coming off of the computer screen. Now alone, she finally allowed herself to blush.

A soldier tread on the smooth floor, his rifle slung over his shoulder with not a care in the world. His visored gaze pierced through the darkness. The soldier froze, his head twitching. Footsteps. He wasn't sure where from, but he heard them. He swivelled around, his rifle aimed and ready with his finger on the trigger. The hallway was still empty. Not even a gentle draft slipped around his streamlined armour. The sound of footsteps again, and the soldier rotated another 180 like the turret of a tank. Nothing came from the direction he had started, either. Just before he could tap into his radio, a blue blade thrust through his stomach. A gruesome gurgling sound emitted from his mouth before the blood began to bubble up. Arcane forcefully removed the sword from his victim, throwing the lifeless body to the ground with a sigh. Then, an assassin’s worst enemy interrupted the mission; The alarm.

“Damn… Damn!” As the frustrated moment passed and his mind cleared, a plan slowly formed. Right now, he had to hide, and fast. He burst through the doors of what looked like a boardroom. A large, long, mahogany table sat in the centre and towering pillars of marble supported the ceiling. At least, it looked like marble. His eyes glanced to the table. ‘ No… Too obvious… ’ Instead, he dashed for the furthest pillar from the door and pressed himself against the cool, white stone. He held his breath for what felt like an eternity before the doors threw themselves open again, and more soldiers entered the room. The clumps of their footsteps against the wooden floorboards were matched in volume only by the sound of the assassin’s pounding heartbeat sending his blood tumbling into his ears.

One step...

Two steps…

Rifles hissed as ammo loaded into the chambers.

Three steps…

Four steps…

Any closer and they’d be on top of him. He squeezed the handle of his weapon, the dual wield stance prepared to trip and execute.

Finally…

As the first adversary stepped past the pillar, Arcane swept his legs from beneath him with one sword before bringing the other across in a horizontal strike that decapitated him mid fall. The three remaining soldiers opened fire, but their bullets were deflected off of the blades. He charged at the next two soldiers that were closest to him, slashing at the hamstrings of one which brought the soldier to his knees. With Arcane's other blade, he thrusted into the chest and hoisted the man into the air before dumping the flailing body onto his crippled ally. The final soldier continued to rain down a volley of pulse-rifle ammunition, each round effortlessly deflected by Arcane's weapon. He merged the two halves together once more and the glowing steel whirled around in the dark like a lightsabre. Each twirl combined with a step towards the soldier, Arcane's slow charge advancing on the soldier. One deflected bullet flew astray, tearing through the Talon soldier's knee. The soldier's agonising cry was cut short when the sword left Arcane's hand, soaring and piercing his other leg. The tip of the blade pinned into the ground on the other side. He let out another scream at the sword protruding from his knee, both his legs crippled before Arcane drew the sword from the "stone." He spun with such grace that the soldier was briefly mesmerised and awestruck before the sword removed his head from his neck, the swordsman's boot striking out and knocking the headless corpse to the floor.
“Done and done!” He twirled the sword’s hilt around in a wide arc as he was about to bring it up, but he didn't get to imprison it’s power once more before he was challenged once again.

“Heh, hah, hah, hargh…” A rough, gravelly laugh echoed as a dark mist coalesced in the room. Arcane turned to face the mist’s meeting point to see Reaper stood there, reaching his clawed gauntlets beneath his robe and pulling out a pair of powerful shotguns. The first shot fired, Arcane dodged to the right. The second shot fired, he glided to the left. He tried to swat aside the third shot but the force sent the weapon spinning out of his hand. Arcane was briefly panicked before the fourth shot from Reaper's weapons snapped him back into the moment. He was disarmed, but that truly meant nothing once he gathered himself and sprang into the air. Behind the mask, Reaper's expression broke as his target sailed towards him, Arcane drifting through the air in what seemed like slow motion. Before the revenant could adjust his aim, he was struck by the soaring assassin's boot, followed by a scissor kick so fast that Reaper couldn't even see it. Even unarmed, Arcane could still mix kicks like an alchemist, the flurry striking at the undead over and over again until he finally fell back. The shotguns dropped from Reaper's grasp, his hands rising to protect his face as he grunted out loud. It had been a long time since he'd felt this pain. His arms ached from blocking, his body feeling sore and pained. It was like hundreds of punches from Doomfist, a flurry of attacks raining down upon Reaper's pathetic defence. He'd have to fight a little dirty. The mist from his entrance reappeared, cloaking him. Arcane's attacks seemed to go through his whispy form. Now that Reaper's eyes weren't covered any more, he could see that the swordsman had landed long ago. His kicks had faded to punches, strikes that would leave bruises on a lesser man. Reaper returned to his solid form, pulling another pair of shotguns out and preparing to turn the tide. Before he had a chance, the hilt of the assassin's sword was flying towards him. Then he was unconscious.

Arcane’s lungs thumped and his chest heaved as he sprinted through the corridors, heading back the way he came. Soldiers and scientists attempted to stop him, but they were either too slow to reach him or fell victim to his mighty strength and the unrivalled proficiency of his blade.
Vwish…

He heard a noise, a flash of purple momentarily appeared at his side. For a moment, he thought he’d seen hair and eyes. Beautiful eyes, which widened at the sight of him. But as quick as he’d noticed it, it was gone. No traces of it. He must’ve imagined it, right? Finally, he found the duct he’d crawled in through. Two soldiers were expecting his return, standing guard beneath it. Their rifles readied and aimed, all that was left was to be fired.
“Freeze! Don’t come any closer!” Arcane didn’t even flinch, his lips even curled into a cheeky grin. He kept his speed, dashing forward. Elegantly, he sprang from the floor at the last moment, jumping up and pushing his feet off the top of their heads in a flawless goomba-stomp. He bounced free from the Talon stronghold and crawled up the vent at a speed so fast that it’d put a fighter jet to shame. A blur of blue rushed out of the hole in the sands and sprawled onto the floor, his chest rising in rapid, heavy pumps. The cheeky grin he had just been wearing vanished.
“Damn, wow…” Arcane began talking to himself, if you could call the breathless rasping that escaped from his dry lips talking. “I... did I just fail…” He stared straight up from his lying position, gazing into the night sky with a blank mind. Hundreds of thousands of stars shone back at him. He was done, surely. He’d be among the stars, soon, he just knew Talon wouldn’t stop hunting him. I should have known that a Talon operative would’ve been too much for me. The lynx from earlier nosily sniffed at him. He effortlessly kicked himself up onto his feet and began his retreat; He didn’t have time to wait around if he wanted to get away. It didn’t take long before he found his way back to the Phoenix. The dark outline was barely visible against the night sky, shown only from dark blue rivers streaking across the paint and the flat expanse of uneventful, sandy terrain behind the ship. The door blew steam as it fell open to offer him a ride back to England. “Take me home, girl…”

Chapter Text

Reaper’s eyes fluttered open, the harsh light stabbing viciously at his eyes. A sterile smell stung at his nose. He squinted his eyes as he came to; towering above him, he saw a tall, slender figure in a lab-coat.
“Oh Gabriel, you really should be more careful.” As his vision continued to return, he could make out that it was Moira, the Blackwatch-turned-Talon scientist, leader of the science division here. She was shaking her head at him, condescendingly.
“You should be careful where you’re touching, Moira…” Reaper hissed as he sat up in the hospital bed and swatted her away like a fly. He raised a hand to his mask to find that it wasn’t there, and began frantically searching around to find it.
“Looking for this?” Another familiar voice called out from the doorway, one that injected dread straight into Reaper’s gut, the one person on this planet he knew could end his undeath if pissed off. Reaper nervously looked up to see Akande leaning against the frame with the skull mask in one of his hands. His arms crossed and his face creased into a look of disappointment. Reaper looked at his superior for a moment before dropping his gaze to the ground in shame.
“Oh boy, here we go again…” He awaited the inevitable barrage of insults that usually came from Doomfist’s mouth in situations like this, but today, he got straight to the point.

“Gabriel, you’ve been a part of our forces for years now, and won countless battles. What happened out there?” Reaper refused to look back up at him. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of! That night in Venice, you and your little go-team fought off an entire army without so much more than a scratch on any of you, Talon soldiers , I should mention, and yet you can’t handle someth-” Reaper cut him off, standing from the hospital bed and walking over to him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you donning your all-powerful gauntlet and smashing this guy into the ground.” He snatched the mask from his grasp and pushed it back onto his face, tension leaving his body almost instantly. “His fighting style, his abilities, his stealth, this guy is unreal. I shot his sword out of his hand and he just… called it back like some Thor wannabe!” Doomfist leaned back a little as Reaper pushed his face closer in frustration.
“And you have no idea who he is? Or why he would have a bone to pick with Talon ?” He enquired.
“And what? You do?” Reaper growled in response. 

Before Akande could answer him, the room filled with garbled static for a brief moment. When the moment passed, Sombra appeared. She stood just behind Doomfist, waiting patiently for all eyes to turn to her. Moira was the first to properly acknowledge her.
“Ah, Sombra, what brings you here?” Sombra slid past Akande and Gabriel, entering the room.
“Well, Gabe, remember that guy who tore into Junkertown and assassinated the Junker Queen? The guy I showed you the video footage of?” Behind the mask, Reaper’s eyes widened in shock.
“You… You mean…” He fumbled with his words. One hand raised to rub the back of his neck.
“That’s right, Gabe, that’s the guy who just handed your ass to you.” She pulled up her computer again and showed the video, images of Arcane dancing across the screen, slicing and dicing the Australians to pieces with exactly zero mercy.
“Him?” Gabriel stuttered. “The freelance?” His claws dug into the back of his neck as he clenched his fist.
“Protect your ego later! That man killed 50 Talon soldiers and scientists, here!.” Gabriel made a motion as if he was about to lash out at Akande, but Sombra grabbed his arm and held him back.
“Calm down, Gabe, don’t let-” She was cut off.
“Wait, Sombra, you know who our attacker is?” Moira placed the paperwork she was observing dismissively back to the desk and stepped forward into the circle again. “Who is this man?”
“Oh, no, you misunderstood, I don’t know the guy. I just discovered him this morning, Reaper caught me checking out the video-” 

Reaper bursted out in a vicious cackle.
"And- And here’s the best part! She wants to recruit him!” Sombra tried to correct him, but she couldn’t get any words out over the guffaw. Whilst the wraith continued to laugh like a maniac, Doomfist raised his fingers to his chin and began thinking.
“He’d make a valuable asset to the team, I suppose… I certainly wouldn’t mind fighting at his side if he can do all that.” He jabbed his large finger at Sombra’s computer screen. This snapped Reaper from his daze, the masked man rounding on Akande like a rabid dog.
“You can’t be serious! After he just attacked us like that? What kind of motive do you think he has, then?” Akande simply smiled.
“Conflict makes us stronger, it brings those with a common goal together. That’s how Sombra joined us, is it not?” He gestured at the short woman by Reaper’s side, who only grinned back.
“Worked, didn’t it?” She shot back. Akande ploughed on like a freight train.
“Maybe that’s why he came for us. He wanted to show us what he was capable of. And I don’t know what the rest of the council will say, but I certainly like what I see.” As the discussion continued, Moira peered closer at the footage on the screen Sombra was displaying.
“What… What is this power?” She asked. The laser beams, the eruption of darkness. She stood up straight and addressed the rest of the circle. “Not only that, but I’m curious as to how his abilities work, this strange energy that apparently builds up inside him, which he can either channel through his sword or, well…” She watched as he unleashed Armageddon on the road-block at Junkertown once again. “ That. ” Everyone else nodded, except Reaper, his pride being the only thing between him and accepting the idea.
“Do we even know this guy’s name, yet?” He turned to Sombra, who sadly shook her head.
“This guy is a total enigma, still. I’ve been searching the web for any traces of who he might’ve been, but it came up empty.” She shrugged before cracking a grin. “He’s already lasted 24 hours more than your identity did~” Reaper went to strike out at her, but Doomfist caught him and forced the gauntlet to fall back to his side. A small huff escaped Sombra before Akande gestured for her to continue. “All I got was a location, I managed to place a tracking beacon on him while he was here…” The videos dissipated from her screen, replaced by a world map. A red blip appeared on the coast of the UK, the White Cliffs of Dover.

“Oh my God, fine! But don’t you dare try to drag me into thi-” Before he could finish, Doomfist shushed him.
“Reaper, you’re the one most fit for going to see him.” Reaper went to complain again, but his superior’s voice rang strong and talked over him regardless. “You’re the only soldier in our ranks so far who has experienced his abilities first hand and survived! We’ll basically be cornering him, and you know what happens to a cornered animal...” Reaper groaned again, and again, and again.
“Okay fine, fine! Get an airship ready with a small group of soldiers, I’ll be there in an hour...”

From an outside perspective, it would seem like Watchpoint: Gibraltar had been abandoned and empty for years. The walls were stale and dirty, on the verge of being overgrown. Some windows were cracked, giving the buildings the impression of battle scars. Even the beacons lay dormant. But inside, there was life. A ragtag group of heroes all gathered in one place. One of them, a large gorilla, Winston, stood at the head of the table, glancing around at all of the men and women in front of him. The recall was working, they’d already banded together a small group of heroes to work with, including the notorious cowboy known as Cole Cassidy, a wandering ronin named Genji Shimada, a chronomancer adventurer by the name of Lena Oxton, doctor and genius Angela Ziegler, pre-agents who had returned to the fight. Not to mention allies of Overwatch's glory days, such as Mei Ling Zhou, Fareeha Amari, Satya Vaswani, Hana Song and Lúcio Correia dos Santos. A strong group already, but more reinforcements were on the way, due to arrive at a later date. In the meantime, they had this to work with.
“ Ahem, may I have your attention for a moment?” The cast turned their heads down the table to see Winston standing there.
“What's up, big guy?” Lena smiled down the table at him, eyes wide and hopeful.
“Well, first of all, I’d like to thank Cole for rescuing Echo.” Winston paused and waited for a short applause to die down. “Cole, what happened to Echo after you left?” All heads turned to address Winston, then back to Cassidy to await his answer.
“Heh, well, I didn’t get to escort her back. I had some business to take care of while I was there, so I didn’t see where Echo ended up, but I’d imagine her programming told her to return to the nearest active watchpoint, right?” Winston ponders for a moment before turning his attention to the screen behind them.
“Athena, there aren’t any other functional Watchpoints left outside of Gibraltar, right?” The room went silent for a moment, waiting for Athena’s answer.
“No other Watchpoint Beacons detected, this is the only functioning Watchpoint remaining.” Winston turned back to the others, his chin resting between his thumb and finger in an attempt to figure out what could’ve happened. Then, Mei piped up.
“Wait, I left the Ecopoint in Antarctica in a fairly stable condition, assuming the ice on the radio tower didn’t melt. Is it possible she’s making her way there?” There seemed to be agreement. Other agents nodded, thinking it could be possible, but Athena’s automated voice came back with a negative response.
“I’m afraid not, Echo would never survive those temperatures and conditions, so her AI is programmed to stay as far away from those places if she can.” Mei sighed in acceptance.
“I thought I was onto something for a moment there…” She slumped back into her chair. Attention turned back to Winston again.
“Don’t worry too much, Mei, we’ll figure something out, she might turn up yet!” Winston’s attempt at optimism fell flat upon the doubtful. A quiet mumble was all that came back to him, and for a moment, he thought he felt a crack appear in his heart.

Cassidy was the first to speak up. “Maybe she ran away. I probably would have done the same.” Heads turned back towards Cole again. The gunslinger already had a lighter open, touching the flame gently to the cigar between his lips. 
“Oh here we go...” Lena was the first to challenge him, rolling her eyes. The gunslinger stood from his chair for a moment, all eyes on him.
“Let’s face it, the whole world turned their backs on us, that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” He looked around at the expectant faces. “We gave them everything we had, we fought for the people for years, and when things didn’t go to plan, we were just thrown to the floor, y’know? Like a damned toy. Why should we bother?” Lena stood from her own chair and blinked over towards Cole.
“Well, it’s like the big guy said, the world needs us now even more than they did back then. Besides, we all know how much you love an ‘I told you so’ moment, how would it feel when you’re telling that to the entire world?” She sounded chipper as ever; Anyone else would probably have broken down and agreed to focus on the silver linings. Lena’s track record of improving morale was just that amazing, like injecting rainbows into someone’s bloodstream. But Cole was too hardened, his glass remaining half empty.
“I still don’t like it…” He shook his head, puffing out more smoke. The cloud billowed over Lena’s face, sending her into a coughing fit. “Jack, Ana and Gabe suffered more than any of us. If they were backing this operation, then maybe I’d trust their judgment and reconsider, but two of ‘em are givin’ us the cold shoulder and Gabe’s now lord of the dead or what the fuck ever he’s got goin’ on now.” The mention of the big three brought an uneasy silence over the group. The Zeus, Poseidon and Hades of Overwatch, the three most dedicated and dangerous soldiers in their arsenal. Jack had gone on to become Soldier: 76, Ana had taken up the callsign Bastet, while Gabriel, well, I’m sure you know where he’s ended up. Sure, Jack and Ana were still acting as guardians from the shadows, but when Winston sent out the recall, they both seemed afraid of stepping back into the spotlight. Winston contested Cassidy again, the new crack in his heart as clear as day.

“Well Jack and Ana… They haven’t turned us down yet, Cassidy. There’s still a chance they’ll come back for us.”
“Winston, listen here...” He took a large inhale from the cigar, smoke rolling into his throat before rushing out of his mouth and nose. His boots clumped as he strolled around to the head, where Winston was standing. The gorilla’s face creased in disgust from the stench. “All of this pussyfooting they’re doing, not wanting to give us an answer, that worries me. They aren’t sure of anything. A good leader is sure of what they do.

They used to be sure. There was a time when I’d follow Gabe to the ends of the Earth, damn. Even when he blasted Antonio! He was so confident he’d made the right move. Even though I knew what he did was wrong, I still covered his back that night. And the same goes for Jack and Ana, too. I could look at an unwinnable battle and be too scared to fight. But if I saw Jack run past me? Right into the middle of everything without a second thought? You bet your ass I’d be right at his side. But none of them have that anymore. They’re avoiding the questions, overthinking things instead of going with that gut feeling of ‘Let’s do what’s right and protect the world we love.’ and I don’t want to follow someone like that.”
“Urgh, did someone piss in your coffee, Cole?” She only came up to his shoulders, maybe a little more. He would have probably laughed in her face if he didn’t at least partially respect her.
“Sometimes the glass is half empty, if you can’t accept that, you’re just blinded.” He retorted. Winston moved forward to break up the dispute.
“Okay, let’s not turn on each other, please!” He begged, a giant paw on each of their shoulders. Both Cole and Lena stared into Winston’s eyes, a pleading look gazing right back. Athena flared up again, screens around the lab changing.
“Attention, unidentified boat approaching!” Everyone turned towards the computer screen and glared at the radar displayed on it, the searching wave spinning like the hands of a clock. It was empty for the most part, but a white dot appeared in the sea of green, a white dot that edged closer with every turn of the wave. The screen switched to a camera visual, a complicated camera network spanning the pillars of rocks in the nearby sea. Upon the sea was a boat, clunkily cruising through the waves with wild flames spluttering from the rear. The raft was made up of junk and scrap, rust coating it’s rippling body and thrusters that threatened to give out spurted weak flames out behind them.
“Hey… I know that craft!” Cole advanced towards the screen. “Junkrat and Roadhog, them Aussies, what’re they doing here?” He pointed at the two figures sitting astride the crooked raft as they entered Gibraltar territory. Athena came back with another message.
“They appear to have landed on the far side of the island. There are seven cameras located around their landing location, would you like me to bring one up, Winston?” Her automated voice rang out around the room.
“Let’s see what they’re up to, show us their landing site!” The scientist turned around to face Lena. “Tracer, go check them out, call if you need back up.”

On the far side of Gibraltar, Junkrat and Roadhog touched down.
“Aw’right, Roadie! Let’s go find ‘em!” Junkrat turned on his peg-leg to start adventuring, but Roadhog grabbed him by the head and held him still.
“Aren’t you forgetting we’re criminals?” He brought his companion up to his face, Junkrat recoiling from the horrid breath. “If we suddenly come running to them, they’ll probably think they’re under attack. Then they’ll kill us on sight. You understand what I’m saying?” He glared at the scrawny guy in his hand, who sadly shook his head. “Urgh, idiot… We stay here, let them come to us!” He dropped his boss and turned back to the ship behind them, pulling it onto the shore before throwing himself to the ground and slouching against it.
“Oh! Err… r-right, Roadie!” With that, Junkrat hopped up onto the deck of the ship and laid on his side, one knee in the air and his head resting on his palm. Roadhog glanced up at him and groaned in protest.
“Urgh, you tryna seduce ‘em or somethin’?” Junkrat quickly scrambled into a normal sitting position.
“You’re such a party pooper, sometimes! Ya know that?” He rested his chin in both his hands with his elbows on his knees. Satisfied, Roadhog turned back towards the entrance to the clearing.

The hum of the chronal accelerator filled the air. Tracer zipped into the clearing and found herself face to face with the duo. Junkrat was the first to speak, leaping down from his vantage point to greet her.
“G’day! Tracer, right?” He rushed up and grabbed her hand in both of his, shaking it violently. “Big fan, I am! I was wondering if you’d let me take a look at that bomb of yours?” The attempt fell flat. The cold shoulder Lena offered would have unnerved anyone else, but the unhinged Junkrat simply let her hand fall from his. She didn’t respond to him at all, silent as a falling feather.
“What are you two doing here?” She questioned, glaring at Jamison. “We’re already in a weird place right now, so we don’t need any more trouble!” Roadhog rose from his sitting position to protest.
“We don’t want to trouble you, but we need your help.” The sudden speech from the silent-but-deadly giant caught her by surprise. She turned her attention to Roadhog.
“H-help? What could you possibly need Overwatch’s help for?” She asked, clearly confused. In an attempt to answer, Junkrat held up an old, crooked USB drive and offered it to her.
“Everything we would need to explain is on this thing, so just take us to a place where we can actually show you!” Junkrat was now mildly yelling in her face, the junkers were clearly losing their tempers. Tracer gingerly took the USB from his hand and clutched it in her own, looking at it for a moment. Then she closed her hand around it and raised her gaze up again to look back at them.
“Follow me, I’ll get you to the Watchpoint. Leave your weapons on your ship, please.” She watched like a hawk, making sure they obeyed. Never turn your back...   She spun on her heel and guided the duo back to the lab. There was no chatter, not even the nonsense that Junkrat always spurted out to break such silence. All they could hear was the gentle hum of the chronal accelerator.

Back in the lab, the crew waited in silence. Finally, Athena spoke up to them.
“Lena is returning to the lab, criminals Junkrat and Roadhog are following her, they will arrive soon.” Winston thanked Athena before she switched to some of the other cameras around the base, showing how close they were. Much to everyone’s surprise, no combat was taking place. The trio was calmly making their way through the winding paths of the Watchpoint, Lena following behind the duo and keeping her eyes trained on them both. Before long, the hiss of the doors opening on the other side of the lab caught everyone’s attention. Lena blinked into the room, Jamison limping in after her and Mako lumbering to bring up the rear. Cautiously, Winston approached. Lena spoke for them before they even had a chance to explain themselves.
“They need our help, something happened in Junkertown.” She held her hand out with the USB in the palm, and Winston lightly took it from her, glancing at it and wincing at the rust on it.
“Is this thing even still functionable?” He complained as he pressed it into a USB slot by the computer desk. Athena made a small beeping sound, acknowledging the device and beginning to extract the data from it. Before long, the security footage from Junkertown appeared on the large monitor. Winston winced at the camera quality. “Is everything made of junk, there?” Roadhog scowled lightly, jamming his finger at the screen again.
“Shut your monkey mouth and watch…” Winston suppressed a shudder and turned his head to the screen once more. There he was. The Wildcard. The freelance. Arcane. The invincible assassin sweeping through each and every obstacle in his way before escaping through the window. Effortless, ruthless, a killing expert unlike anything they’d ever seen before. The clip ended and the lab was thrown into another crushing silence that set everyone on edge. Cole was the first to break it.

“Who is this guy? Talon? Null Sector?” He asked, perplexed with the new piece on the chess board. "I'd say Vishkar, given the colour of his armour, but those energy blasts certainly aren't hardlight." Hana was the first to answer him.
“I don't think he's any of those, look closer at his armour-” The video paused when she asked it to, allowing her to move towards the giant screen. She pointed to the body-suit that flexed and curled tightly around his body. “If he was a Talon agent, he’d have the emblem somewhere on him, but he’s just got a blank design. And look at his mask, too. The top of his head is covered, but that's definitely a human underneath, not an omnic.” Everyone mumbled in agreement.
“But still-” Cole waited for everyone to finish. “Whoever this guy is, he clearly needs to be dealt with if he’s doing crap like this!” He turned his head upwards to look at the ceiling. “Athena, run an internet search, see what you can find. Who is this guy?” Everyone fell quiet again, nervously preparing themselves for whatever might come up.
“I’m sorry, I was unable to find anything at all on this man, he appears to have covered his tracks entirely.” Everyone let out a sigh of disappointment. Winston pushed his glasses back up his nose, turning back to the visitors.
“So, Jamison, Mako, what do you want us to do?” He asked, trying to appear as friendly as possible. Junkrat was quick with his demands.
“Retribution! Capital Punishment! Make him pay for what he did to the Queen!” He leaped into the air and made a karate chopping motion with his hands. Agents around him instinctively reached for their weapons at the sudden movement and shouting, Winston raising his paw as a signal for them to yield. Roadhog placed a grubby mitt on Junkrat’s shoulder as he came down and pushed him back a little.
“Sorry about him… An eye for an eye would be nice, but I know that’s not how you Overwatch folk roll. So instead, how about you just track him down and get him locked away, or something, I don’t fully know yet, but what I do know is that just the two of us won’t have much luck if any at all. We’re robbers. We’re great at mapping out the layout of a treasure vault. Finding someone who wronged us when they have the entire world to hide? That’s a bit... out of our field.” Each of the Overwatch members and friends exchanged confused glances. Roadhog was depicted to be about as vicious of a killer as a wolf, or a shark, with Junkrat’s reputation pointing to him being selfish and psychopathic. Yet, here they were, grovelling on their knees for the aid of an organisation who tried countless times to put them behind bars.
“You understand that we’ll likely have to arrest you after this, right?” Asked Winston, glancing anxiously back and forth between the two. Junkrat’s smile faded, but just before he could protest, Roadhog’s meaty palm clamped over his face.
“We understand, although-” All eyes were on Mako. “A reduced sentence for cooperating with you. That’s all we ask.”

“That’s askin’ a lot, big man.” The clump of cowboy boots alerted the group that Cole was taking the spotlight for a moment. His revolver was at his hip, pointed directly at Mako with his finger on the trigger. “What’s stopping us from taking the intel and arresting you now?”
“Cole, put that down-” Winston hissed, but Cassidy dug in his heels.
“C’mon, you don’t actually think we can trust these guys, right? You want to bring in some criminals for help?”
“Weren’t you a criminal, cowboy?” Glancing over his shoulder, he could see Lena with her hands on her hips. “We brought you in. What’s the difference?” Cole scowled and set his sights on Mako again. In the time he’d been looking away, he expected Roadhog to at least make some attempt, either to attack or escape, but nothing happened.
“Touché…” The revolver whirled around his finger before dropping into his holster. “You’re acting leader, Winston. It’s your call.” The gorilla nodded quickly, turning back to Junkrat and Roadhog. Jamison’s face was now freed from Mako’s hand, but he remained silent of his own volition. Mako held his hands up as if surrendering.
“We’ll help in any way we can.” Was all he said. His elbow jabbed into Junkrat’s ribs, who squealed in pain before nodding eagerly. Cautiously, Winston edged closer. Closer. Inch by inch. And reached out to Mako’s mask, the face of a boar staring back at him. His gorilla fingers gently curled around the edge of the mask. Mako didn’t resist. “Go ahead.” He muttered. “Not much to see.” And so the mask came away. Mako was just about what people expected underneath; Rounded like a pig, but with lots of scars with a large ring piercing through his septum. A pair of hardened eyes blinked, sweeping over the crowd of Overwatch and Co in front of him.
“It’s settled, then. Junkrat and Roadhog will be honorary members of Overwatch until this wildcard is dealt with. Welcome to the team.”

Arcane clutched at his head with one hand, letting the other droop off the bed and brush his knuckles against the floor. He was deflated, his spirit broken. He had a perfect track-record, not a single name that had appeared in his hit-list had gotten by unscathed. Yet here he was, feeling sorry for himself as he realised his error. The tracker lay smashed on the floor. As soon as he discovered it, he smashed it to pieces, but it was too late. Talon had already pin-pointed his location, they’d be here soon, to put an end to his winning streak. Alarms began to go off, lights flashing and bells ringing, but he didn’t stir. Instead, he just waited for the sounds of missiles slamming into his door and breaking it down.

…

They never came. The barricade that protected his base would likely have been blasted apart by Talon’s machines of war, but the lack of explosions… The alarms were malfunctioning, perhaps? Maybe he overestimated Talon’s tracking abilities. A chuckle left his lips for a brief moment as he entertained the fantasy, but he had to face the music. He clambered from his bed and groggily pulled himself through his base to the front entrance. A muffled voice called out from the other side.
“This is Talon, open up!”
“Go away, I’m not home…” He groggily pulled his mask down over his face and sidled up to the camera screen that showed the cliff just outside the entrance to his base. A small Talon ship was hovering just outside, waiting. “What do you guys want?” Suddenly, there was a short yelp echoing from the ship’s speaker, and the voice on the other end changed entirely.
“Well, I personally want to put you into the grave, kid, but Doomfist has other plans for you. You let us in, you find out what they are.” It was Reaper, his dark, raspy voice was recognisable to anyone. But that wasn’t what Arcane was thinking of, he was focused on the end of what he’d said.
“Plans? So what, you’re not here to kill me then?” The previous pilot’s voice returned.
“Not at all, we came to make a deal!” Arcane hesitated over the open-door button. What could they want with him? He was just caught in the act of infiltrating their largest stronghold and trying to kill one of their council members, what could they possibly need from him other than his blood? With one final sigh, he sealed whatever fate had written out for him and pushed the button, opening the door with heaving creaks and groans that’d make the steeliest of soldiers shudder. He might have been ready to give up, but not because he was a coward. He was ready to give up because he knew when he was beaten. Before him was Talon’s airship, sleek and dark in design with jet engines whirring. Flames sprouted from each of the thrusters, boosting the vehicle as it slowly approached the landing bay. Arcane guided them, gesturing with his hands to guide it to the secondary spot. The enemy shuttle slowly settled down, nestling into the landing bay. As the hatch swung down, the Angel of Death emerged, followed by a battalion of soldiers with rifles slung on their backs. Arcane calmly stood before them. His tongue wasn’t as sharp as his blade, but it would have to do. He could use both if he needed to.
“Welcome, all. If you’ll follow me…”

Arcane warily led Reaper and the Talon-folk through his hideout, the foot soldiers gazing in awe at the designs of the base. The lighting bathed all of them in a thin tint of blue; It was an oddly calming atmosphere they’d stepped into, despite it being a dragon’s den. They emerged in the office a few short moments later. Arcane threw his weight down into the swivel chair at his desk and spun round to face them.
“Have a seat.” He gestured to some more chairs nearby. The soldiers continued to stand, but Reaper had no problem pulling one up himself and settling into the fabric. 
“Why the Hell are you prepared for visitors?”
“Some clients like to meet me before hiring.” He shrugged, scratching his jaw. “Doesn’t happen often, though.” Of course, the Talon members weren’t impressed. Several piercing gazes nipped at Arcane’s nerves. Reaper folded his arms and glared, finally prompting Arcane to talk. “You, uhhh… Looking for an apology or something?” Still nothing, Arcane’s attempt at losing the silence only had it come running back to him like a hungry raccoon. Finally, the gruff, throaty voice emerged from behind his mask.
“After seeing how good you are at fighting, members on the council want you to start working with us so you can put your skills to better use.” He watched in mild amusement as Arcane sat back calmly in his chair.
“That’s what this is? Recruitment?” His fingers drummed against his thigh. “Why me? I’m good, but I’m nothing special.” This prompted Reaper to stand up again. The wraith paced around the room before the arcanist, sharply inhaling through clenched teeth.
“You’re wrong.” He stated, darkly. “You made history last night. In terms of raw strength and power, Talon members have always been second only to Overwatch. They’re the only people who have ever defeated us in combat.”
“But I beat you…” Arcane finished. Reaper nodded.
“Exactly. The struggle for power between Overwatch and Talon is supposed to be a “One side versus one side” battle. Neither us, nor them, can afford to have a rogue piece like you on the board. When you defeated me in 1-on-1 combat, unarmed, you earned Talon’s respect. However, that means you took our spot on the food chain, and we want it back. So we need you on our side.”
“I don’t know if that’s the best idea…” The offer was tempting, of course. But it was not ideal. “I’m not the biggest fan of Overwatch, don’t get me wrong. But I get the feeling my ideals would clash with Talon’s. What happens if I say no?” With a flourish, Reaper drew another shotgun from his cloak, the barrel pointed right at Arcane’s head. The black barrel and silver decorations were a striking combination, contrasting against one another like a full moon on the night sky. Eerily beautiful, a fine weapon to end a life with, Arcane thought.
“I need to kill at least one person every day, otherwise I’ll start having withdrawal symptoms. I haven’t had my fix today.” Threatened Reaper, gazing down the iron sights of his weapon. Arcane may have been wearing a mask, but Reaper had picked up on the other ways people showed fear. A tense muscle, or a bead of sweat somewhere. Maybe a slip of the tongue. But when he looked at the swordsman at the other end of the shotgun, not even a shudder. It was like looking in a mirror. Am I losing my touch, or is this guy just that hard to rattle?
“Ol’ Smokey was going to pay me 10 million dollars if I took out Max, can Talon beat that kind of pay?”
“Depends on how hard you work.” Reaper said, but Arcane cut through him instantly.
“Quit your bullshit, I know you’re on the council too. Promise me I’ll make that money off you guys and I’ll consider.” The defiance brought out a sneer from Reaper.
“You aren’t exactly in a position to be making demands, hotshot-” 

In a flash, the sword was in Arcane’s hand. He carved upwards, knocking the shotgun from Reaper’s grasp while bringing the blade’s edge up to his throat, all in one fluid motion. The soldiers raised their weapons, but Reaper’s hand gestured for them to hold fire. Looking into the mask, Arcane saw his eyes, grey and dark. Devoid of the life that had once run through this man’s veins. It was only a one-way exchange, Arcane’s visor being too dark for anything to be visible. The blade gently bit into Reaper’s neck ever so slightly. Reaper was shocked. I could have sworn he was unarmed again? Reaper glanced at the glass case beneath the aquarium. It had definitely been shut before, the blade sitting inside, but now the latch had burst open. Next, he eyed the sword that was trained on him, eyeing the blade carefully. The entire thing glowed purple, as if encircled by anti-matter or magic. Oddly, the aura wasn't the most dense around the blade itself, but instead… On Arcane’s hand, where he gripped the hilt tightly. The aura was denser there. So we were right, he can just… summon it to his hand. Some kind of telekinesis?

In the silence, Arcane heard the hissing of the assault rifles, the choir of murmurs drifting through the air to his ears. Finally, he whipped the blade away from Reaper, leaving him unharmed.
“I’ll accept your offer because I want to,” He scowled defiantly before gazing straight into the slits of Reaper’s masks. “Not because you have your guns on me. I think I’ve made that point clear.” Reaper sorely rubbed his neck, but allowed himself to relax. The soldiers did the same, as did Arcane, his sword back in it’s back-scabbard.
“Make sure he starts packing what he’ll need, we’ll send another ship back in two hours to help him move his belongings.”
“Sir, I don’t think there will be any need for that.” One of the soldiers piped up. “He has his own ship, and it’s got plenty of room. I’m sure he can move his own stuff if we help him load up.”
“Akande isn’t going to like that, nobody is certain if they’d be able to trust him.” Reaper responded. Arcane shrugged. That explanation didn’t make sense in his mind.
“You trusted me enough to hold your soldiers back from shooting, just now. Let me take the Phoenix, save yourself the hassle.” Again, he was met with a sneer from Reaper, followed by a growl.
“Undermining me isn’t a great start to your new career, you know.” Warned the angel of death.
“But you’re going to let me this one time, aren’t you?”
“Don’t push your luck…” His cloak billowed and flourished as he turned towards the exit. “Soldiers, stay here and help him pack. You can catch a ride back to Montana on his ship. I’m gonna get a head start and give Akande the good news.” His boots began to clump once more as he left Arcane’s office. The door slammed shut. The silence that fell over Arcane’s new company was deafening, suffocating. From a distance, the battalion could hear the Talon dropship taking off, carrying Reaper away. Uncertainly, Arcane turned to the group, looking them up and down. 
“Well… Let’s get packing, I guess?”

Chapter Text

The smell of gunpowder filled the Egypt streets, shots crashing like rolling thunder. Hoards of soldiers in white and red filtered towards the temple of Anubis, only to be struck down by barrages of rockets. Soaring above was Pharah, leader of the squadron of Helix Security soldiers. She led the fight from the air with unrivalled valour, her thrusters firing to gain altitude and raining the missiles down on the Talon forces below. Very few soldiers made it through the streets and into the alley, but then they had D.Va to contend with. The bulbous mech dived upon the groups, trailing green flames from the rocket engines and pumping Talon’s forces full of plasma from her dual shotgun weapons. Tracer, Cassidy, Lúcio  and Reinhardt were brawling too, the bulky crusader throwing his weight around while Tracer, Cassidy and Lúcio  made for quite the skirmishing bunch. The whole time, everyone listened in to the gentle music radiating from Lúcio , the soothing beat knitting their wounds shut as quickly as they appeared. They were untouchable, unstoppable. Talon was making no headway. The giant forms of D.Va and Reinhardt slowly corralled the enemies together before Pharah blew them to smithereens.

A small, violet, glowing device flew from out of nowhere and into the middle of the Helix squadron, a low ticking noise emanating from the thing, barely loud enough to catch their attention. Before anyone could react, it burst open, Sombra emanating from it and bellowing the battle cry that anyone who relied on technology would fear.
“Apagando las luces!” The EMP wave washed over all the Raptora soldiers, including Pharah, sending them falling out of the sky. They each started tumbling towards the ground, the dry bricks rushing up to meet them with haste. Pharah brought her wrist to her face and called into the comms.
“Tracer, we’re down!” Tracer’s head turned up to see the Raptora units tumbling from the air, unable to right themselves. Springing into action, she ran for the nearest with a holler.
“Guys! Catch ‘em!” She blinked frantically around the clearing, her accelerator working overtime to keep her anchored to the present. The rest of the agents began rushing to meet the people-shaped shadows on the ground. They saved the soldiers from their crash landing, sweeping each from their falls and dropping them safely on the ground, but now downed and crippled. With the missile storm cloud dissipated, Talon Soldiers pushed forward again, surging in like a violent torrent through a broken dam. The rifle-fire ripped through the air, pelting the group as they all gathered behind Reinhardt’s shield. Rockets and bullets erupted from behind the barrier, a ballistic display. The soldiers continued to funnel through the choke point, and Overwatch’s side wasn’t dealing with them fast enough. Reinhardt was the first to speak.
“Pharah, what happened out there?” He shouted over the gunfire.
“It was Sombra, she clipped our wings!” Pharah continued pulling the trigger on her rocket launcher and sending missile after missile into the advancing crowd. “She must still be here, somewhere…” Everyone began to look out for Sombra, eyes scanning to find the target they needed. Tracer noticed it: A pale flash of violet in the darkness to their right.
“Got her! I’ll take care of it!” With that, she shot away from the barrier and into their right flank, leaving her allies in hopes they could fend for themselves.

Tracer skidded into the alley. The tyrannical roar of the battlefield she’d left behind followed her, mercilessly tearing into the silence she might have heard in this spot on any other day. She curiously looked around in a frantic search. Her pistols were pulled and at the ready, steadily training on her surroundings. Focusing was hard with the thundering sound of conflict drumming into her mind. Her eyes were un-blinking, taking in all of the scenery and looking for any sort of disturbance that would give away Sombra. Before she could find one, the phantom revealed herself.
“Gotcha’!” Purple computer images flickered into existence as Sombra appeared behind her, pulling her machine pistol free from its holster and aiming at her new target with no hesitation. A cocky grin snaked its way onto her face as she held the trigger down. Tracer blinked to the side, rounding on the hacker and emptying both clips of her pistols in her direction. Sombra weaved in and out of the pulse rounds’ paths, returning a barrage of bullets of her own. Suddenly, she halted the fire, raising her free hand to her waist and reaching for another Translocator. Her taloned fingers grasped the device and launched it into the air, teleporting her towards it. Before she landed back on the ground, she cloaked herself again, turning invisible and lurking around. Stalking. Hunting. Tracer was beyond unnerved, trying to fight off her panic

The poisonous webs came again, latching onto Tracer from behind, dancing along her figure before vanishing. Tracer turned and spotted their source, immediately dashing forward and attempting a blink. She vanished from existence for a moment, but reappeared right in the same spot.
“Argh, you bitch!” Tracer stormed, running forward again and tackling the woman to the ground. She launched through the air, kicking into Sombra violently and knocking them both to the ground. Sombra held her assailant's gaze steady, her elbows pinned at her side with her attacker’s knees. “Hah, got you! Now undo whatever you just did!” She bellowed in Sombra’s face.
“Relájate, calm down-” She was nonchalant and relaxed. Tracer held all the power here, pinning Sombra down. And yet Lena was the tense one. “I can’t undo it, but it’ll dissipate in a bit. You just gotta wait it out.”
“Whatever, you’re coming with me now.” She scowled, narrowing her eyes at the Sombra. “What’s Talon doing here, anyway? What do you want with the Temple of Anubis? What is Talon here for?!” She tried, but Sombra’s confident smirk never left her face.
“I think I’ll pass you up on that-” Before Tracer could even respond, Sombra vanished once again, computer noises left in her place. Tracer fell to the floor, Sombra no longer beneath her.
“What the-'' Her exclamation was cut short as an explosive boom ripped through the air like scissors through paper.

“Hold fast!” Cassidy bellowed, crouching behind Reinhardt’s barrier and firing shot after shot from his Peacekeeper.
“My barrier is failing, I don’t know how much longer I can keep it up!” Reinhardt raised his arm up again to block another rain of rifle-fire, the impact sending vibrations up his arm, spoon feeding him with adrenaline. The bullets pelted into the blue field, rippling waves spreading out from each impact. Behind them, another boom cracked out, flames bursting free and sending the Overwatch agents to the ground. Cassidy and Lúcio watched in horror as dozens of armoured corpses sailed overhead, clattering to the ground in front of their group. Reinhardt cried out, his shield arm falling to his side as his armour changed from iron to cinnabar. With the Overwatch agents thrown into discord, Talon surged past them, swarming like termites. Cassidy managed to drop a few with headshots, but the sheer volume of Talon soldiers was enough to get past him. When the enemies returned from the temple, they were holding bags in one hand and their sidearms in the other. The Talons retreated from the city, the swarm moving like a hivemind had them all in sync with each other.
“Go-” Reinhardt rasped. “Go stop them, I’ll be fine.” His breath rattled against the inside of his helmet. He was in pain, but it wasn’t lethal. He had definitely come back from worse. Cole and Lúcio shared a look and nodded, the DJ changing the playing track. The music surrounding them now changed from the soothing melody of healing to a triumphant, shoot-for-the-moon type of beat, and Cole felt something deep inside of him spark. D.Va was already taking off towards Talon’s designated evacuation zone, her Meka hulking in the sky before descending on the targets like a comet.

Airships took to the sky, Talon troopers forcing themselves into the passenger compartments and aiming their weaponry down at the ground. The large, hot-pink comet flew up from the ground to meet them mid-air, plasma cannons ejecting shotgun fire towards the vessels. D.Va narrowed her eyes in concentration as she piloted her mech through the air, evading missiles and absorbing the majority of the bullet-rain with her Defence Matrix. But as soon as the energy shield ran out of charge, a sniper rifle cracked the air. The .50 calibre bullet shredded through the metal exterior, tearing through wires and circuits and just narrowly missing Hana’s shoulder. Red warnings began flashing up in Korean, forcing D.Va out of the mech in an urgent ejection. The mech crumbled as it returned to earth, D.Va free-falling by its side. She spoke into her ear-piece.
“Uh, guys! I need help!” She watched helplessly as the ground came rushing to meet her. Lúcio turned his eyes to the skies, where he saw Hana tumbling to the floor alongside the wreckage of a broken battle-bot. “Don’t worry Hana, I got you!” He turned a dial on his weapon and the triumphant anthem playing amplified in volume. His hard-light skates blared valiantly with green light as they skidded across the yellowing bricks, jumping free from them and sticking to the wall to his right in a wall ride. The agents behind him watched as he leapt from the wall and caught Hana in his arms, sweeping her from her free-fall and landing gracefully back on the floor. Hana scrambled from his arms and brushed herself off. “Thanks Lúcio , that was a close one!” She didn’t hesitate to begin praising him, but he dusted it off like it was nothing.
“No prob, had to be done.” He turned the volume on his Sonic Amplifier back down, allowing them to hear each other over the music again. Cassidy strolled up to them with his pistol in its holster.
“I don’t mean to ruin the mood for you two kids, but we’ve got bigger problems.” He said, pulling a cigar from nowhere and bringing it to his lips. “Half of Helix Security is dead and Wilhelm is hurt. I’m glad Hana is safe, but don’t go celebrating just yet, okay?” He brought the lighter to the tip of the cigar and let the flame latch onto the tobacco-encrusted paper. “Lúcio , you’ll have plenty of time to woo Hana when we’re back at Watchpoint.” Lúcio  was spluttering, but Cole turned on his heel and walked back to Reinhardt before he could even get past his embarrassment long enough to respond. “You doin’ okay there, big fella?” He crouched down next to the crippled crusader, who immediately let out a hearty laugh.
“Me? I’m on top of the world, Cole!” He picked himself up onto his feet, only to crumple back down into a heap after a moment. “Don’t… worry about me.” His voice suddenly became strained, he clutched at his side once again.
“Crap, we gotta get him to Angela, and fast!” Cole exclaimed, throwing Reinhardt’s arm over his shoulder. “Hey, Lena, come give me-” He paused, looking around. “Hey, where did Lena get to?” Everyone on the team exchanged a few confused glances.
“Here I am!” As if on cue, she suddenly blinked onto the scene in a blur of electric blue.
“Where were ya, Lena?” Cole spat at her. “We suffered heavy losses while you were gone!” Tracer scowled back.
“I was trying to deal with Sombra.” she huffed as she lugged Reinhardt’s other arm over her back. “She outsmarted me and got away. Sorry ‘bout that.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Lena.” Wheezed Reinhardt, smiling down at her. “That Sombra is amazingly intelligent. She could outsmart any of us.”

Meanwhile, Lúcio  was still trying to play off Cole’s statement.
“Cowboy, I promise you it ain’t like that!” He insisted, pointing at Hana. “We’ve just known each other a while is all.” He scratched the back of his head nervously. Despite telling the truth, nobody was buying it, not even Hana. Flustered, he looked back to her for support. He got no more than he bargained for. Instead Lúcio realised that he and Pharah were the only ones not on the ship. “Hey, Fareeha, you comin’?” He jerked his thumb towards the ship. Fareeha shook her head gently, her expression saying one word over and over:
Distraught.
“Helix Security suffered many losses today, I need to make sure the organisation can recover. I’ll join you back at Gibraltar in a couple days.” She dismissively waved at them before blasting into the air and flying back to her fallen comrades.

“Attention! Egypt team returning from mission!” Athena’s voice sounded throughout the corridors of Gibraltar, shocking everyone from their boredom. Winston had been in his lab, anticipating the moment he’d hear these words. Angela, Mei and Jamison all watched the screen in front of them with him, mortified at what they were seeing. After a few moments of sickening silence, Winston responded.
“Athena, send them here please. We have to discuss some things…” Athena beeped a response before going silent. The rest of them continued to watch the video of the Vishkar building.
“It’s him again, isn’t it?” Mei asked nervously, glancing at Winston before returning to the screen.
“Just looking at him makes me want to fuck his day up…” Jamison said, shivering with every breath. “I’ll kill him myself, if you’ll let me!” He began clinging to Winston’s arm, a kid in a candy store with Winston as his parent.
“Only if absolutely necessary, we don’t want a repeat of the Venice incident.” Winston answered, frowning at the junker.
“Urgh, you’re no fun!” He yelled, turning away from the ape and folding his arms. Winston rounded on him to explain.
“Protecting the world from conflict isn’t supposed to be fun, Jamison.” Winston boomed. “If you can’t seem to grasp that, maybe we should just leave you and Mako to deal with it yourselves!” A small strand of spit flew out and hit Jamison in the back of the head, landing on a bald spot. Whether it was a case of Jamison's bad hygiene or nerve damage, Winston couldn't tell, but the shuddering freak didn't seem to take any notice.
“Careful, Winston.” Athena suddenly awoke again. “Your Primal Rage sensor is on the brink of activating.” Realising what she had just said, Winston retreated from the argument. Just as he sat back down in his chair in front of the computer, Lena finally appeared.
“Where are the others? We need you all here.” Winston asked, looking behind her to see if the others would arrive.
“Fareeha is spending the next few days helping Helix get back on their feet, Cole went to the training range to vent some frustration and Hana and Lúcio are helping Reinhardt get to the medical wing. Oh! By the way Angela, Reinhardt is badly hurt, you should probab-” Before she could even finish, Angela was already walking past her and out of the lab towards the medical bay.
“That man never learns, does he?” She scolded as she disappeared.
“Reinhardt was injured?” Mei piped up. “I assume that means Talon won?” Lena nodded in disappointment.
“Once they got past us, they loaded up on… whatever it is they came for. Hightailed it outta there. It was weird, actually. After they escaped, I checked out the temple to see if I could see what was taken. But there was still a lot of treasure and relics inside, out in the open too. No way they could have missed them.” as Lena spoke, she saw Winston’s face fall in frustration. “I’m sorry, big guy! We tried everything we could, but-”
“Lena, we have bigger problems than some old relics, come sit.” Lena leant back on the table Mei and Jamison were sitting at and watched yet another video of Arcane flying around a heavily guarded place of significance and walking away without so much as a scratch. Except what they now saw that they didn’t before is what turned Lena’s heart to ice in that moment. A capital ‘T’ on both his shoulders, the emblem of a Talon agent.
“If he wasn’t with them before, he is now…”

Chapter Text

The engines continued to roar as the ship ploughed through the sky. Its streamlined shape let it cut through the air without a problem. Arcane, who had been mostly silent for the ride so far, looked up at Reaper sitting on the opposite bench as he adjusted the sword on his back.
“I gotta say, Reaper, I’m really impressed. You took out fifteen guys with that singular Death Blossom.” The ice remained unbroken. “C’mon, you can’t be edgy forever, there is a time and a place for-” Reaper grew impatient with his chatter and cut him off with a glare.
“Try as hard as you want, we’re not gonna be all buddy-buddy or whatever it is you’re aiming for.” Despite the intimidating nature of Reaper’s scowl, Arcane seemed completely unphased.
“So you’d rather hold a grudge for the entire time we’re working together. Good to know.” He responded. Just barely over the sound of the engines, Arcane could hear whispering. He glanced around at the foot soldiers, each of them leaning into each other’s ears. “You guys okay? I don’t think any of you have said a word beyond ‘Sir, yes sir!’ up until now.” He asked, looking down the hanger expectantly at the troopers. 
“Uh, we’re taking bets on where you came from.” The soldier gave a shrug as he spoke, his eyes darting between the floor and Arcane. Arcane was actually hooked in.
“Hmm, that sounds fun. What are you guys guessing?” The question caused all of the present soldiers to turn to face each other in unison, pointing and shoving at each other to try and get someone besides themselves to go first. Arcane chuckled softly and pointed at the man closest to him. “You, take your guess. What’s my story?” 

The man didn’t seem quite as anxious as the others, but the gentle foot tapping gave away enough. His hair was thick and greasy after being stuffed into his helmet. Not much seemed to be behind his gaze. His face slowly split into a grin towards Arcane, a grin that spoke volumes of violence that played on loop in his mind.
“It's nothing special, really. But I’d say you were probably a competitive fighter, like I’m talking Olympic fencing level of swordsmanship. Then the next logical step is you were headhunted. Dropped off the face of the Earth, reappearing as you are now.” He leant his back against the wall of the airship, satisfied. Arcane simply shook his head. “I knew it was a long shot, of course. Closer than that guy, probably.” He pointed at another soldier, a little way down the ship’s interior. “His guess is you’re a damn immortal, that you were a warrior or something who was cursed with immortality and now you just fight because it’s all you know.”
“It’s a nice idea for a story. Let me know when the novel hits the shelves, would you?” He turned to face Reaper again, who had just been staring daggers into the wall opposite him for the entire flight. “What about you, tough guy? What’s your guess?” The ship fell silent, a silence the wraith refused to break. Arcane pushed himself to his feet and waved his arm in front of Reaper, an attempt that fell flat. “Hey, I asked you a que-” Before he could finish, one of Reaper’s clawed gauntlets was wrapped around his neck. He was tossed to the floor with inhuman strength and spluttering cough after cough.
“I don’t know, Arcane.” Reaper stated flatly, looking at him for the second time this entire flight. “I don’t have a damn clue what hole you crawled out of to get here. But wherever that hole is, I’d advise you to return to it as soon as you damn can. I’m sure they’ll give you the attention you were clearly being starved of.” Arcane could feel the power surge through him, and for a moment expected his own darkness to erupt from him. He fought the urge to draw his blade and level it at his assailant, instead opting to pick himself up and return to his spot on the bench. “You know what, though? I do feel better about you kicking my ass, after that.” Reaper chuckled to himself, returning his glare to the wall opposite him. Arcane ignored it.

“Anyway, so… yeah, you guys are pretty far off. Good luck coming up with something better, I guess.”
“What if we just asked Sombra to do some digging on you?” Another trooper pointed out. “She does it for pretty much every new recruit Talon gets, and she always comes up with gold.” A couple of laughs rose up from the crowd, but the swordsman was unphased by them. Arcane leant back on the bench.
“Sombra, she’s a secret hunter, right? There’s only so much a hacker can do. Some things are hidden from even the holonet.” He chuckled, throwing the entire ship into silence. “I’ll be incredibly impressed if she can dig up anything about me.” 

“You realise you’re not the first person to say that, right?” Reaper growled again, this time not even considering Arcane worthy of a glance. “Hell, even I said that, and she knew who I was the next day.” He shuddered as he thought back to that day. The day Sombra had confidently approached him in the middle of a meeting and called him by name out of nowhere. So casual, and 100% sure of herself. He didn’t fear many people. But he was definitely unnerved by Sombra. Even if he could easily kill her. Arcane just shrugged again, his tone casual as a Friday workspace.
“Well, outside of you getting laid, there’s a first time for everything.” He stated flatly. “Doesn’t matter how good your skeleton key is, some locks are just that unbreakable.”

The doors of the airship hissed as they fell open, the unhinging jaws of a snake collapsing onto the ground. Every member of the team exited the ship and found themselves on the floor of the hangar. Arcane looked around for a moment, trying to spot his personal airship. Almost as if on cue, the Phoenix lit up for a moment, a mechanic on a creeper board beneath it and tinkering.
“Hey!” Arcane broke free from the ranks and power-walked over to the mechanic. “What do you think you’re doing?” He almost shouted as he grabbed on their legs and pulled them out from beneath the ship’s chassis.
“Oh, Arcane! I was just… Uh, Doomfist wanted me doing a check up, helping maintenance- helping maintain the ship…” The mechanic was wide-eyed in Arcane’s hands. He loosened from his tense state for a moment, but his grip on the mechanic’s collar didn’t drop for even a second.
“You don’t have to worry, I can take care of it myself.” He said, placing his foot on the creeper board and pushing it away. “I know this ship like the back of my hand. I built it myself, I’ll take care of it. You focus on the ships Talon owns, I’ll worry about mine.” With that, he let go of the mechanic and returned to the baffled battalion, confusion glaring at him from just about every direction.
“Got something to hide?” Reaper asked, tossing the question over his shoulder as they continued towards the exit. Arcane refrained from responding, but the silence spoke volumes in Reaper’s ears.

At the exit from the hangar, a tall man in dark uniform stood waiting.
“Reaper, mission report?” He asked, whipping out a notebook and pen.
“Mission was a success, the alliance between Talon and Vishkar should remain hidden for another few years minimum.” Reaper responded, pushing past the captain without a care. The soldiers followed him, including Arcane. But the captain placed a hand firmly on Arcane’s chest, stopping him in his tracks.
“And… Arcane, is it? Moira, head of the science division, would like a word with you. Take your ship down to Oasis, she’ll be there.” The captain pressed a piece of paper firmly into Arcane’s hands, a photograph of a doorway in a shiny wall with other details written below. Arcane threw the captain another confused glance before turning around and walking back to the Phoenix, now solitary from any mechanic. Just to be sure, Arcane laid down on the creeper board and slid himself underneath the chassis. Right away, he spotted it: A circular metal disk with a flashing red light flaring to life and dying out in timed intervals. Arcane grasped the disk and pulled, a high pitched whirring noise reaching his ears as it detached easily. He was about to throw the tracker on the floor and stomp it to pieces when he stopped himself. Maybe it would come in handy? He rolled the creeper board out from under the Phoenix again and rose to his feet, searching the hanger for the mechanic again. There-
“Hey!” The wimpy mechanic jumped and whipped around. Arcane waved the tracker at him. “If you’re going to put a tracker on my ship, don’t put a magnetic one on the exterior, you’re just asking for it to get knocked off somehow.” The mechanic simply nodded. He turned and fled, hunched over as though that would make him a less desirable target. ‘ All it really does is make him less desirable in general.’ Arcane chuckled. He climbed aboard the Phoenix again, setting the tracker against the interior walls before throwing his weight into the pilot seat and beginning the journey.

The flight was a long one. Arcane had taken off shortly after one in the morning, getting some rest and allowing the Phoenix’s auto pilot to take over. The ship finally docked again, maybe nine hours later, but that wasn’t nine hours of sleep he got; The sunrise had shone through the cockpit’s windscreen and stabbed at him repeatedly until he awoke. Arcane stepped out into a city of bright, radiant light, feeling stabbed by it once more. Oasis, the diamond rising from the sands of the Arabian desert. All the buildings were the same bronze colour, reflecting the early morning sun’s rays at an impeccable brightness. Hardlight structures littered the place for decoration, fountains and arches. People were nowhere to be seen, the streets only littered themselves with hover cars and the like. As Arcane came closer to the city centre, a doorway contrasted to the bright and radiant colours. Had he not been looking for it, he probably wouldn’t have paid it any attention, but this was exactly where he needed to be. He straightened up and made his way towards the doorway, two buff men standing at either side with heavy pulse-rifles clenched in their meaty knuckles.
“Arcane, Moira called for me-” He answered before he’d even been questioned. One of the bouncers reached for Arcane’s mask, but the swordsman slapped his hand away. “Nope, that wasn’t part of this. Let me through, you know I’m supposed to be here, okay?” The other bouncer leaned in and whispered in his ally’s ear, both of the meatheads nodding in unison. Arcane’s arms folded and his foot tapped. He was about to reach for his weapon when the bouncers finally stood aside, the second pushing the door open and gesturing for him to step through.

The corridor was dark and gloomy, an even greater contrast to the glorious city above ground. Arcane continued to run his hand along the smooth wall, searching desperately for a light switch to allow him to see where he was going. In the fruitless venture, he finally saw light at the end of the tunnel. Cautiously, he emerged into a dimly lit room, a brighter light in the centre that focused on a gyrating figure on the table. Tall people cloaked in lab coats surrounded the person, holding notepads, syringes and other scientific equipment. Arcane cleared his throat and addressed the group.
“Ahem, excuse me? Is Moira here?” One of the scientists turned, removing a mask from her face and looking him up and down.
“That would be me, you must be the foretold ‘Arcane’ that has been doing rounds.” She said, monotone and incredibly bored sounding. However, Arcane beat her to the next words to break the silence.
“Are you planning on telling me why you invited me here?” He spat, glancing around the room again. Vials of glowing liquids, various blues and purples, lined shelves on each of the walls, lethal-looking substances that made his stomach turn. They were the only thing of note in the otherwise empty place. Moira removed a pair of surgeon gloves she’d been wearing and raised a finger to the air.
“Everyone but Arcane, you are all dismissed.” One of the scientists tried to cut in.
“But the subject, we’re not finished here-” All Moira did to respond was place one hand on the spasming body on the table, a purple tendril swirling around her fingers. Moments later, the body stopped moving. Even the rise and fall of their chest ceased.
“It was not going to work anyway. All of you out. Do not make me ask you again, you do not want to be the next one on the table.” Arcane watched as the frightened scientists scarpered. “And that’s ‘We are’ by the way, not ‘We’re.’ Have some dignity or go and join the lowly soldiers among the barracks.” 

With the lab now empty, save the two of them, Moira eyed him with curiosity. Somehow the gaze felt like a weight on him, like trying to static parry an attack from a dragon’s tail. Not that a dragon’s tail would particularly phase him, and neither did Moira’s gaze, but he still recognised its power.
“So...” She began, removing her mask from her head and dismissively placing it on the table beside the subject. The swordsman absent-mindedly picked up one of the vials near him, a flask full of molten purple. Molten, yet the glass was cold to the touch. “You want to know why I called you here? You have had a pretty good track record so far, not a single mission failure since you began at Talon. The best super soldier we have had since the Widowmaker.”
Widowmaker . Arcane had heard that name around the base a lot. Apparently she was brainwashed by Talon to murder her husband in his sleep. He had never come into contact with anyone who seemed to be her, however. While Arcane was searching his memory, Moira continued. “And when we have good soldiers, we want more of those soldiers.” She finished, leaving Arcane to fill the blanks.
“I’m not sure I follow?” He wasn’t particularly listening, he was more interested in the flask of purple solution in his hand. What Moira said next was what caused his attention to turn to her.
“We need more units to fight like you, Arcane. Which means that we need to conduct experiments on you to figure out how your powers work and how we can then apply it to other people.” She raised her voice a little, and shunned Arcane into silence. How could he even begin to protest about such an outlandish idea? Well, he started with a laugh, then spoke.
“I’m going to be honest with you. There’s no way you can replicate the things I do. You could have all the time in the world, but what happened to me isn’t something you can just ‘copy and paste’ as easily as you’re thinking it ought to be.” Arcane’s chest puffed out and his arms folded.

Moira didn’t say anything back at first. She just smiled. A rather friendly smile, one that Arcane would probably have believed if he didn’t suspect the serpent beneath the flower. Elegantly, she closed in towards him on her long legs, the click of her heels echoing around the room. Her pale, withered hand reached towards him, gently resting on his cheek before he could lean away.
“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there? Why don’t you just sit with me for a bit and talk me through how those ‘arcane’ abilities work?” She hissed. But all she got in response was a slow shake of the head. ‘ She’s severely overestimating how attractive she is if she thinks seducing me will work.’
“Say that again, only slower this time.” He said as he grasped her wrist and pulled it away from him with a scrunched-up face. “ Arcane. You’re a high-ranking scientist, so I’m sure you’re smart enough to know what that word, at its core, means without me explaining it to you. My point is the powers are weird. Really weird. I’m still not entirely sure what they are or how I got them. So sitting down with me to talk about it would get us nowhere.”
“You mean to tell me this just happened to you? Nothing caused you to inherit those powers? Nothing drove you to the battlefield or sparked an interest in a life of crime?” Both her hands were on his chest now, her sharp chin invading his space uncomfortably. He tried to step backward and away from her but found himself backed up against a desk.
“Yep. Just started spewing darkness one day. Thought it might be a sign I’m to be the ‘Dark Lord’ or some shit so I went and rolled with it. Next day I was being paid to decapitate some fucker and boom, the Arcane wa-” He stopped mid sentence, his breath caught in his throat as the hands on his chest began to glow with the same purple that had stopped the movement of the previous experiment. Moira’s smile had faded, baring the fangs he knew were hiding behind her lips. Her voice dropped to a threatening tone, one that probably wouldn’t have worked if Arcane didn’t feel his consciousness being torn from him through his chest.
“I do not believe you. ” She stated in mild frustration, the last thing Arcane heard before the world moved forward and left him behind.

“Wha-?” Arcane woke with a start, laid out on his bed in his quarters. He reached instinctively for his face, calming the moment he felt his mask still in place. The calm only lasted a moment, since even that slight movement of his arms sent pain racing through his front. He clutched at his chest where Moira had latched onto him with her biotic grasp. Dark marks had appeared there, like a deadly tattoo on his armour. ‘ Urgh, I should get this stuff off…’ he thought, making his way to the other side of the room where an armour stand sat dormant and empty. He began removing the rest of his armour from himself. He grimaced at the thought of doing it by hand again. In the cave, it had always been those robotic arms that did the job for him, he hadn’t properly gotten changed in years by now. Still, he forged on, pressing all the right buttons on his suit to dismantle it and place it down. Now in his underclothes, he turned and made his way to the drawer, where some uniform lay carefully folded inside. It looked like the armour that the Talon soldiers had been wearing, white with accents of red and ridges of silver. He slipped into the surprisingly comfortable clothing and admired himself before finally sitting down at his computer. He hadn’t touched the hitlist since he had joined Talon. Hadn’t had the need, nor the time to look at it. But now, it was his time off and he felt like there were some pretty good targets on there that Talon might like. The mouse whizzed from one side of the screen to the other, scrolling the bar up and down the list, scanning for anything good. A purple, pixelated skull appearing on the screen caused him to jump back for a moment. Had his computer been bugged? He checked over the console box, scanning for any device that might be causing the disturbance.

“¿Qué onda? Ha!” Arcane flinched slightly as he spun round to see the culprit flickering into existence. “Oh God, you shit a brick!” Sombra laughed, restoring the computer with a quick dance of her fingers, purple beams stretching from each of them and latching onto the PC console before vanishing. His mind thought back to the indigo that he’d seen Moira suck the life out of a man’s chest with and briefly feared the worst, but looking closer made it clear they were different. Moira’s biotic draining had been like Reaper’s wrath form, shadowy gaseous-looking. The woman before Arcane had a more neon-pink look to her abilities, the beams looking less like gas and more like the Hardlight structures Arcane had seen in the Oasis city. Heavily modified for the sake of transmitting possibly hundreds of gigabytes of information.
“Ah. I take it you’re the pair of eyes I saw during my escape.” Arcane began, glaring sharply at her. As if she was only just realising her error, she perked her head up.
“Ah, so you did see me there.” She said, raking her fingers through her hair. “I’m Sombra, leader of the hacker division here at Talon.”
“The secret hunter, I see. So when you put that tracker on me, did you know they’d let me live?” He fired the question at her with a sneer. Any prideful boast she was about to give was extinguished by him.
“I mean… I wanted to recruit you from the start, but I didn’t expect it to be too easy to convince the council that we needed you.” She eyed him as she spoke, clutching a translocator behind her back. “I saw your work in Junkertown, by the way.”
“How’d you see that?” He was genuinely surprised by this revelation, properly turning in his chair to face her. “From the state that dump is in, it didn’t look like they’d have any connection to the outside world.”
“They’re sitting on top of an omnic graveyard, you know!” She said, “They’ve got plenty of electronics. Radios, phones, cameras. They aren’t good , per se, but they’re enough for me to tap into and watch.” With a wave of her fingers, the hit list disappeared from his computer screen, replaced with jittery footage of Junkertown. “This is basically how I pitched you to Akande, Gabe and Moira.” Arcane watched in bewilderment as the him from the past danced around with fancy footwork and extravagant slices which ended lives upon lives upon lives. Time slowed down when he was in the thick of combat, so to see it on tape afterwards and watch how impressive it looked- It felt a bit too self indulgent. But he didn’t mind.

Then he switched from a single two-handed sword to the dual-wield stance, and errors stuck out to him like a sore thumb. His blades clashing with each other when he attacked, the overswing with his off-hand. It was okay, and it got the job done, but it just felt sloppy. Imperfect. 
“Mind if I keep this footage? I want to get better at my craft, so reviewing it like this might be helpful.” He glanced back up at Sombra, who merely waved her hand.
“Sure, go for it. It’s you, after all.” Arcane nodded, minimising the window so that the faces on the hit list stared at him accusingly. Sombra’s eyes widened. She leaned over Arcane’s shoulder and eyed the list, pointing her finger at the screen. “That’s Gabe!”
“Gabe? You know Commander Reyes?” Sure enough, a picture of Blackwatch Commander Gabriel Reyes gazed back from beneath her finger.
“Uh, yeah?! That’s Reaper. ” Arcane leaned back in his chair, smirking before he spoke.
“So that’s where he ended up, is it?” He chuckled. 
“Yeah, but he hates Overwatch now. He’s trying to hunt down all ex-Overwatch operatives.” She explained. “But if you’re going to be working for Talon now, I’d say you get rid of any Talon members on this list. Fast.” Arcane was only vaguely listening. He heard her. He even fully understood her. But he was still miles away in his mind.
“Good to know I’ve got something in common with the Lord of the Dead, after all.”

Sombra stood up from her leaning position, raking her fingers through her hair again. “Anyway, I originally came here to let you know that the council wants everyone in the foyer in about an hour, some announcement that they need you all to be there for.” She finished.
“Originally, implying you have another reason now?” Arcane riposted. Sombra grinned back at him.
“Well, I realised we hadn’t been properly introduced yet. Figured I’d try and catch you when you got back, but you were unconscious.”
“So you just… Waited in my room while I was unconscious like a weirdo?” Now he was feeling a little creeped out. Sombra slammed it into reverse quickly to correct her mistakes.
“No, no! Gah, what do you take me for?” She seemed rather offended, understandably. Arcane reached for his mask again to reassure himself that it was secure. Knowing she’d just… been sitting here, while he was unconscious, easily capable of taking his mask off… He shook his head to rid himself of any doubts. 
“I’m pretty sure I just told you the answer to that?” He stood from the chair at his desk and leaned back against the wood casually. “You sure you’re the best information miner here? You don’t seem to pick up on a lot of what I say.” She tried to fight back but she had nothing to say, stunned into silence. “I’ll be at the meeting, you can go now.” he finished and gestured to the door. Sombra scowled before closing her fingers into a fist, vanishing from his room. He briefly nodded at the spot where she had just been before turning his attention back to his computer’s hitlist, deleting two names that really shouldn’t be on there anymore. Holding down the shift key, he clicked first on Reyes, then Akande Ogundimu. Now that he was working with them, they needed to be off the list. He double checked to make sure he’d already deleted Maximillien, too. He thought he remembered exterminating that contract, but the bot was still there. The picture of Max showed him living la vida loca in one of his casinos. Even if they were just fronts for Talon, it seemed he had a heart for the cards. Or maybe it was just the way he was programmed? He didn’t know, and he tried not to think too hard about it. Arcane had never been too caught up in all of this “Iris” business. He had enough demons up in his mind, shouting at him for the lives he’d ended. Pretending the omnics were just robots took away part of that burden.

He was distracted from his theories when he realised why Max was still on the list. He had been deleted, but Ol’ Smokey had put him back there. This time, there was an extra message, asking “Why is he still alive?” The swordsman simply shook his head with a hefty sigh. He reached for his keyboard and began to type a response.
“I’m with Talon, now. I’ll take any clients you give me as long as they aren’t Talon members from now on.” Arcane expected to have to wait for Ol’ Smokey’s response, but the typing notification popped up almost straight away. Arcane could imagine the fictional version of Ol’ Smokey’s physical appearance in his mind, an overweight business owner most likely. Probably a pervy type. Probably foaming at the mouth, now that one of the most talented assassins was telling him to shove it.
“If you’re no-longer a freelancer, it’s probably best you focus on your work at Talon. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Arcane.”
Or that. That came as quite a shock. Smokey was definitely prone to being pissed off at Arcane. He was still missing pay for a couple of jobs because of some indescribably petty reason. Oh well, it didn’t matter anymore. He deleted Maximillien for the second time before throwing his weight back into his chair, browsing the holonet out of boredom. He slipped into a trance, bored out of his mind for the next hour, so mind-numbed that he barely even noticed that an hour had passed.

The sound of Akande’s voice resonating through the chambers was enough to snap Arcane from his stupor, turning to face the intercom the giant was speaking from.
“Would all Talon members please report to the main junction foyer, an announcement is about to be made. Be there…” The end of the notice was signified with a small static noise that lasted less than a second, then the room fell quiet again. Arcane pushed himself upwards, using the arms on his chair for support as he clumsily clambered to his feet. Being tired threw his wits into discord, he couldn’t get from laying on his back to standing on his feet with a swift movement by kicking into the air, letting his feet tow him into position. What he could do was simply use physical support to get him where he needed to be. Now on his feet, he straightened his uniform and peeked his head through the door of his quarters, looking to his left, then to his right, to see plenty of other people slowly filling into the corridors, all headed the same way. Without a second thought, the swordsman merged with the crowd.

Finally the tsunami of soldiers took one of four entrances into the foyer Akande mentioned, Arcane pushing through to the front to get a better view. There he stood, Doomfist in all his glory. At his side were the four other members of the Talon council. Reaper, the undead super-soldier, Maximilien, the omnic millionaire and Arcane’s initial target, and an Indian-looking man who Arcane didn’t quite recognise, but his uniform was familiar. Finally, there was also Moira, who Arcane’s gaze lingered on for a moment. She caught him staring and waved daintily. Akande cleared his throat and began the announcement.
“First of all, I’d like to thank the team that went to the Vishkar attack. Because of you, any theories that Sanjay here is affiliated with us are now of questionable validity. Our cover will remain intact for a while because of you.” Cheers went up around the room. As Akande said this, he gestured to the Indian man, who Arcane inferred was Sanjay Korpal. Suddenly, he recognised the uniform, it was the same as the people in the Vishkar corporation that he’d just been cutting to ribbons. He must be their leader, or at least a higher-up. ‘ Guess that’s another name I should delete.’ He thought, remembering the name appearing on his hit list. Arcane was dragged from his thoughts once again as Akande continued. “Now, I’d like to hand things over to doctor Moira O’Deorain, as she has some very interesting revelations to go over…” The giant backed down from the centre-stage, making room for the lass.
“Thank you, Akande, I will take it from here.” She stood tall as she spoke. “Now, you all know how we in the science division are always looking for ways to enhance Talon’s performance on the battlefield. Our most successful instance of which would be the Widowmaker, our finest sniper.” She pointed to a spot in the crowd, everyone following her finger with their eyes. Arcane, for the first time since he landed a spot in the ranks here, saw Widowmaker, a woman confined to a skin-tight suit with dark-blue hair and zombie-like skin. Her expression was set in a concrete frown, the only sign that she was alive being a single blink of her eyes.
‘What did they do to her?’ If the chemicals in Moira’s laboratory made his stomach turn, it was doing somersaults now. Before he could even begin to imagine, Moira forged onwards with whatever the point she was making was. “However, due to recent developments, and the recruiting of our good friend Arcane over there…” This time heads turned to face Arcane, who threw his gaze down and waved his hand dismissively at them, pushing the attention away. Moira continued. “...we have managed to create some of the deadliest living weapons to ever walk the earth!” She said, pulling a remote out from under her coat and clicking the red button in the middle.

Everyone in the foyer watched, awestruck as a glass case rose from the centre of the stage, right beside Moira. A suit, a silver body with crimson fangs protruding from where the hands should be. The crowd began to cheer wildly, silencing after a moment in anticipation to learn more. It occurred to Arcane that he had no idea how long he was unconscious for.
“The ‘Bladed Assassin Units!’” Moira glanced over in Arcane’s direction, an ice-cold glare sent right back at her before he turned around and pushed his way through the crowd. He shoved past the soldiers between him and his room until a hand came down hard on the back of his head and a thick, French accent scolded him.
“Watch where you’re going!” Arcane turned his head for a brief moment to see who it was, coming face to face with Widowmaker. For the briefest moment, he froze, but the thaw was quick. He’d lost all will to argue any further, turning his head back the way he was facing and continuing towards his personal quarters without a word to her.

Once more, Sombra’s room was dimly lit with her computer’s violet themes. The door slid shut behind her with a thump so the only illumination was the purple screens bathing her. Her reflection on the screen smiled back at her. Her gloves began to glow with the same venomous light as the computer, the screen changing to a familiar desktop. Not hers, but Arcane’s. She began her search instantly, poking her nose into every nook and cranny of his files. Anything that would expose his identity. She even checked the hit list again, searching the internet to find any common threads between all the targets. Any single person might they all have wronged. She was still kicking herself for not getting the mask off when she was with him before, so this was her next best shot. Then a particular file caught her eye. A word document titled “Message for Sombra.txt”

“So, Sombra. Now that I know you’ve been in my room, you’ve worked your tech on my computer and now you’ve got a file from your computer on it, I think it’s safe to say you’ve got a back door on me now? Oh well. Do whatever. Goodluck, you’re gonna need it. I’ll be genuinely impressed if you can even find my name.

Have fun with your search, Sombra. It’s probably not often you get a run for your money.

Arcane”

In response, all Sombra did was crack her knuckles and hunch even further over her keyboard.

Chapter Text

A figure sporting a blue jacket was outlined against the moon-lit sky in Dorado. A red bar of light stretching across his face where his eyes should be, glowing like a vicious river of lava. A heavy-looking firearm rested smoking between his hand and his shoulder, dormant since about ten minutes ago, and a large ‘76’ was pasted on his back. Jack Morrison watched from behind his visor as Alejandra shut the door behind her, lugging the bags of flour into her house. He crouched down to the roof tiles to hide from any peering eyes, but a voice from behind him told that he’d already been spotted.
“Well, if it isn’t the infamous Soldier: 76.” Jack startled, turned and poised to fire before he saw who was speaking. An old friend, Ana Amari, gazed back from beneath her hood.
“Heh, and what should I call you?” He chuckled back, reaching up to his visor and removing it to address her. “Bastet? Shrike? Horus? You never could pick just one alias, could you?” Ana pulled her hood off of her head and grinned back at her old ally.
“Just Ana will do for now.” Her smile filled Jack with warmth and memories of days of black and white, days much simpler and easier to justify than roaming the world as a vigilante. Although times now were different, and both Jack and Ana had changed with them, she was still standing before him as one of the closest friends he ever made. “It’s good to see you again, Jack.” For a woman of her years, the speed at which she approached Jack with her arms out-stretched took him by surprise, knocking into him with a hug that sent both their weapons sprawling to the rooftop.
“It’s good to see you too, Ana… Or, since the recall, perhaps you’re Captain Amari again?” Ana pulled away for a moment, still smiling up at him.
“Oh, no. I can’t say I’ve had the courage to answer Winston’s recall message just yet.”
“Are you going to?” Jack questioned. The happiness faded from her face, slightly, her teeth gritted.
“That’s kind of why I tracked you down.” She bent over to pick up her rifle again, putting the strap over her shoulder and standing up straight. “Come and have a drink with me, we’ll talk about this properly.”

After a wardrobe visit, Jack and Ana sat in a well-lit bar. To anyone passing by, they just looked like a pair of tourists enjoying the night ambiance of Mexico. Jack swirled his drink, a dark whiskey, almost too anxious to take a sip. His fingers drummed on the counter.
“Stop worrying so much, nobody is going to know you’re 76 if you’re not wearing your jacket.” Ana hissed, taking a swig of her own whiskey.
“I’m more worried about being recognised as Jack Morrison.” He fired back. “You know, the Overwatch Strike Commander who was believed to be dead?” His eyes darted around the bar, watching over his shoulder to see if he could identify any eavesdroppers or bounty hunters. “Why couldn’t we have spoken about this back on the rooftop? Why’d you bring me to this place?” He finally managed to keep his eyes still enough to focus on her for a moment, his eyes locked onto her solemn expression before falling to watch her finger trace the rim of her glass.
“I missed days like this, that's all. Nights where the agency would just go for drinks together.” Her finger continued to circle, creating a portal to the past as she thought back. Reinhardt challenging the other agents to an arm wrestle and letting out a guffaw each time he won; Gérard showing off his gorgeous wife and talking his head off to just about anyone who would listen; Cole spouting pick-up lines to women he met that night and striking out in spectacular fashion; Angela and Moira’s ethic debates taking on a drunken rambling state once the two had been drinking. Nights where the Overwatch Agency would just completely take over an entire bar, and for a few hours everyone would forget they were soldiers. Jack’s voice broke the illusion, and all the agents around her faded until only the only one still sitting with her was him.

“So the recall,” He started, raising his glass again. “You wanted to talk to me about it.”
“Cole and I met recently to discuss it.” She admitted. “Sure enough, just like you and me, he was apprehensive. Rumours say that Echo showed up in Paris when Null: Sector attacked recently, Cassidy says he’s the one who convinced her to go. But he’s still unsure himself if he’s the right fit for a reformed Overwatch. He went in the end, but he tried to take me with him.”
“And why didn’t you go?” Jack questioned, finishing his drink and pushing the glass forward. “You have a Hell of a lot more faith in a reformed Overwatch than I do.”
“That’s true-” She nodded. “But I can’t imagine being a part of it. At least not on my own.” Finally, her eye left what remained of her own drink, looking over at the grizzled ex-commander sitting beside her. Even though he half expected someone to reach out to him when the recall initiated, he was still taken aback when it finally happened. Ana was the last person he would have expected to have this conversation with. He just shook his head at her, solemn and pessimistic.
“You want me to go back with you? What good will that do?” He muttered. Ana took another sip from her glass and placed it inside of Jack’s. Her bar stool swivelled so she was facing him properly, and although she only had one eye left, it showcased the determination of a thousand.
“Do you know how many soldiers answered Winston's Recall? Not agents, I mean standard soldiers. The troopers who made up the bulk of Overwatch’s numbers. Take a guess how many went back to Gibraltar when Winston sent out his message.”
“I don’t know… Fifty?”
“None, Jack. Not a single soldier. Sure, the agents who showed up are powerful on their own, but when you compare the ragtag group to the armies behind Talon and Null: Sector? They aren’t going to stand a chance. However, if you sent out a second recall-”
“I’m not doing that, Ana. The world has made it pretty clear they don’t want me to protect them. Hell, some of the things I heard those soldiers say about me after the explosion, I can’t imagine they still hold me in high regard. Besides, Winston is a much stronger figure to call Overwatch soldiers back to action. I mean come on, the big guy took on Doomfist! If having a positive record against one of the deadliest people in the world isn’t enough of a reason for the rest of Overwatch to come back, what chance do I have of helping?” Jack’s fists clenched until the knuckles turned white, but Ana’s soft smile returned again. She placed a hand gently on top of his, protective, and familiar.
“Winston could Primal Punch Doomfist on 50 separate occasions, but the fact of the matter is that Strike Commander Morrison rising from the dead in the world’s darkest hour would be a bigger inspiration than you give yourself credit for.”

Silence swept over both of them, the duo sitting quietly as their opinions clashed.
“What about you, then? Why do you need me? You’d probably be just as much of an inspiration as you claim I would be. Still nervous about reuniting with Fareeha, I take it?” He took one of his hands out from underneath hers and placed it on top of the pile, like a game of hand Jenga. “Or perhaps Reinhardt? When we all thought you were dead, it definitely hit him the hardest. I could kinda tell there was something between you two, although I never wanted to pry about it.”
“We didn’t exactly hide it well, did we?” Ana admitted. 
“I remember during Overwatch’s 15th anniversary party, everyone else was inside, mingling. Then… I think it was Reyes who came and called me over to the window.” He struggled not to choke on the name. “I saw you and him slow dancing. We just watched the two of you for a bit. Never told anyone, either.” As he recounted the story, he watched Ana’s eye begin to sparkle as she relived the memory. Or maybe it was shimmering with a tear? “Is that part of why you want me to go with you, Ana? To support you while you make amends with them?” She wiped the tear away before it could begin streaking down her face.
“That’s part of it, yes. I am worried that history will repeat itself if I decide to step up and return to the Overwatch Agency, but I feel like there are enough reasons for it to be worth it overall. When you combine it with, well… What you just said, it just seems so much scarier…”
“God… I can’t tell you how many times I’ve felt that fear. Whenever the thought of reaching out to Vincent again comes across my mind, I just… Urgh…”
“Just so you know, if you asked me to come with you to talk to Vincent, I would be there for you in a heartbeat…” Again, silence captured the two of them as the soldier pondered his comrade’s proposal. There was merit to the things Ana was saying, but he had his own fears to take care of, his own worries of what would happen if Jack Morrison was to rise from the dead. Then the atmosphere of the bar kicked in again, and just like all those nights off duty years ago, when the Overwatch agents would do nothing but talk and drink, he forgot he was a soldier for a moment. He looked at Ana again, properly this time. She wasn’t a soldier right now, either. She was a person. He was a person. They were both just two friends, catching up over a drink.
“I’ll… I need to think about it, I think.” Finally, he conceded. Ana nodded and turned to face away from the bar, leaning against the smooth wood. Her head tilted towards the ceiling.

“So…” Ana started again. “Have you heard about the new kid?” She didn’t look at Jack this time, locking her vision on the ceiling, or maybe the distant stars outside the bar. Jack turned to face her once more.
“New kid?” He asked. Ana just shrugged.
“Cole told me there’s this swordsman who’s been shaking things up.” She absentmindedly picked her empty glass up again, the last few droplets circling the bottom. “First he was seen assassinating the Queen of Junker Town as a freelancer, then he showed up at Vishkar with a new look and a Talon emblem on his shoulder a few weeks later.” It had been a while since Talon hired anyone significant. Last Jack heard, some insane doctor who researched gravity had joined their ranks, although rumours stated he was no longer a threat to anyone.
“Any idea who he is?” He lifted the empty glass out of Ana’s hand when he saw the bartender approaching, sliding it back into the other glass and handing them to the man behind the counter.
“Not a clue. Whoever he is, he knows how to cover his tracks. Junkertown was the first time he was brought into the spotlight, although it’s very likely he’s been operating as an assassin for about 3 or 4 years.” She spoke incredibly casually. Jack took a double take at the bartender, who had luckily already walked away before Ana began any mention of assassinations.
“How could you possibly know that? And also, keep your voice down. We’re still in public.” He hissed. Ana only chuckled back.
“There have been multiple influential people who have turned up dead with no clear suspect or motive. The only thing that authorities have to go off of was the killer used a bladed weapon on all of them. But he was never caught. Never seen. A ghost. He likely underestimated Junkertown’s connection to the outside world. Assumed they had no cameras, gave him the confidence to cause a racket. Cole said that he razed the vast majority of the Junkertown population to the ground, according to the footage.” Jack stopped looking at the leaning figure on the stool next to him, hunching forward and resting his chin in his hands. The sound of Arcane intrigued him, to say the least. His brows furrowed at the thought of meeting or fighting such a powerful foe, or seeing him in action. A sly smile escaped Ana’s lips as she glanced fleetingly over at him once more. It was working. With expert sleight-of-hand, she slipped her phone from her pocket and typed out a message.

Back on Watchpoint, Cole and Angela were present in Winston’s lab. Winston was doing some more thorough research into if Arcane had any history they could track. Angela and Cole weren’t the best helpers for this kind of task, but he just wanted the company. Cole was slumped into a corner, a trail of cigar smoke billowing from his lips. His phone buzzed. He drew it quickly and read the text out loud.
“No promises, but I’d say the chances of you seeing us again are decent. I’ll let you know if anything changes.” Angela and Winston turned away from the computer.
“What was that?” Winston asked. Cole shoved himself off the wall and crossed the room, showing his phone to his friends.
“It’s a message from Ana. Remember how I went to see her recently? How she’s basically the one who convinced me to come here in the first place? I asked if she’d be coming too, but she told me she was gonna contact “Soldier: 76” to see if he’d be answering the recall.” Once again, Ana’s advice to step up and become one of the new leaders of Overwatch failed to leave his lips.
“So… Jack and Ana might come back to us?” Angela asked, clasping her hands together. Before either Cassidy or Winston could say a word, all three noticed a new presence in the doorway.
“Y-you said my mother’s name?” Fareeha stammered in her stupor. “What business does she have here?” Her eyebrows arched as her surprise turned to mild anger. Angela tried to steer the conversation away, but was met with a silencing glare. It was safe to say she still held an element of resentment for Ana. 
“Fareeha, how would you react if your mother came to Gibraltar to fight for us?” Winston spoke slowly, choosing each word carefully before letting it out into the open.
“I cannot say I would be over the moon…” Was all she said in her irritated tone, turning away from the group and taking her leave with a stomp in her gait.
“Fareeha, wait!” Angela called out, giving chase.

The door to Fareeha’s room flew open, whacking against the wall behind it as she stormed in. Her hand clenched into a fist and she struck it against the wall, mildly indenting the metal, but only a little. Angela winced at the sound of the metal buckling as she trailed in behind her. She wanted to speak, but the words escaped her each time she tried to voice her thoughts. All she could do was gaze at Fareeha with discontent as the soaring hero before her collapsed onto her bed. Fareeha’s head lolled forward into her hands. The doctor in Angela couldn’t help but notice the knuckles on one of her hands had already bruised, darkening quickly. At last, the angel glided across the room and sat at Fareeha’s side, her voice seizing power.
“Fareeha, remember when you told me that you’d give anything to see Ana again? Even if it were only for an hour?” she asked.  Fareeha, without removing her head from her supportive hands, spoke back.
“Yes, I remember.” She did, she thought back to that day. It had been about a week since Fareeha had gotten the news that her mother was dead. It had broken her poor, tiny heart. She had cried many rivers within that first week, each and every one of them dedicated to the woman she thought she’d never see again. Fareeha could feel her upper lip quiver. “I remember…” Angella gently rubbed up and down Fareeha’s back, something that always used to calm her down when Ana had her watch over Fareeha as a child.
“Well, doesn’t that still hold up? You have much longer than a single hour, possibly your entire life! And you didn’t even have to give anything up! Isn’t that wonderful, when you think of it like that?” Angela’s aura was warm as ever, and for the briefest moment Fareeha’s glass was half full the way Angela was preaching it to be. But she just couldn’t let it go.
“I think, if anything, that’s my main problem. I was willing to walk through any pain if it meant I could bring her back, and then I don’t have to. Because despite the things I was willing to do to see her again, she… she just hid from me. I know she had her reasons, but…” She shook her head, feeling her eyes sting with tears. Angela pulled her closer to her, letting Fareeha nestle against her chest. Tender and sweet, she brushed her thumb along the Eye of Horus tattoo, brushing a tear away. She could feel her own tears forming, fighting to stay strong for Fareeha.
“You’ll figure this out between you two, I’m sure. She’s a good woman, she’ll come back for us, and you two can cross that bridge together.”
“We don’t even know if she will come back to us, Angela.” Fareeha complained, taking her gaze off the floor and making eye contact with Angela. She was met with a couple of clear skies gazing right back at her, sunny and warm. “What makes you so sure she’ll heed Winston’s recall message?” Fareeha spoke softly, her voice cracking before Angela hugged her to her chest again.
“Truthfully, I’m not sure.” She answered. “Cole’s explanation seemed uncertain. But I choose to put my faith in her. A storm is on its way again, Fareeha. We need to have hope if we’re to make it through to the other side.”

Chapter Text

“Okay everyone, landing is in five minutes. We’re going to go over the game plan one more time, so gather round.” Reaper stood tall in the back of a Talon drop ship, looming over a table with a 3D model mapping the layout of King’s Row. Little Big Ben loomed over the rest of the city, a door at the bottom opened with a figure of a metal cylinder parked inside the compartment. Moira, Widowmaker and Arcane joined him at the map, with troopers a little further away and peering anxiously in at the inner circle. “Widowmaker, once we’ve taken the EMP past the archway, British soldiers are going to flood the streets. You provide callouts and sniper support from a distance, standing on this ledge-” He pointed a clawed finger to a sheet of metal sticking out the side of one of the buildings, a window washing platform Talon had orchestrated. “Arcane, you stay with her and protect her from any flankers. Moira, you’re with me. We’re with the ground team. Once we’ve cleared up, it should be a straight shot to the power plant.” He dragged the claw along the path of the payload, following the streets and into the power station. “Any questions?” Reaper asked, expecting nobody to raise their hand. Arcane, of course, didn’t hesitate to.
“Why are you clipping my wings?” He desperately protested. His finger jammed to the form of soldiers in the hologram. “I should be on the ground team with you guys. You’re actively handicapping yourself by having me on protection duty. As Reaper went to answer, Moira cut him off and explained herself.
“We have two of the Assassin Unit prototypes on site, and we want to test their capabilities.” She answered calmly, pointing to the Assassin units’ counterparts within the hologram. “We will not be able to do that with you overshadowing them the whole time.” Just the sheer mention of the Assassin Units made Arcane shudder. All he could do was exasperatedly shake his head. He was going to sigh as well, but Moira had already stopped looking at him, leaving him to concede.
“Urgh, fine.” He said, turning from the table and retreating to sit with the soldiers on the bench. 

“Please, I can handle myself! I can cover my own flanks without a babysitter. I’ve got my Venom Mines, don’t I?” Now it was Widowmaker’s turn to complain. She clicked the Widow’s Kiss into full-auto mode. “Not to mention, you made this thing for when that little teacup appears.” Arcane could feel the venom that dripped from the word “Teacup.” Widowmaker turned first to Moira, who nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders and continued to glare at the King’s Row model. In desperation, she turned to Reaper, who gave her the answer she wasn’t wishing for.
“It’s just a precaution, sometimes you can’t rely on yourself and yourself alone.” He said, softly. “You know how many times you’ve been jumped on from behind, you’ve had to just grapple into hiding. With any luck, Arcane should be able to protect you from that.” Widow’s mind flashed back to all the times she’d been taking people’s heads off from a distance, only to have the shrill cheer of Tracer appear in her ear.
“Urgh, if you insist.” She sighed. Defeated, she plopped down onto the bench next to Arcane. The ship shuddered and lurched as it came for a landing on the roof of King’s Row Cathedral, opposite Big Ben.
“Oh, and one more thing-” Reaper called out, bringing everyone’s attention suddenly to him. Even Moira looked ever so slightly caught off guard.
“I’m sure most of you are already aware, however I know we have some new faces in the crowd tonight. We are expecting the full might of the British military. If they’re wearing green, shoot to kill. However, as of last month, Overwatch has initiated a recall for their agents to return to action. Their actions are still illegal, but that never stopped them in the past. Given the fact they showed up to fight us in Egypt, odds are we’re going to be seeing them tonight. If it were up to me, I’d advise you to engage them with lethal force just like any other soldier. However, Doomfist has stated he does not want any ex Overwatch agents dying. If we get unlucky and they show up, shoot to neutralise. Am I understood?” A chorus of understanding rose up throughout the dropship’s bay. Arcane, however, remained silent in comparison. ‘ So they can make time for this, huh… ’

“Moira, heal the Assassins!” Reaper called out, watching as a golden orb of molten substance erupted from Moira’s palm and slowly floated towards the fanged warriors, latching onto any soldiers it passed before finally reaching them and patching them up in a matter of seconds. The high-functioning psychopath turned away from them before bringing up another duo of shotguns from his robes and blasting the shotgun shells into the military ranks before Talon. Crack! A red beam streamed through the air, a soldier dropping dead at one end of it and a sniper perched at the other. Crack! Another shot from the Widow’s Kiss blasted out, ripping through the skull of another military trooper and rendering him dead. Arcane’s eyes scanned across the scene in front of him as he crouched at her side, smiling at her impeccable aim. She was working overtime, firing bullet after bullet and taking off heads with such mechanical precision that it seemed like clockwork.
“Nice shot.” He said, not really looking for a response. Almost as if Reaper could sense Arcane’s boredom, his voice crackled to life on the ear piece.
“Arcane, Widow’s too busy to handle shot-calling. Think you can tell us what’s coming?” He yelled over the gunfire. Arcane was thrilled and he responded quickly.
“Got you covered, don’t worry.” He continued to watch the fight, looking for a weakness, a chink in the armour that they could exploit.
There. The enemy formation was a set of tightly packed, immovable lines of soldiers. With the right crowd control to bunch them up even more, they could be a perfect target for Reaper’s Death Blossom attack. His focus shifted from them to Moira, firing off more healing liquid from the backlines. “Hey, Moira, can you do your massive beam?” He asked, pressing a finger to his earpiece to activate it. A few seconds later, her voice came back.
“Coalescence is ready, why do you ask?” There was a hint of confusion to her voice. Arcane chuckled down his microphone before launching into an explanation of his plan.
“Use your beam to bunch them into that corner to the right of the pub’s doorway. Reaper, you teleport up to the ledge behind them and wait for my command. Widow, you pick off any stragglers if you see them.”

Immediately, Moira went to work on the plan. She phased out of existence and reappeared on the front lines at Reaper’s side. As she took form again, her palms stretched out in front of her projecting an enormous beam of gold and indigo helixes that danced around each other while stretching through the crowd, healing any Talon soldiers it connected to all while scaring the enemy into position and pinning them down in the compromised spot. Widow’s rifle began working over time to pick up the slack, taking heads off like berries from a bush. “Reaper, into position.” Arcane commanded, watching as the black cloud of vapour flowed and reformed, the robed figure standing tall above the grouped-up soldiers as he prepared for the incoming massacre. “Now let the lead fly!” Arcane yelled at the top of his lungs. And with that, Reaper let loose a throat-ripping battle cry that would cause any sane person to freeze up in fear.
“Die, die, die! ” He descended on the British military, spinning trigger happy and drenching the enemy forces in shotgun shells. One after another, they dropped to the stone floor with their flesh and armour ripped to shreds by the inhuman attack. The wraith cheered triumphantly, his empty weapons flying to the floor.

With the path clear, the payload slowly trundled further through the streets of King’s Row. Some soldiers had their weapons holstered and were pushing from behind or the side, others patrolling at their flanks with their muzzle flash lighting the streets as they shot round after round at the fleeing military force. Moira was doing check-ups, chucking out handfuls of golden liquid in case somebody was injured. Arcane couldn’t help but notice that despite her cruel nature, she was a very good battle-medic. However, even she couldn’t protect them from what came next; An equally terrifying bellow from a man with the thunderous voice of a titan.
“Hammer-” 

Thud. 

“-Down!” 

Reinhardt slammed his rocket-powered weapon into the road, shaking the ground beneath their feet. As the man-made earthquake ensued, Talon soldiers fought hard to stay on their feet. The road trembled beneath their feet, the aim of their assault rifles being thrown completely off. After a futile attempt, they succumbed to the Earth Shatter and watched in horror as more Overwatch agents dove in on them. Brigitte, Mercy and Torbjörn were on the scene, marching forward. Torbjörn tossed a device in front of him, which landed and transformed into a turret that continued to fire shells into the dishevelled terrorist army. Mercy had her staff latched onto Brigitte, activating a blue beam that sent energy coursing through the shield maiden. Her flail crashed against the Talon soldiers, battering them into submission as she fought at Reinhardt’s side.

Widowmaker continued firing at the enemies, but the barriers were protecting them all from her, the bullets thudding harmlessly into the Hardlight shields. Another roar of rocket-engines was the only warning Widowmaker got before D.Va’s M.E.K.A. appeared, seemingly from nowhere, using her thrusters to fly up to the sniper’s vantage point. Widowmaker clicked the rifle into full auto mode and aimed her wrist upwards to another spot, launching herself as far from her assailant as possible. D.Va huffed, turning her M.E.K.A. on the spot and facing the swordsman who brandished his blade and dragged the halves from each other. He began his onslaught without giving it a second thought, the blades cleaving through the air with a deathly whistle. Though sharp as they were, the armour plating on the war robot held strong and firm, keeping the swords away from anything vital. Arcane scowled at the denial, bringing the left blade in a high arc over his head before digging the point deep into the clear, green glass at the front. Quickly, D.Va recoiled from her pilot controls, jumping away from the intruding blade as it tore upwards and outwards. As the blade left, she regained her position on the joysticks and retaliated, manoeuvring them in some powerful punches. Arcane weaved between the cannons as they thrusted towards him, strafing one way and flipping the other. Finally, she anticipated his landing spot, sending a shotgun blast of plasma and reading him perfectly. The shells thumped into his armour, knocking him back slightly. He felt himself slam into the railing on the window washing platform, crying out as his back almost folded around the barrier. He tried to convert his momentum into some kind of somersault, but D.Va’s M.E.K.A. had already charged forward and bashed him again. Mid fall, he brought the blades back into a two-handed sword, pointing the business end of the weapon at the ledge he’d once been on and clasping his eyes shut. 

Once more, time froze for him, Arcane’s senses blocking out all other inputs and focusing on the darkness being channelled. From his chest, through his arms, warmth passing under his skin and trapping under his armour. The heat pooled there. He could hear the sweat in his underclothes hiss as it began to evaporate. Dark, arcane matter that was neither solid or liquid, gas or plasma, spilt from his palms and coated around the hilt of his weapon. As it encircled the base of the blade, Arcane’s eyes slipped open and for a moment time still seemed slow for him, a moment brief, but long enough for him to gaze into the eyes of Hana Song as she watched the power coalesce before firing off from the tip of his blade. His fall was turned into a spiral as his momentum was shifted by the recoil. D.Va smiled arrogantly and pulled back on her controls, the M.E.K.A. outputting a large, green, cone-shaped projection. As the beam of darkness entered its range, small projectiles fired out from the M.E.K.A. and blasted the approaching threat in an attempt to extinguish it, but it continued to streak towards her, striking home and reducing the mech to a smouldering wreck. Warnings flared up inches from D.Va’s face before sending her flying free from the crumbling robot in a couple of seconds, landing on the street below with a crouch before joining the ground team.

“D.Va, you’re bleeding!” Reinhardt bellowed over the cracking of the assault rifles. D.Va glanced down at her waist and noticed a small tear in her clothes. Whatever had caused it had also grazed the skin beneath, shredding the very thin layer of skin on the surface of her hip. She looked up at the last second to spot a repositioned Widowmaker, shaking her head before placing one eye behind the red-lensed scope and locking the other end on D.Va’s head.
“D.Va! Behind me!” Brigitte called out, leaping over the body of a Talon soldier and placing her shield between D.Va’s head and Widow’s rifle with a resounding clank. The round thudded harmlessly into the barrier, Reinhardt swinging his hammer in her direction in the same instant to send a Fire Strike straight at the sniper. Her grapple whisked out, whipping around, but grabbed onto no more than she bargained for. With a last burst of adrenaline, she threw her weight into the nearest cover and dropped her weapon, reaching for her leg. Her suit had been burned away on her calf, leaving a scorching wound that hissed horribly. Widowmaker gritted her teeth, hissing back.

The Assassin Units were back in the fight, sprinting towards Reinhardt’s large barrier and leaping onto the walls either side of the Overwatch team with blinding speed. The first descended on Reinhardt, phasing through the barrier and clinging to his chest. Torbjörn’s turret rotated its head and fired at the clinging creature. Torbjörn himself had turned his gun on the attacker and sprayed molten metal while Mercy attached her staff’s beam to the giant knight, no longer an electric blue but now a hopeful golden light that kept Reinhardt mostly unharmed until the assassin finally let go. The second assassin dropped down too, aiming to decapitate Brigitte with its massive fangs, only for Reinhardt to bring his hammer up and swing carelessly into the thing. As the assassin flew backwards, breaking its back against a wall, Reinhardt sent a second Fire Strike to follow his enemy, incinerating whatever remained. The beam from Mercy’s staff turned blue once more, power coursing through every cell of his being as he brought his hammer into the air for another Earth Shatter to bring the house down.
“For the Crusaders!” He roared, the engines within his hammer activating as the weapon swung towards the ground. Then, in a flash of blue, he was there. Arcane, his sword still in a two-handed stance, holding a static block between the road and the hammer. Reinhardt gasped, astounded. The rocket hammer’s engines thundered within Arcane’s ears, the power bestowed upon the Crusader by his guardian angel. Arcane staggered beneath the parry, his knee buckling. But the block remained, his blade an invincible barrier between him and the bludgeon that would surely end his life if he let it blow through his guard. His stance tightened, bringing himself off of his knees and back to his feet. With a grunt of effort, he extended and pushed the hammer up, launching a counter attack as Reinhardt’s guard was broken. His blade glanced off of the knight’s armour, leaving a scratch across the metal. As Reinhardt tried to attack again, Arcane retreated, bounding backwards and out of reach.

“Moira, I need healing!” Widowmaker called into her ear-piece, awaiting a response. Moira glanced around. Any other battle-medics on the scene were preoccupied; It was up to her. She brought her hands together, feeling the biotic fluid pooling in her palms. Warmth that directly contrasted Moira herself formed into another golden orb. As Moira prepared to throw it to the sniper, a familiar shield maiden took notice.
“Not on my watch!” Brigitte called as she aimed her flail straight and true, launching its head out and lashing it against Moira’s hand like a whip. The healing orb vanished from her hand and she clutched with her other, recoiling in pain. Her agonised scream was one of the few sounds to echo over the entire battle.
“Reyes, I think my arm is fractured!” she managed to say, avoiding letting panic seep into her voice. “I will not be much use without my healing, and the soldiers ne-” Before she could even finish, the wraith had already assessed the situation. The Assassin units were gone, half of the battle medics had already been slain, and the vast majority of the remaining troopers and enforcers were a gust of wind away from dying. Reaper took Moira’s arm over his shoulder, escorting her back the way they came.
“Fall back! We’re retreating!” He ordered. Just like that, the  soldiers around him turned tail and fled alongside him. Arcane groaned in protest.
“What? She can’t just heal herself?” He looked around and spotted Widowmaker, still slumped down and struggling with her injury. He leaped over to try and assist her.
“Her grasp is for wounds on the surface, something like a broken bone is harder for her to deal with.” Widow responded, shooing away his attempts at helping her to her feet. “And get off me! I have my grapple.” She protested, aiming true this time and reeling herself to the rest of the Talon force. Although once she was airborne, her injury reared its ugly head again as she struggled to right herself mid somersault and began falling face first to the ground. Arcane rolled his eyes and dashed through the streets, just barely sweeping her out of the descent with one arm and wielding his blade with the other, slicing a third Fire Strike as it approached them. The payload was left there, abandoned, surrounded by Overwatch who quickly moved to disable any possible detonation. As the ticking time bomb finally powered down, its deactivated hover thrusters powering down and letting the creation crash to the ground, each of the agents let out an audible sigh of relief. Torbjörn slumped back against the dormant EMP device and let his eyes drift shut.
“It’s sure been a while…” He sighed. Reinhardt already towered over Torbjörn, even more so when the tiny Swede was sat down. He clapped an armoured hand on the engineer’s shoulder and chuckled.
“All the more reason to get back into the swing of things, old friend.” 

The few British soldiers that remained from the battle stared at the agents, bewildered. The strike team glanced around themselves, both at the soldiers, and at the general public that had slowly begun to return from their shelters after the gunfire died down.
“Look, dad! It’s Overwatch!” A little boy darted out of the crowd that had slowly begun to form, gazing wide-eyed at the heroes before him. “I told you, there were reports of them showing up to fight Null: Sector off in Paris! Then they were in Cairo, battling Talon! They’re coming back for us! I knew they would!” The agents watched as a dishevelled man, likely the child’s dad, sprinted from the crowd and scooped the boy up, carrying him off with a look of mild embarrassment. Meanwhile, one of the soldiers picked himself up from the ground and readied his assault rifle at his saviours.
“Reinhardt Wilhelm, Angela Ziegler, Torbjörn Lindholm, Brigitte Lindholm and Hana Song, you are all under arrest for violation of the Petras Act!” The clanking of armour sounded out, drawing all eyes on the scene to one man. Reinhardt, hammer left on the ground where he had stood before, walked up to the soldier and removed his helmet, placing one hand over his heart.
“With all due respect, we as Overwatch agents took an oath to protect the innocent and secure the peace. That is all we did today, nothing more and nothing less. If you believe that we deserve to be prosecuted for the actions me and my comrades have taken since we first showed up in Paris, then you can go right ahead and arrest me, right here and now.” He removed his gauntlets, letting them drop to the ground and exposing his bare wrists to the soldier in a gesture of surrender. Angela appeared at his side, making the same gesture.
“And me, too.” Torbjörn, Brigitte and Hana followed, all presenting themselves before the soldier who had begun to slightly tremble. Each of them bowed their heads, motionless before him. Unnerved. Unshaken. Unwavering. And even he couldn’t deny that they had all just saved his life. He eyed the crowd that had gathered around the scene. All eyes were on him, and they all told him the same thing. Defeated, he lowered his rifle, meeting Reinhardt’s eyes before removing his own helmet and bowing in an attempt to apologise. Reinhardt smiled down at the soldier. His enormous hand reached out and took the soldier’s hand, a mixture of gentleness and slight assertiveness, and the knight in shining armour spoke softly.
“You have made the right choice.” The gentle giant reached down for his gauntlets again and refastened them, only turning around to the roar of jet engines as a drop ship hovered overhead. Crowds of people scuttled out from underneath where it looked like it was planning on landing, making way for the grand entrance as the pristine ship settled on the cobbled road. 

Tracer waved from the cockpit and the doors hissed as they unlocked. The present agents gave one final look to the crowd around them, a core memory of which they had long forgotten resurfacing as they were reminded of the more selfish reason they all loved to play the hero. Seeing the people they saved was the true reward. Seeing those inspired gazes of hope and awe, wide-eyed at each of them with a childlike innocence that made the hearts of the agents swell with pride. Three victories over those who fought to destroy the peace, since they had been recalled. As much as the public may have cast them aside before, the agents present at King’s Row knew for a fact that they were still needed. They knew deep down that the public’s faith in them would return, bit by bit. Angela couldn’t help but doubt their strategy, considering jumping into battles they weren’t invited to fight was the exact reason the agency’s authority was thrown into question before. But the message they sent in doing this remained the same:
At their core, each and every Overwatch agent was a guardian of the world they called home. When conflict and terror was on the cards, every second they waited before jumping into action was a second innocent people’s lives were put at risk. To stand by and let that timer continue to tick would be going against every value they stood for as soldiers of Overwatch.

Back in the living quarters at the stronghold, a metallic ringing sounded out. Over and over again, the sound came, agitated grunts accompanying each of them. Arcane planted his fist into the wall at his side, feeling the metal dent slightly at his impact. He pulled his hand free of the strike and cracked his knuckles against the palm of his other hand. “Damn Overwatch… You can’t just choose your battles like that!” He scowled viciously as he struck the wall again with his other hand, creating two small bumps side by side in the walls of his quarters. Footsteps sidled up to Arcane’s room before the door swung open.
“Arca-”
“ What?!?! ” He shouted at the source of the voice. In the doorway stood Doomfist, folding his arms and frowning. Arcane quickly felt himself shrivel up, all defiance gone in an instant.
“I came to tell you that your next assassin training session is tomorrow morning.” His superior stated. “Don’t miss it. The assassins need your help to reach their full potential.” He turned to the commander accompanying him and pointed at the swordsman. “Discipline him, won’t you? I’d do it myself, but I fear I’d go too far and finish him.” He growled before leaving them. The soldier walked up to Arcane and pulled an assault rifle free from its holster, ramming the butt of the thing into Arcane’s head and knocking him woozy. He brought his hand up to his face, his fingers gently brushing over the smoothness of his mask. It wasn’t so smooth anymore. He could feel it, just above his right eye. It wasn’t too big of a crack, he made the mask to be pretty sturdy after all. But a crack was a crack, and those only got bigger. As he looked up to protest, the commander had already left. Arcane checked the lock on his door before approaching his desk, opening each of the drawers in hopes of finding a spare. No dice. ‘ I’ll have to try and get it fixed at some point. ’ He stood in silence for an entire hour. He just stood there, thinking, pondering, stagnating. His mind raced at high speeds, rushing over the memory of the fight he’d just lost one failure at a time. He shook himself, like it’d free him of the cursed memory. Of course, it didn’t work. However, he knew what would . He moved from his stationary stillness and walked to his armour stand, pulling the blue metal over him again and reaching for the sword suspended by two pieces of wood nailed into the wall, two notches in the planks stabilising the thing. ‘ Where did they say the training range was again? ’

Arcane’s footsteps clacked against the glossy floors as he found his way through the base to the training range. A gun was firing every few seconds, and it became louder the closer he got to his destination. Swinging the doors open, he spotted Widowmaker standing at the end of a firing range, blasting targets to smithereens, sending bullets through their heads with impeccable accuracy.
“Nice shot.” Arcane said, just loud enough for her to hear.
“Eh?” She turned to acknowledge him, glancing in his direction before returning to her training. She fired at a dummy that had just appeared, the bullet barely missing them. “Urgh, I swear you’re a curse.” She spat at him before trying again, this time taking the head of the dummy clean off. Arcane paid little attention to her verbal riposte, instead walking up to the melee combat unit that nobody beside Doomfist had any use for until Arcane had showed up. He quickly read over the note taped above the keypad.
“First digit is number of targets, second digit is target aggression, last two digits are the time limit in seconds. Doomfist normally uses 9, 8, 20. Give it a try.” Beneath the words was a pixelated skull, the very same icon that had appeared on his computer when Sombra had tampered with it. He was surprised that she had left this note for him, since he imagined the two didn’t get off on the strongest start together, but this mildly thoughtful gesture made him smile for a moment. Maybe he’d give her another chance if she was lucky. Arcane’s dexterous fingers pressed the buttons in the order presented. Lights began flashing immediately, sparring robots emerging from doors and descending on him. They were all unarmed, but level 8 aggression meant they could probably still hurt. 

Arcane opened with a beam attack, blasting it upwards to a ledge to his left and dragging the attack along its length, disposing of two of the robots with the shadowy power. “Seven…” he muttered.

Next, Arcane ducked under a swipe from a foe that had appeared in his face, catching the follow up on the cutting edge of his sword and wrenching the blade upwards. The weapon swung in a wide arc above his head before bringing it back around and plunging it into the robot’s chest. “Six…” He breathed again, catching sight of five more mechanical creatures advancing on him.

Two lunged forward, lurching towards Arcane with clenched, metallic fists. He brought his weapon back into its dual-wield version of itself and tossed them into reverse grip, creating a cross-shaped barrier across his front and parrying both blows at once. The bots staggered back from the blockade, his foot flying out to kick one of them away from him and his blades lashing out at the other, cutting its head off from the neck’s base. “Five…”

As the targets continued to attack, Arcane quickly realised how advanced this system was. He’d tested out some sparring robots back home, but their attacks were always so slow and telegraphed that you could never really practise any sort of defence or evasion with a sense of realism. You could take the slowest side-step of your life and you would still be able to avoid getting smacked over the head. This was different. This was dangerous. The robots behaved like humans who were actually trying to kill you. Being sneaky, throwing fake-outs. Cunning combatants that actually felt like he was testing himself against. And he was loving every moment of it.

“Not bad.” Widow called from her spot on the shooting range. Arcane glanced at her before turning back to the bot he’d kicked away. He let the tips of his blades drop to the ground and dragged them, rushing up to the disabled foe and swiping its legs out from beneath them. Two swords jabbed repeatedly at the torso, tearing the thing to shreds of metal and coils of wires. Arcane was snapped from his combat trance when another gunshot cracked out, sparks flying over his head. Arcane turned to see another robot falling down behind him, a bullet-shaped hole left in the head. He glanced up at Widow again. “You’re welcome.” She said before turning back to her own training.
“Three…”

Arcane merged the weapons again before continuing his onslaught, placing one hand on the hilt and the other towards the end of the blade. As two of the robots came towards him, he smashed the closest one with the guard, knocking the head off with trails of wires and sparks emerging from the open neck. The strike had momentum, keeping him in a spin that allowed him to turn to the other and thrust the sword right through the robot’s gut. With both hands now on the grip, he yanked the blade out of the metal torso. The robot collapsed to its knees and its head lolled forward, exposing the back of its neck. The sword tore through it as if it was paper. “One…”

Finally, the last robot challenged him. It ran out of one of the entrances, lowering its head and coming in for a tackle. It’s arms wrapped around Arcane’s waist, lifting him off the ground for a moment. He came back down on his feet, clumsily wielding the two-handed sword in one hand and attempting to bring it downward in a slashing motion. The robot, defiant, caught his hand in the action, holding the sword inches from its metal skin. Arcane grinned. His grip tightened around the hilt and the blade popped loose, the second half sailing over the robot’s head, doing a somersault and landing in reverse grip in Arcane’s free hand. He jabbed the tip into the robot’s foot before bashing the hilt into its head once, then twice, then thrice, until it let go of him. Almost in a human-like fashion, the sparring bot recoiled and clutched at the part of his head that had been beaten in by the guard of the sword. With his dominant hand now free, he gave an uppercut with the tip of the blade, tearing a long, diagonal wound into the creature’s armour and sending it flying back. Arcane glanced back at the timer, 3.5 seconds remained.
“Akande’s record for those settings is 3.72 seconds left, not bad.” Widow said. Arcane glanced back up at her. He gave a little bit of a theatrical bow and sheathed his sword at the same time.
“Why thank you, madam. I’m not sure it really counts, since you helped me and whatnot.” Widowmaker smiled softly at how difficult it was for him to thank her. 
“I’ve gotten quite used to it. The amount of times Reyes or Doomfist have overextended themselves and leave me to watch their backs. Even Sombra sometimes relies on me to protect her. I guess I saw you vulnerable and some instinct kicked in.”
“Protective instincts?” Arcane questioned. He slowly crossed the room to stand at his company’s side. “Sounds like you’d be better off on Overwatch’s side. Looking out for others… Why Talon, then?” The question caught Widowmaker off guard. It had been a long time since someone asked her that. Typically, new recruits were too scared to ask anyone else about her history, let alone ask her directly.
“Well, I used to be married to an Overwatch member. You might have heard of him, his name was Gérard Lacroix.”
“The name rings a bell.” Arcane interrupted, leaning back on the rail between them and the range. His head fell backward, his blank stare targeted to the ceiling rather than Widowmaker. “Killed in his sleep by Talon, wasn’t he? Sorry to question your judgement, but… If an organisation like this killed someone I was in love with, I can’t imagine I’d be particularly fond of them, let alone join their ranks." Her lack of a response caught his attention. Turning his head back to look at her, the deadpanned expression of an empty shell stared back.
“I was the trigger woman.” She confessed. “Talon kidnapped me, ran some experiments on me and then “released” me back to Overwatch. A few days later, I awoke in the middle of the night and assassinated him on Talon’s behalf.” As the story continued to unfold, Arcane could feel his tongue roll around inside his mouth, shocked, and instantly regretting that he asked.
“I’m so sorry-”
“You don’t have to be. When Talon retrieved me, Moira finished her experiments on me. She took away my emotions, conditioned me to only feel anything after I score a kill on the battlefield. It helps me remain loyal to Talon.” Widowmaker’s dry, casual voice she was explaining herself with was what unnerved Arcane the most. Even though it now made full sense to him. To her, it was casual. It wasn’t happy, sad, interesting, boring, or anything like that to her. It was just something that happened to her. She stated it like a lecturer, very matter-of-fact and disconnected from it.

Arcane’s once-relaxed stature changed. He pushed himself off the railing and turned, leaning on it again, but facing forward this time. “You’re awfully self aware for someone who had their mind programmed like that. Why give you any free will? Why not take over your mind entirely?”
“Heh, if you want to know the answer to that, ask Gabriel about what happened to Sigma.” She chuckled. Both of them went incredibly quiet. She chuckled?
“You just laughed.” He assessed. Widowmaker didn’t respond. Arcane had gotten used to not asking too many questions about others since he arrived. After all, he had his own skeleton-filled closet and had swallowed the key many moons ago. Most of the other people he’d spoken to had given him the same treatment. For the first time, he was talking to someone who was actually answering his questions. Widowmaker was entertaining his curiosity, a spark igniting under him that inspired him to keep digging. “Didn’t take your sense of humour?”
“No project is perfect, I suppose. Amélie tries to creep back in from time to time. It happened again, just now at King’s Row. I had a perfect shot lined up on that little bitch.” She raised her rifle again, switching it into sniper mode and eyeing a new target through the scope. Her crosshair placed itself directly in the centre of its forehead, a shot that would instantly silence any human or omnic alike. “And just as I was about to fire-” She pulled hard on the rifle, then the trigger the very next instant. The bullet passed right by the target’s hip, barely grazing them. “And… I remember, the soldier I shot before I tried to shoot her, it did nothing for me. No feeling at all. No satisfaction, no joy. When the conditioning was fresh, every life I ended made me feel alive again. And yes, sometimes I still get that. But there are other times where I feel just as dead as I always do.” Again, Arcane wished he hadn’t asked, but at the same time felt he still had more questions. Something inside him drove him to stoke the conversation further, no matter how hard the other side of him fought to stomp it out.
“I mean… Reaper did say we aren’t supposed to use lethal force on Overwatch agents for some reason. Maybe you were following that order?.” She only shook her head at his suggestion.
“If it was the first time it happened, I’d probably agree. But this has been happening for a while, me missing shots that should have been easy. I’m almost certain it’s, well… You know…"
‘One more .’ He promised himself. ‘One more step down this rabbit hole and then I’ll leave her to it.’
“So… Why are you telling me all this? What makes me so trustworthy?” His foot touched down on this final step after an agonising silence. Widowmaker laughed again, less of a suppressed chuckle this time, like the question had particularly tickled her.
“Absolutely nothing, tête de noeud!” He spoke no French, although he was sure it was rude. He was almost insulted enough to completely ignore her answer.
“Then why are you talking to me? Aren’t you afraid I might report your mental state to Moira?”
“Not even slightly.” She lowered her rifle again, pressing some buttons on a keypad similar to the one at the melee training range. The remaining targets at the other end shut themselves down and the lights illuminating the range dimmed. “If you and Moira were on better terms, I’d keep my mouth shut around you. But somehow, after only being here a very short amount of time, you’ve already found her to be just as vile as I find. I’m sure you’re not going to go running your mouth. But that doesn’t mean I trust you, see?” He didn’t. Widowmaker could barely see him shrug in the darkness. “We have a common enemy, or goal, or whatever. I can sleep at night knowing you’re not going to rat me out to her, but I wouldn’t trust you with something more personal.” Finally, Arcane nodded slowly. It made slightly more sense, but it was still incredibly clear to him now that the woman he was talking to right now was so incredibly broken.

“You’re giving me that look, Arcane.” He was snapped from his thoughts.
“What- what look?” He stuttered.
“The same look Sombra gave me when I told her these things. You’re thinking “Wow, this woman is so incredibly broken.”, aren’t you? You’re probably right, but you don’t have to go and start planning a pity party for me. Whether I chose to or I was forced to through my conditioning, I have made peace with what I am now. It's just my legacy. We all have a legacy. I don’t hope for a lot of things, but out of sheer curiosity, I hope that you get over yourself for long enough to share your legacy, someday. I’ll be waiting with a drink in hand.” And with that, the spider excused herself, her heels clicking and her long ponytail swaying back and forth behind her. “If you’re not done here, the lights will come back on if you turn the melee unit back on.” She waved over her shoulder before turning a corner. She was out of sight. Arcane stood alone in the dark, leaning harder on the railing and letting out a breath he didn’t even realise he had been holding.
“Fuck…”

Chapter Text

The smell of cafeteria-quality food wafted through the air. Chatter filled the room as everyone from each corner of the Talon base came together for a meal that was barely better than nothing. Tables lined the floor and benches lined the tables, dark tiles beneath them and grey tiles on the walls to the side. Arcane waded carefully between the tables, balancing his tray. He almost dropped it when a call rang out.
“Yo! Linguini! Over here!” Arcane turned to face the source of the voice, seeing one of the Talon soldiers standing from his seat for a moment and waving him over. He shook his head to try and forget about his conversation with Widowmaker, putting on as convincing a smile as he could manage.
“So you figured out my name, huh?” He joked, tucking into the subpar cafeteria food in front of him. The table was full to the brim. “What makes you think I’m Italian, though? Did Sombra find me after all?”
“No.” One of the soldiers next to him answered. “It’s just that we’ve heard you speak Italian from time to time, that’s all.”
“Wow , Sombra’s really got to up her game if she’s supposed to be the top-dog secret hunter.” The rest of the table let out an uproar of laughter at his remark. As Arcane glanced around, he noticed everyone else had something in common. Helmets or masks were gone. He noticed a couple soldiers staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to follow. He only shook his head at them, jamming his fork into what looked like a slice of roast beef and gravy. He watched with a smirk as the faces of the soldiers around him fell.

The atmosphere of the mess hall changed in an instant when a dark, gunmetal omnic oiled through the room. Tables fell silent as he approached them, sighs of relief going up as he passed by. He didn’t stay at any of them, he had a clear target in mind. Arcane’s table was the last to fall silent, Arcane himself the last of the last. He cut himself off mid joke and turned to see Maximilien staring down at him with demon-red eyes. Had he been organic, they could’ve been pools of blood on the surface of his face, held back by an invisible veil.
“Ah, Maximilien. I don’t believe we met properly.” Arcane stood and raised a hand, offering a hand shake. Clearly, the robot wasn’t impressed. The stare remained, cold and unbroken.
“Arcane, right?” He growled, ignoring his attempt at pleasantries. “Come take a walk with me, please. I have something I’d like to… Discuss with you.” Arcane nodded, partially unnerved by his ex-target, partially relieved he didn’t have to uphold the façade any longer.

After a short walk, Max led Arcane into a small room that looked like a supply closet, gesturing for him to take a step inside. The room was dark and smelled musty, turning the lights on explained why. Rats scurried away from a box in the corner, the base of which was soaked in their urine.
“God, couldn't you find a better spot?” He complained, fanning his face. Max simply laughed.
“The smell doesn’t bother me, why must you be so weak? Besides, I needed a room nobody likes to come into, I wouldn’t want to tarnish your reputation after all.” He stood still, a statue, his eyes drilling wells in Arcane’s skull.
“My reputation?” He was confused. His fist clenched at his side as he fought back in the long, hard staring contest. It's impossible to win against someone who doesn’t blink.
“I know all about the real reason you came to Talon, who your target was.” His voice grated out. The penny dropped and Arcane’s eyes widened. “That’s right, a little birdie told me how my life was at stake the night you came to Talon and I’ve known this who-”
“No need for a monologue, you don’t have the voice to do it right. What do you want from me?” He interrupted the machine, a knot in his gut telling him it wouldn’t be good. But what else could he do? Suddenly, the suited figure thawed out from his frozen state and pressed Arcane against the wall behind him, a metal arm pressed to his neck with pressure normally reserved for battlefield omnics.
“Those assassin units, or ‘copy cats’ as I’ve heard you call them, cost a fortune. That fortune was taken directly out of the profit from my casinos across the world. If they fail, we’ve lost money. Are you following?” Arcane nodded. “So, I need you to take their training seriously. Make sure they’re actually worth the money spent on them. Talon’s financial stability currently rests on your shoulders.” Arcane didn’t speak at first, he only scowled. It was binding and tiring. However, he didn’t want his loyalty being questioned, lest he end up being “conditioned.”

“How many people know, as of now?” He asked. Max paused, humming in thought.
“Nobody yet, just me and my informant. But when a rumour sparks up here, it spreads like wildfire. So quit questioning authority, give the assassin units everything you have, and actually prove your value to us instead of running your mouth every time things don’t go your way. You’re not a freelancer anymore, Arcane. You’re one of us, now. You’re a team player. So play for the damn team, okay?” And there it was, the ultimatum laid out in front of him. Again, he scowled, resisting the idea. He really couldn’t get over the assassin units; The thought of his power being applied to them scared him. But if he failed, and Max revealed the truth, all his plans… Everything Arcane had done so far would be for nothing.
“Alright, I’ll-” The pinning position was somewhat awkward, causing Arcane to stumble under his assailant’s pin. He shot his foot out to stabilise himself, hearing a light splash. “-do it…” Both of them looked down to see one foot in the centre of the rats’ urine box. “Urgh, gross…” Max finally let him go, taking his arm away from Arcane’s throat. Air filled his lungs again, taking a gulp of oxygen after barely even realising that he’d been struggling to breathe. As Max turned to leave, flicking the light switch off and sending the supply closet into darkness, he turned to speak over his shoulder, allowing Arcane one last look at his dark red eyes.
“Oh, and one more thing. Don’t even think about raising your swords to us again. Sanjay and I may not be particularly combat-oriented, but I can assure you that the other council members would have already put you six feet under if it weren’t for Sombra vouching for your life. Any further plots along those lines, and you will be eliminated.”

Heavily shaking the urine off his foot with each step, Arcane made his way back to the mess hall. The foot soldiers surrounding him seemed to be suppressing laughter, but he tried to sit on something invisible before he could imagine what had them in hysterics.
“Hey! Touch me, and you’ll- Oh! Arcane!” It was Sombra, she had been invisible. She turned back to the table and whisper-shouted at the group of soldiers with her. “You didn’t tell me this was his seat!” The combination of her scrunched face and her flushed cheeks left Arcane confused at just what was going through her mind in that moment. She just cloaked again, although Arcane didn’t try the seat a second time.
“It’s okay man, we got you another seat over here!” Yet another soldier raised his hand, pointing to the stool to his right. Arcane repressed his urge to pull the hair of the invisible menace before him, taking the other seat without any further conflict.

As he ate and joked, his mind raced over the knowledge Max had implanted in his brain. He knew more than Arcane had originally thought, he couldn’t help but wonder if it were possible he could end up like Widowmaker. He glanced back over to the empty spot where Sombra would be, if she would uncloak already, an idea forming in his mind. ‘ Hackers can delete data, right? And Max’s memory would just be a bunch of data, wouldn’t it? Maybe she can help me out? But at the same time, she seems like the kind to ask for a favour to call in return when that kinda thing happens. Maybe it won’t even be so bad. I’ll ask- ’ 
“Hey, Sombra!” Nothing stirred. “Umm, hello?” Still nothing. He instead caught the attention of the soldier next to her. “Hey, can you get Sombra for me?” He asked. The trooper nodded and snapped his fingers by where he thought her ear would be, to no avail. Giving up, he slapped wildly, his hand rushing through empty space and colliding with the man on the other side. Both laughed a hearty laugh, but Arcane frowned. Where did she go?

Arcane returned to his quarters with a full stomach and a plotting mind. The door swung open and slammed behind him. ‘ Urgh, I stink…’ He had yet to shower since he got back from King’s Row, and the feeling of warm water running down his body sounded particularly inviting. He stripped free from his armour and removed his underclothes, and then his mask. His armour settled on its stand and the underclothes lay crumpled on the bed. He precisely placed the mask at the neck of the armour, completing the body. Satisfied, he hopped into his private suite, standing in the shower and turning the dial. Hot water rained down, running along his skin and waterlogging his shaggy hair. He hissed under the sudden heat, settling in after just a moment and enjoying the rush of water. When he stepped out, he glanced at the steamy vapour that had covered the mirror, his reflection hidden by the damp veil on the glass. He froze for a moment, his eyes locked on the steam. With one hand, he reached out to wipe part of it away. As he drew nearer to the condensation, the only thing between him and his reflection, he stopped himself and sighed. Instead, he left the bathroom with a towel draped around his waist, rubbing his hair with another and striding into his quarters. He halted, scanning. A disturbance in his room caught his eye, the mask on the armour stand was slanted, cocked like the head of a curious cat. He summoned his blade off of its place on the wall, the beautiful weapon floating hilt first through the air. Before it reached him, it knocked into something. Something invisible. Violet pixels spawned out of thin air, the cloak that kept the intruder hidden crumbling and revealing Sombra, knocked onto the ground as the weapon hit her in the back of the head. Arcane himself was so stunned that his telekinetic hold on the weapon dropped before it reached him, sending the blade clattering to the ground at Sombra’s side.

Moments later, Arcane was already in his armour again, his mask re-equipped and his face hidden securely. He dashed through the hallways of the base, steel rushing past him at a pace he wasn’t sure he was capable of until today. He came to a stop at the entrance of the dining hall, scanning the heads of everyone present until he settled on the woman with raven-coloured hair and purple at the tips. Power walking may have looked stupid, but it was less likely he’d be noticed than if he sprinted through the crowded room. He finally made it, standing right behind her and clearing his throat. Sombra turned in her seat and looked at him, a classic look of a deer in headlights.
“Oh, hey, uhhh…” She stammered. “I… was just… leaving!” She reached into her belt and grabbed another translocator, tossing it over Arcane’s head and warping to it at the peak of her throw. She landed on the floor behind him and began running again, Arcane in close pursuit. As she landed again, she tried to reactivate her cloak, drumming her fingers in the air, but the command refused to run properly and kept throwing errors back at her. Her pistol was also missing when she reached for it. They both sprinted down the corridor on the other side of the mess hall, finding themselves back in the training range that Widowmaker had not yet left. She glanced at them for a moment as they both danced around her targets, feinting one way and jolting the other. She would have shot them if she wanted, but she didn’t.

When Sombra finally led her chaser out of the training range, they found themselves in an armoury. She dragged her computer tendrils across a nearby door and commanded it to shut behind her. Arcane saw the entrance to the armoury begin to close, creaking downwards. He flipped his grip on his sword and launched it forward like a javelin. The blade dug into the ground at just the right spot, holding the door open long enough for him to slide through. The groaning of the mechanical door creaked intently, the sound of the strain reached a crescendo as he dived beneath it. She tried another delay, toppling over a stack of ammunition crates as she passed it. For the first time, she turned around long enough for him to see her face; An expression of actual, genuine fear had frozen her. ‘Rightfully so …’ He thought to himself. He recalled his sword to his hands once more, taking a grip on the blade’s length and smashing aside the obstacle with the cross guard.

Another corridor, and another, until she was finally out of options. She was at a dead end, her very own room. The walls were neon purple, pixel arts of skulls dangling around. A larger, more complex computer was set up on one side of the room, a bed with dark covers beneath some shelves on the other. Other than that, it was a pretty standard room. Sombra dashed inside and hastily tried to lock the door, only for Arcane to burst in before she could do so. She volleyed another translocator device in a last ditch effort to escape, but Arcane’s sword was already in his hand, cutting through the translocator before it could activate. He was on her in a flash, one forearm pinning her to the wall by her throat while the blade wavered in his other hand. The point rested beneath her chin, pushing her to make eye contact with him.
“Talk.” He scowled. Words were caught in her throat. Her eyes dashed from him to the sword, then back to him. Each stutter was another failure. “I said talk!” He reaffirmed, pushing the blade closer. He watched as a small cut opened on her skin, a tiny drop of blood slipping onto the metal and dripping off. “What were you doing, huh? What were you looking for?” His voice took on an entirely new tone to how he normally spoke to her. The disgust blended with anger. As she listened closer, she realised where she had heard this version of Arcane before; This was the voice he found himself slipping into whenever he spoke about Overwatch.
“Urgh, w-what do you think I was looking for? Your secrets, duh!” Sombra tried to swat the blade aside with the back of her hand, but Arcane held it steady against her. More blood seeped from the cut. Arcane noticed as a tear streaked from the corner of her left eye.
“Well, was seeing my face enough to satisfy you?” He questioned her, resisting the urge to silence her forever. “Unfortunately, now I have to kill you. I can’t have you going around now that you’ve seen who I am.” He drew the point of the blade away, instead raising the length of the blade to her throat. The sharpness bit into her flesh. Apprehension was running through her mind in waves as she exhaled through gritted teeth.
“He-hey! You don’t have to, okay? I still don’t even know who you are! Your secrets are still safe, aren’t they?”
“With all due respect-” Which, in this instance, meant with no respect at all. “What the fuck are you talking about? I just… I handed you my identity on a silver platter.” 
“I… I only saw your face for a second. I didn’t get to look at it properly or anything like that.” For the first time since she found herself trapped, she looked away from her attacker, finding comfort in staring dejectedly at the floor. She didn’t get to live that luxury for long, of course. Arcane raised the sword again, the flat of the steel pressing against her chin and making her look him in the eyes. The cold metal hummed gently with the unknown power he channelled, feeling particularly unnerving as it was held against the cut he just made. Despite everything, she held her gaze as he clearly wanted, allowing her assailant to analyse her to his heart’s content. She struck him as a very good liar; From the moment she introduced herself to him, he’d made a mental note that everything to come from her mouth was likely going to be a lie. Or, at the very least, hiding a full truth from him. And yet as she gazed back, vulnerable and terrified, put in a position where anyone would say anything in hopes of being granted mercy, he found himself believing her. The sword’s pressure on her throat eased, and she heaved a relieved sigh. Her breath brushed against his face and he was startled upon realising just how close the two had been. He picked himself up off of Sombra, clearing his throat and lowering his sword. She raised a hand to her cut, rubbing her chin and flinching. When her hand came away, there was a little smear of blood in her palm. She winced again, turning her attention to the cause of her new injury.

“I don’t get you.” Sombra opened. “You’re literally the one who challenged me to dig up your past. If I had known you were gonna try and kill me when I made head-way, I would have left you alone.” Now it was Arcane’s turn to avoid eye contact. She had a point, and that only upset him. He recalled what Reaper had told him back in the dropship, about how invincible she could be when searching for someone’s past.
“I find it hard to believe Reaper didn’t turn his guns on you when you unearthed his history.” He deflected, but Sombra just shrugged at him.
“Me and him had an agreement prior.” She explained, beginning to pace around the room. “Sure, he made his threats when he found I was looking into him. Of course he did, you’ve met the guy. But he came to me one day, told me he wanted to find someone, and that if I discovered his identity, he wanted me to help him find her. So I did. I held up my end of the deal and he’s been fine to me ever since.” She halted her pacing when she reached the opposite side of the room, standing between Arcane and the exit now. “He might be a psychopath, but he wouldn’t lay a finger on me. I caught a glimpse of you and you nearly escorted me to the Gates of Hell. Also, again, you basically begged me to try and figure out who you are in that cute little note of yours.”
“I was being arrogant. I figured you of all people would know what cockiness looks like.”
“Ouch-” She hissed. “Is every sentence that comes out of your mouth an insult?” She took a few steps closer to him. Now it was her turn to speak to someone who flat-out refused to look her in the eyes, except she didn’t have the business end of her weapon to position his face to her liking. “I’m used to being threatened, but your outburst just doesn’t make sense to me. If you’re not going to explain it, then just… The door is right there.” She jammed her thumb over her shoulder, her lip curling up at him. Arcane nodded slowly and approached the doorway, sliding past Sombra with his hands raised as though he was surrendering. Before he was gone, he halted and turned back to face her, remembering the other problem at hand.

“I know I’m not exactly in a position to ask favours from you right now, but Maximilien made a pretty hefty accusation against me recently.” Arcane kept his hands raised as he spoke, but Sombra just rolled her eyes at him.
“You know that gesture means nothing when you can telekinetically call your weapon to you, right?” She spat, stomping over to him and pushing his hands down. “You look like an idiot, get to the point!”
“Right… Well I don’t exactly know much about how omnics work, but is there any chance you can alter his memory and make him forget whatever you told him about me? If he acts on his threat, pretty much everything I’ve done over the past few years gets washed down the drain.” And once again, Arcane had stumped her. Sombra would gladly blow her own horn and call herself the most intelligent person she knew, and yet this renegade continued to confuse her with everything he said and did.
“What are you talking about? Maxi’s one of the few council members I don’t speak to all that often.” She casually explained. “Why? What does he know?”
“You didn’t tell him? But you saw my computer. He was on my contract list. You didn’t tell him?” She only shook her head. Once again, he found himself believing her for some reason. “Did you tell anyone else?” Again, nothing. He scratched the back of his neck, puzzle pieces falling incorrectly into each other in his mind and leaving both of them stumped. She just shrugged at him. “Well… He knows that he was my initial target when I first infiltrated this place…”
“Ah, I see your problem. I’ll take a look and see what I can do. In return, you can avoid threatening to kill me in future.” More tendrils of violet hardlight spawned at her fingertips, latching onto the computer set up behind Arcane and sending it into a start-up sequence. Sombra circled around him and sat in her desk chair, sinking into the leather with a huff. “We’ll call it the Martina-clause, how does that sound?” She finally smiled again, although not really at Arcane. She was only blowing her horn again. ‘ Heh, of course he came to me for help with this. Even if he doesn’t like me, he knows how good I am! ’
“I’m gonna nod slowly and pretend I know who Martina is. Sure, we’ll agree to that. See if you can find out who told him, too.”
“Already on it, chinga tu madre.” She spat, swiping through her database already. ‘ I’m sure I’ve got a backdoor in Maxi’s memory somewhere already. ’ Although Arcane didn’t speak a word of Spanish, he could tell that she’d said something unkind.
‘ At that point, why even bother switching languages? You’re just making it obvious you’re hiding something. ’ He made a mental note to look into buying a few language dictionaries, thanked her with a silent nod that she didn’t even notice, and then left.

As she searched through her extensive computer storage, her mind raced, trying desperately to recall Arcane’s face despite his warnings. Try as she might, nothing came back to her. Nothing of note or detail that wasn’t already on show beneath his mask, at least. She even took a step away from her computer for a moment, putting the hunt for Maxi’s memories on hold and pacing around her room again to will the image back into her mind. Finally, she caught something. His eyes. They had been… Blue. She jumped back into her computer set up. Just as she was about to begin searching, she hesitated again. ‘ Were they blue? ’ Now she was having second thoughts, maybe they were brown? Her chair creaked as she slumped back into it, slouching dejectedly. She was this close, but the fear had taken over in that moment. Any kind of plan had gone out of the window and her identity hunt was back to square 1. Why was she even doing this? Why try to help the man who just threatened her life? She rubbed at her chin again, an irritating reminder that would surely stick with her. Just like that, she was reminded of why she should work to not be put on his bad side.

Sombra’s mood shifted when Maximilien’s memory finally opened before her. “Aha, yes! I knew I had something-” Her files were more cluttered than a university dormitory, but she finally found what she was looking for amongst the heap of data. A backdoor directly into Maximilien’s memory. Unluckily, it was somehow even more cluttered than her own computer storage. Memories dating all the way back to the day the omnic came into sentience spread out across her screen, different files spanning across the years between then and now. An enormous spreadsheet documenting every moment his programming deemed important enough to come back to. Casino profits, Assassin unit information, a… video file, it looked like. The thumbnail featured a woman strapped to a table. A morbid curiosity seeded itself in her mind, half entertained and half disgusted at the thought of Maximilien filling his hard drive with porn. “Urgh, no way Maxi watches this-” She spoke as she opened the file, and realised it was something else altogether. As the video began playing, Sombra recognised the woman on the table. It was Widowmaker . But not the Widowmaker Sombra knew. It was before her transformation. Her pale skin, as white as snow, glistened with sweat as she fought against the restraints binding her to the table. Scientists were gathered around, each holding various pieces of equipment. Syringes containing disgusting-looking chemicals, knives with serrated blades. It wasn’t before her transformation process. It was during the process. Widowmaker had made it seem like it was no big deal, downplaying it to the extreme each time Sombra had tried to talk about it, and even still, hearing it from her had felt like a punch in the gut. Seeing it before her now was more like a bullet to the shoulder. Sombra shook herself free from whatever trance was holding her watching it and turned her computer off, pulling her knees up to her and hugging them tightly. A second tear escaped from her right eye. She glimpsed her reflection in the dark, lifeless monitor. Although it wasn’t a mirror of any kind, it was enough for her to take a long, hard look at herself.

Chapter Text

Clumping footsteps echoed around the corridor as Reaper stormed through the halls. ‘Sir,-’ A foot soldier had alerted him. ‘Arcane was just seen chasing Sombra out of the mess hall!’ Sombra had yet to experience the power of Arcane before her own eyes. Each time she’d seen demonstrations of his power, it had been from behind the safety of a screen. He only hoped he could get there before he-

Crash.

“Argh… Oh, hey.” The swordsman recoiled from bumping into him. Reaper stared blankly at Arcane. His silence slowly evolved into a growl.
“Show me your sword, Arcane…” When his demand fell upon deaf ears, he reached over Arcane’s shoulder and wrenched the blade from its resting place astride his back. A splotch of blood glistened in the dim light. “What did you do to her?” With his free hand, the wraith reached into his robes for a shotgun, but Arcane shook his head.
“She’s fine, I only threatened her-” He recalled his weapon as he explained. The blade launched free from Reaper’s hand before being shoved back into its holster. “I gave her a small cut on the chin, but that was a genuine accident. I didn’t-” He was interrupted sharply when he was struck in the face. Reaper’s armoured hand swung before him, catching Arcane’s cheek and knocking him back. He applied a condescending tone as he spoke to Arcane.
“Oh, I’m sorry~” Reaper whined pathetically. Arcane sighed and rolled his eyes behind his mask. “I didn’t mean to actually hurt you, it was an accident~” The tone dropped, which Arcane was grateful for. The high-pitched sarcasm was not a good fit for the angel of death. “Do you know why I can threaten someone effectively? Because when I point my gun at you-” He drew his weapon like he had planned to before, levelling the pristine killer at his target. “You aren’t going to be hurt unless I actually pull the trigger. Even if I press the barrel right up against you-” Sure enough, he pushed the shotgun forward, the muzzle gently pressing into Arcane’s mask. “You’re still unharmed, yet in danger at the same time. It’s the ultimate threat. If you threaten someone with a blade, there’s always a chance of you going too far, hurting them without intending to…” He trailed off, continuing to hold Arcane at gunpoint. The silence hanging over them was deafening. Each second that passed, Arcane felt as though the chance of his brains being blown through his skull were higher, but he remained at the mercy of his superior by choice. At the end of the day, he knew he could escape this situation; He had done it before. He just felt it fair that Reaper got to make his point.

“So you’re saying I’m not allowed to threaten people?” Even as he spoke to Reaper, his eyes never left the gun.
“You can threaten whoever you want. I’d just advise that you pick up a gun. Or maybe a bow is more up your alley. When you’re fighting at range, every shot you take is with intent. Up close? It’s very easy for things to go too far.” As Reaper took the gun away and turned to leave, thinking his point had been made, Arcane piped up one more time.
“But at range, most ranged weapons are lethal. You can make a non-lethal strike with a blade, trust me. Surely it’s easier to go too far with a gun than it is with a sword?” Reaper chuckled. Not the maniacal cackle he was known for, but a quiet laugh to himself. He turned to face the rookie one more time.
“Like I literally just said, you aren’t going to be hurt unless I actually pull the trigger. Never in my life have I shot a gun at someone without understanding there is a very real chance they’re going to die. You can intend to swing your sword at someone non-lethally, but that’s not always an option with a live blade.” That shut him right up. Arcane’s arrogant smirk, the one part of his face on display for anyone to see, vanished in an instant. Satisfied, Reaper swivelled on his heel and left his student alone in the dark.

Sombra hadn’t moved from her computer desk since Arcane left. She remained huddled to herself, knees held to her chest. She had turned the video back on, and couldn’t bring herself to turn it off again. Try as she might to turn the other cheek, it no longer seemed possible. Reaper appeared in the doorway, something she would have anticipated if she wasn’t distracted from the sound of his boots approaching.
“Sombra, I just spoke to Arcane. Are you o-” It was his turn for words to catch in his throat when he saw what held her attention. The moment it clicked in his head, his voice returned to normal. “H-how did you get that video?” Gabriel approached, taking control of the computer and closing it down. Sombra wiped a tear off of her cheek and sniffled. “I was taking a look into Maximilien’s memory, looking for something else.” She stifled another sob, although Gabriel could tell just how much he was affected by it. “Is that really what they did to her? It was that awful?” Her superior said nothing. He only sat down on her bed, his hands clasping at each other and kneading one another with torment. Sombra took notice. “...You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”
“Not hiding something-” He stalled. Normally, she’d enjoy watching the unshakable revenant flounder like this, but this was different. “I’m just figuring out the best way to tell you… The worst part is that it was all for nothing, the conditioning didn’t work.” Gabriel finally admitted through gritted teeth. His hands continued to clench at each other before balling themselves into closed, frustrated fists. “She’s been traumatised, so of course she might never be the exact same person that she was before. But she relapses, like Amélie is still in there, vying for control. So all of that-” He pointed at the computer monitor in front of them. “All of it was pointless. It’s one of the reasons I almost left Talon.”
“You mean she’s still in there?” Sombra asked as the pieces fell into place. “She’s still Amélie? But I’ve seen her, she never smiles, she refuses to make friends, I don’t thin-” Try as she might to apply reason to what she was thinking, she knew deep down that she was being told the truth. Gabriel could tell that it was a new concept for her. Being on this end of the heavy burden wasn’t exactly what she was known for. He knew that if he let her continue to flounder, they wouldn’t get anywhere, so he cut right through her at last.
“What do you think would happen if it became public knowledge that she was resisting?” His fist clenched at his sides, the sharp claws digging into his own palms. Sombra only remained quiet. Her mind raced into lightspeed as her scattered thoughts ran rampant. 

The skull mask Gabriel hid behind was a shield for moments like this, but he knew that tonight, the shield had to come down. “You remember what happened to Sigma, don’t you? When his conditioning began to break down? Talon had two options; Re-teach him his tricks or put him down. Amélie knows that, so she puts up this… Façade to keep herself safe. If word got out that one of Talon’s most lethal units was bleeding, it could mean terrible things for her.”
“They’d torture her again until she broke, wouldn’t they?” Sombra finished, filling the gaps in at last. She pushed herself off of her chair and began pacing around yet again. She fought long and hard to gather her mind long enough to formulate a plan, but the thoughts were still scattered by a feeling very foreign to her; Guilt. “I’ve turned a blind eye to a lot of Talon’s shit to try and justify working here, but I’ve never seen anything like this before. I can’t believe Akande would sign off on this! ‘ Every battle makes us stronger ’ my ass! That’s not a battle, that’s brutality!” Gabriel directed his eyes to the floor. His own mind wasn’t particularly calm either, and he’d known of this for a long, long time. He couldn’t help but think to himself how big of a skeleton this was to keep in the closet. Sombra suddenly rounded on him like a rabid dog. “And you , Gabe!” She spat, viciously. His back was up as he raised himself off the bed again in defence.
“ Me?! ” He spluttered, a little bit of the Reaper slipping back into his voice again. “What about me , Sombra? Amélie was abducted and reprogrammed long before I found myself here. I tried to protect her while I was an Overwatch operative, and Talon still- They still got the best of us back then. That’s not on me!” Never in her life did Sombra expect to hear Reaper’s voice crack, yet there it was. She wished it was under different circumstances, so she could cherish it a little more. Despite such a revelation, Sombra didn’t intend on pulling herself back. She jammed a finger right at him, along with her accusations.
“What about now, huh? You’re a council member! You can help her now, surely? But you don’t, you-”
“I use as much of my authority as I can to keep her safe without rousing suspicion!” He pushed Sombra back, returning her accusing finger to her with hurt. Each word that left his mouth now dripped with pain. “Why do you think I even came to Talon, Sombra?”
“To hunt down the ex-Overwatch operatives, you made that-”
“So then why am I still here, huh? When the Petras Act went into effect and Overwatch was shut down, Akande put that stupid Non-Lethal policy when facing Overwatch agents on the battlefield. If I were to kill any of them, he’d find a way to execute me. And yet, I’m still here. I still remain loyal to Talon. Did you ever wonder why? You’re smart, surely you can think of a reason?” He folded his arms and leaned back, daring Sombra. She took the challenge, once again going quiet to let her mind operate undisturbed and scavenge for enough braincells to put together a theory. At last, the thoughts became less scattered. Then it came to her. She sat back down.

“Her husband, Gérard.” Sombra said, quietly. “You two were close, weren’t you?”
“The closest…” Gabriel admitted, following in her footsteps and taking a seat again. “I mean… A lot of people sort of forgot that I was the original Strike Commander before Jack took over, but Gérard? He never forgot. He always made me feel… Valued, I suppose. Like he actually saw me in a way nobody else did.” He reached into the depths of his robe and pulled out a scrap of paper, handing it to the woman before him in a moment of vulnerability. Sombra took the piece, seeing it to be a torn portion of a photograph. Gabriel Reyes, in his prime, donning Blackwatch attire and throwing an arm over the shoulders of an alive-and-well Gérard Lacroix. Sombra saw a smile cemented onto Gabriel’s face, larger than she had ever seen in the years she had known him. On Gérard’s other arm, Amélie stood with another long-dead smile. She’d seen Widowmaker with a smile after a kill, but it wasn’t the same as this one. Widowmaker’s leer chilled Sombra to the bone whenever she saw it. It made her skin crawl, made her desire to get as far away from the sniper as possible. Ironically, she realised, a sniper as talented as Widowmaker would probably prefer Sombra to be further away. This smile, however? It filled her with warmth instead. A gentle beacon of friendliness, the kind of smile that you could tell your deepest, darkest secrets without worrying you’re helping someone sharpen the knife they’re planning on putting in your back. But of course, Sombra couldn’t help but be Sombra.
“I think I recognise this photo. Jack and Ana are supposed to be in it as well.”
“I tore them out, figured I’d keep the important pieces.” Gabriel nodded. His hands continued to knead each other nervously, turning over one another as his barrier continued falling further and further. “I made a promise to Gérard before he died, Sombra. He knew Talon had a target painted on his back, so he made me promise. If anything ever happened to him, he wanted me to take care of Amélie. As long as there is air in her lungs, as long as there is blood in her veins, he wanted me to do everything I could possibly do to look out for her. Trust me when I tell you I’ve thought about breaking her out, but there aren’t nearly enough Talon agents who are loyal enough to help me with a plan like that. It’s too risky, we’d be doing her more harm than good…” Silence swallowed her bedroom. Gabriel kept silent out of guilt, while Sombra was stunned into speechlessness. The reality set in for her, denial clearing out of her mind. This really was the dark reality behind the organisation she had chosen to pledge her allegiance to, and she couldn’t fault Reaper for it as much as she wanted someone to blame. Meanwhile, Gabriel had a couple of questions of his own. Not that Sombra had nothing to be upset over, but it still felt like a blown up reaction out of nowhere. “Why is this the straw that breaks the camel’s back for you? You’ve done your fair share of horrid things here, haven’t you? And how did you not know about it before? Arcane must be right, you really are losing your touch if this is breaking news to you.” Sombra didn’t say anything back, her mind somewhere else entirely, racing to think of a solution. Finally, a word that sent Gabriel straight into the darkness of his own mind left her lips.
“Overwatch…”

“What?” Reaper spat, his voice returning to the fearsome trademark of his.
“We can get Overwatch to help us, I know it!” She said, excitement replacing the distress that had once coursed through her body. “I can get in contact with them and let them know where she is so they can come find her!” She stood from her bed as the epiphany hit her, jumping for a moment. Newfound life put a spring in her step as she crossed the room and took a seat before her setup. She opened up her computer and searched for the Watchpoints that were still active. This was it. This was her moment to make a change, to try and make it all up to Amélie. Her finger moved towards the button to call Athena, but as she was about to press it, the clawed gauntlets of the angel of death gripped her arm and held her from doing so.
“Sombra, don’t… ” He hissed. He watched as Sombra literally froze for a moment, her neck craning up to look him in the eyes. “I may not have any idea of how to get her out of here, but Overwatch? I trust them a Hell of a lot less. They had their chance to save Amélie. Yet, they blew it, and they got Gérard killed because they didn’t have the balls to act and protect her.” He pushed her hand away from the computer screen, the force causing her chair to swivel. “You want to hand Amélie over to them? You would literally have to kill me before I let that fly.” And just like that, all the effort Gabriel had made to calm her down was flushed away.
“Overwatch, Overwatch, Overwatch! Am I the only one around here without a personal vendetta?! You said it yourself, the most you can do to protect her is help her keep up this act, but that won’t last forever, Gabe! I know you’ve got a bone to pick with Overwatch. But surely, surely , you’d rather she be there than here?” She jammed her finger against the wrath’s chest again, only this time, he made no effort to return it to her. He gave a pause, long enough to let Sombra know he had to think about it, but short enough to know that he’d always been aware of the answer. Deep down, he knew it would come to this some day. The Reaper’s voice had vanished again, replaced by that of Blackwatch Commander Gabriel.

“Yes, she’d probably be safer with them…”
“Then get over yourself, pendejo! You don’t have to make nice with the people you hate, but don’t punish Amélie for your inability to face them again! Don’t be a coward, or Amélie will be the one paying for it!” She even shocked herself with that final sentence. It was one thing to call Reaper wrong, but it was a whole other thing to call him a coward. She was lucky to be right. As much as Reaper wanted to throttle her right then and there, Gabriel told him not to.
“Urgh, fine… You win. But not right now, okay? We’ve got some other things to handle first, and we need to be certain that it won’t lead back to us and bite us in the ass. Work on creating a secure connection, and then reach out.” Sombra nodded at him, gesturing for him to leave her room. He hesitated, facing her dead on again. “I mean it, Sombra. If we’re selling out, we need to be prepared for all that comes with the territory. This isn’t a decision we can rush into.” He took another few steps towards her. She felt no intimidation from the wrath. As deadly as he was, she knew for a fact that she was in the clear. If Gabriel wanted her dead, he would have done it the moment she even floated this plan to him. Closing the distance wasn’t an act of violence or threat. He only wanted to know that she was being honest with him. She held her hands up in surrender and nodded.
“Okay, then. Just give me the word, and I’ll contact them. Just don’t leave it too long. The more her conditioning breaks down, the harder it’ll be for her to hide it from Talon. It was risky enough leaving it this long, Gabe…”

“Rise and shine, Talons!” The wake-up alarm rang out through the corridors of the stronghold, waking everyone unfortunate enough to have their ears uncovered. Arcane was one of them. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his arms stretched and his mouth gaped in a yawn. His mind dwelled on his empty stomach, but breakfast would have to wait. The training session for the Assassin units began shortly; He had to get to the training arena as soon as possible. Forcefully, he shoved his arms and legs into his new suit of armour, pulling the sword from the mount on the wall and sliding it gently into the holster on his back. Lastly, he reached for his mask. It was still cracked, although the damage looked about the same as it had before. He looked in the mirror and compared his new suit to the old. Where his previous armour had been purely functional, the new design was evidently inspired by the Romans, prioritising fashion over function. Not that it was completely non-functional, but the fact that the armour was brand new left him not wanting to ruin it by carving into himself. The large grey cross shape on his old armour hadn't been there when he first got it. With how frequently he had to carve that sigil into his chest to unleash his full power, he got tired of painting the armour every time he repaired it. Enormous, neon-blue fangs jutted out from his elbows as an extra defensive tool in the event anything ever slipped past his parry. It wasn't a bad replacement at all, but Arcane still couldn't bring himself to really like it more than his old armour, no matter how many times the cape billowed out behind him.

Suited up, Arcane found himself at the training range. Moira stood a distance away, on a vantage point with a clipboard in her hand, the other combing through her ginger hair. Twelve Assassin units lined up in front of Arcane as he paced back and forth, thinking of what to say. ‘ How the Hell do I do this? ’ Another shape loomed behind Moira, the dark Omnic millionaire he’d made his promise to. The two locked eyes. Only for a moment. Yet there was still the tension of a million tight-ropes. ‘ I have to do this, huh… ’ Once again, he found himself facing the music. ‘ If you’re going to do something wrong, might as well do it right. ’ At last, Arcane turned to face the Assassin units. It was time. He approached the closest soldier to him.
“What’s your name?” He asked, the person inside the suit shuddering a little. “In fact, don’t answer that. Do you know why you’re here?” He said, replacing the previous question with something new. The soldier shuddered again.
“Training... Training, sir.” He said with a stammer. Arcane shook his head.
“ Training. ” He repeated in a condescending voice. “This is gonna be more than just some crappy training you’ve been through in the past. I’m going to work you guys hard, make your fighting flawless.” He barked, distancing himself from the soldier and sweeping his eyes across everyone there. “You’re assassins now. Your job is to jump into the enemy’s ranks, charge one person each, kill them, and get out before you’re noticed. Observe-” Each unit stood up straight as their new commander turned away from them. He yanked the sword out of its sheath with one hand and pressed a combination on the keypad with the other. The lights of the training range flashed for a moment. Everything was dark. Then the light came back, and a holographic battle was being waged behind Arcane, the new Assassin units watching in anticipation. Arcane split the sword along the seam, dividing the weapon to be more similar to those of the new recruits. Since they couldn’t use the Arcane abilities, there was no need for them to have a versatile sword like his. The tips pointed downward and reached the ground, dragging to create sparks as he moved out of sight. When he reappeared, he was at a vantage point, all eyes on him. He leaped down from the wall and rushed into the fray, sweeping the legs of a hologram soldier out from beneath it. The glowing figure fell flat on its back. Arcane made short work of them, lacerating their torso with ease and decimating them. There would have been so much blood if it was a real person. Once it was vanquished, he was gone, fleeing between the bullets from the rest of the simulation. Before he knew it, he was back in front of the Assassins.
“Your turn.”

After a somewhat successful hour, the session came to a close. Soldiers high-fived each other as they passed Arcane and Moira on the way out of the training range.
“Good shit, ladies and gentlemen! Same time tomorrow, you got that?” He turned to face Moira, who now that he was closer to, could see that the arm holding the clipboard was in a sling. He glanced at the fabric for a moment. “Karma.” He jabbed. Moira instantly gave him a look of indignation.
“Karma? And for what, exactly?”
“I’ve been vocally against this project since the moment you first discussed it with me, yet you force me to be a part of it anyway. I don’t think you understand how dangerous it is.” He pointed at the leaving assassin units with his blade. “It’s either futile or reckless to pursue this any further.”
“If the assassin units are dangerous, then I think they are going to be a success.” Moira’s face was twisted into a disgusted sneer the entire time. “Just keep their training going, that is an order.”
“I’m not a scientist, I don’t report to you.” He retorted, a smirk forming. “I’m training these guys because Max asked me, not you.” In his mind, he’d just won the interaction. Then the arrogant smirk he was showing mirrored back at him.
“Last time I checked, you were not in finance, either. So why do you answer to the money printer, then?” She took a step forward and reached out with her healthy arm, giving Arcane flashbacks to the day in her lab in the Oasis. “Perhaps he has some dirt on you? Maybe he knows what brought you here in the first place and is holding it over your head?” Arcane carefully eyed the healthy arm that stretched out to him, trying to remember if it was the arm that gives or the arm that takes away.
“Did Max tell you? Or Sombra?” His question was met with a chuckle and a playful slap on the cheek before the beanpole turned and began to leave.
“Arcane, I don’t know why exactly you are so keen on your sword art being so unique, and quite frankly I am not sure what even makes it esoteric in the first place, but you are not a freelancer anymore. You are a Talon operative, and one of the strongest combatants we have among our ranks. It should come as no surprise that we want more fighters who are either on your level or better. If that was going to be such an issue for you, then you quite simply should have stayed in your little hole in the wall.” She strode with such purpose and authority, rounding the doorframe of the entrance to the training range and silently stepping out of sight. “I can arrange for you to be sent back there if you would like, how do you feel about travelling in a body bag?” Her dark laugh was the last thing he heard before he was left alone.

Chapter Text

Brrrring! Tracer’s phone buzzed. She took it from her desk drawer and almost jumped out of excitement when she saw the text sentence displayed on her home screen.
“I know it’s only been a month or two since you left for the Recall, but I already miss you babe! I booked a ticket to come see you at Gibraltar, I’ll see you soon!” It was from Emily.. She was planning a visit to the gang in Gibraltar, soon. Instantly, Lena was dancing gleefully around the base, singing something by Girl In Red. The middle of every dance move she made was enhanced by a blink, disappearing and reappearing mid stride with a flash of cyan.
“You having fun there?” She whipped around to find Brigitte, Hana and Lúcio, watching her in amusement. “We were trying to find you to ask if you were still on for game night tonight?” She should have expected it, really. Instead of staying in her room to celebrate, she’d chosen to put herself in the view of the other agents. Internally, she scolded herself.
“S-sorry, ahah.” She bowed her head in embarrassment. She didn’t even know what part of the Watchpoint she had danced into; Her mind must’ve gone blank. “It’s just… Emily is coming round.” Hana and Lúcio shared a glance. Of course, they’d heard the name, but neither of them had ever had the opportunity to meet this enigmatic Emily.

Brigitte, on the other hand, lit up instantly. “Goodness, Lena! That’s amazing!” She cheered, sweeping Lena up in a hug. “It’s been too long since you two last saw each other!” Lena’s face fell as she recalled her goodbye to her loved one. When she and Winston had prepared to leave for Gibraltar, Emily insisted the entire time that she come with them. Ultimately, Lena knew that Emily would be in danger if she set foot on Watchpoint for more than a night or two. As much as she would have loved to bring her along for the ride, she stood her ground and made Emily promise that she wouldn’t go anywhere. Of course, with spending a few months apart, that danger didn’t seem to out-weigh just how much Lena had started to miss her. She physically felt the tension leave her shoulders as she imagined seeing Emily again.
“You’re right-” She affirmed. “It’s been a while, I can’t wait! You’re going to love her, by the way.” She pulled away from Brigitte and pointed at the other two
“Shouldn’t you be cleaning your room to prepare, then?” Hana giggled, thinking back to the last time someone had set foot in Tracer’s quarters. It was usually a mess, Tracer spent so little time there that she rarely got to clean it up. Fear lit up on Lena’s face as she thought back to her room herself.
“Uh, ahah… Don’t suppose one of you could lend me a hand?” Shy as never, completely out of the blue. Brigitte thought back to the stories Reinhardt had told her about the King’s Row Uprising, how Tracer spent the entire train ride into the city worrying for Emily’s safety. She was unhurt in the attack, thank whatever God was ruling over this world.
‘Wow, she cares so much about her, huh… ’ Brigitte couldn’t help but wonder.

When they arrived, the room was a complete mess. Clothes were strewn all over the place, leaving almost no room to stand on the floor and jolting a reminder right into Lena’s mind about why she had left her room for her celebratory dance. But the gang was only ten minutes into the process when they had already started to see the progress. “Soooo… You and Emily, how did you two meet?” There had been a stale silence coursing through the room while they cleaned, Brigitte was the first to break it by asking. Lena giggled, reminiscing of the time.
“Well, funny enough, it all started over a bottle of beer-”

Beer had been a coping mechanism after her previous relationship ended. Lena had done a horrible job of taking care of herself during the aftermath, and it showed. She cringed at the thought of how long she went without showering on some occasions. Her friends visited her during that time, but it was one friend in particular who gave her the reality check she needed. He barged into her flat one day, tossed her an outfit and essentially demanded that she get clean and changed. “You’re coming out with me and my mates tonight.” He said, less of an offer and more of a statement. “We’re gonna go for a drink, you’re gonna have a good time, and it’s going to be the first step on the road to recovering from, well… This.” His words were accompanied by a wide hand gesture to all of her, really helping to hammer down the point. Lena was reluctant, but ultimately obeyed. 

When Lena stepped out of her flat to greet him, the first thing he noticed was that she wasn’t wearing the shirt he gave her. Instead, she’d switched it out for one of her own, a piece of merchandise for the singer ‘Girl In Red.’ He sighed.
“Lena, is that clean?” He asked. She didn’t respond, so he turned her around by her shoulders and sent her back inside. “C’mon, little soldier. Get changed.”

Lena’s friend led her to a pub in the heart of King’s Row. The bustling atmosphere of London made the place feel alive, though it seemed to slip by Lena and leave her behind. Her friend called out and a large group of guys and a woman sitting in the corner booth turned their heads in unison, recognising the man with Lena and cheering the name Ross. The duo was waved over, and just as Lena was about to abandon the idea, her friend took her by the wrist and led the way between the tables. As they arrived at the table, Ross pulled Lena up next to him.
“Good evening, lads! This is my mate Lena, thought she could do with a night out.” Lena forced a smile and a small wave, scanning over Ross' friends. They all looked the same to her, aside from the woman. Of course, freshly single, a beautiful woman was bound to catch Lena’s attention. Ginger hair rolled down around the woman’s shoulders, framing her freckled face. She wore an oversized, navy jumper with the sleeves extending past her hands. Draped around her neck was a thin scarf, pink and adorned with purple stripes. Lena sat across from this unknown woman, settling into the booth at Ross' side.

The night ended up being the bore she expected. The lads were, well… Lads. Normally, Lena was no stranger to laddish behaviour, and she could feel that she wanted to join in on the banter. But her mind was just elsewhere.
“Hey, you okay?” Lena turned to face Ross, but he was mid sentence with his mates. She turned to face the woman opposite her and caught her thoughtful gaze. “You were spacing out a bit there. What’s on your mind, darling?” But the wall that protected her from being vulnerable stood strong.
“Just a bit of a rough patch…” She admitted vaguely. “Nothing I won’t get through.” She’d like to call herself pretty good at lying, but the fact of the matter was that this lady could see right through it. She chose not to press Lena, however. She sensed that maybe she needed the space. Lena jumped slightly when she realised what she’d forgotten. “I’m terribly sorry, I don’t think I caught your name?”
“No worries, it’s not like Ross introduced us properly.” The redhead smiled back. “I’m Emily! Me and Ross used to go to school together.”
“Ohhh, of course! Emily, I know you! You’re Ross' friend who helped him steal a penguin from the zoo!” Lena exclaimed with glee she hadn’t felt in far too long. Emily leaned back in her chair, looking smugly at Lena.
“My reputation precedes me, huh?” Emily put on a voice as though she were trying to sound cool, but it was such a poor attempt that Lena struggled not to burst out laughing. “Me and him have gotten up to all sorts of hijinx since we met. What about you? How’d you know him?”
“Oh, we’re in the same pilot unit. Given some of the shit we’ve both been through, we’re pretty much each other’s go-to shoulder to lean on.” Lena explained. She could feel temptation to overshare rising up inside her, but she didn’t particularly care to stop it. “I mean this trip tonight is him trying to help me out.” Unfortunately for Lena, Ross chose the worst possible moment to chip into their conversation.
“She’s basically been falling apart since her break up.” He stated matter-of-factly. “Hasn’t been eating properly, hasn’t been sleeping properly, pretty sure she hadn’t showered for a week-” Before he could continue, Lena’s hand clamped down over his mouth. Her cheeks turned to ripe strawberries and any attempt to deny it came out as less than a stutter. She anxiously turned to face Emily again. She was, unsurprisingly, laughing, but not out of judgement.
“Don’t worry, darlin’. Everyone’s been there. Trust me~” Relieved, Lena removed her hand from Ross's face. Again, quite a mistake on her part.
“She was gonna wear her Girl In Red shirt, but I told her not to because that hasn’t been washed, either.” Emily glanced first at Ross, then turned her gaze back to Lena.
“You… Listen to Girl In Red, Lena?” Lena was about to answer when she froze suddenly. She could feel a leg invading her space under the table. Emily gently pressed her knee closer to Lena until it was brushing against her jeans. The innocence and wisdom had vanished from Emily’s eyes. There was still a knowing essence within, but in a much different vein to the thoughtfulness she had radiated before. Not a word left Lena’s mouth. She only nodded, blushing even brighter, somehow. Emily removed her knee in an instant, reaching over the table and grabbing Lena’s hand. “Come with me, darling. I’ll buy you a drink~”

“So yeah, that’s pretty much it I suppose.” Lena was flushed entirely. It was such a stupid story that would sound incredibly anticlimactic in any other context. 
“Oh-em-jee! You two are totally adorable!” Hana exclaimed.
“It’s not that bigga deal, guys.” She said, bashfully. “It’s not even that romantic, meeting at a pub.”
“Oh please.” Brigitte laughed heartily with her hands on her belly. “For you Brits, meeting in a pub is the equivalent of a mountainside proposal looking over a city of lights at midnight!” 
“Anyway, we’re all really happy for you two.” Hana smiled, reaching out to hug Lena. Lena returned the gesture, resting her chin on top of the tiny woman’s head.
“What about you guys? I find it hard to believe none of you are seeing people, you’re all quite the lookers!” The group stood in silence for a moment, sharing glances without a word between any of them. “Really? None of you? Hana, don’t you ever flirt with your fans or anything?”
“Nuh-uh! That kind of relationship is rigged to blow up in my face, one way or another.” Lena eyed Lúcio for his reaction, although he seemed distracted. As she turned back to face Hana, she locked eyes with Brigitte, the two reading each other’s minds perfectly.
“Well, you could probably have anyone you want, you all could!”

Back in Talon’s stronghold, a gloomy boardroom in the dark recesses of the base was being used. The corridors leading to the room stretched on for miles underground, not a single life anywhere to be seen except for Akande. He double checked he was alone, his neck muscles bulging as his head craned from side to side before he slammed the door behind him. The only light source was a projector, facing the wall furthest from the door. Three figures stood still in the darkness; Maximilien, Moira and Sanjay gathered around the large table between them with light from the projector reflecting off its shiny surface. Akande slammed the table harshly.
“Argh, isn’t Reaper coming?” Irritation oozed from him, even though he was also late. Sanjay shook his head.
“Apparently, he’s on private business right about now.” He confirmed. “He warned me he might not make it, but I guess it’s official now.”
“Bodes well for us.” Grated Max. “I get the feeling that man is starting to go soft. He’ll only slow us down if he was here.” Akande shot the omnic a mean look.
“He’s not going soft. He’s as valuable to us now as he always has been.” Max nodded in acceptance.
“As you wish it.” He said. Satisfied, Doomfist moved on.

“Now, do you all know why you’re here?” The warrior looked around the room as his three comrades chattered amongst themselves. Moira was the first to answer.
“I assume this is to do with the recent loss at King’s Row?” She guessed. Doomfist nodded, pointing at her broken arm. The King’s Row fight should have been theirs. Talon outnumbered the Overwatch units that had shown up there by a landslide, not to mention that D.Va had been taken out of the fight very early on.
“And do you all know why it is we lost?” He barked, flecks of spit landing on the table before him. “Because they have specialised units with incredible abilities that synergise with one another. We have assassins, snipers, troopers, enforcers, heavy units, and they’re great. But they don’t mesh well together. That’s Talon’s problem, we try to brute force everything.”
“Do you have an alternative option?” Sanjay questioned. Doomfist’s expression changed from displeased to proud.
“I do, Project Second Coming . Take ‘Subject Sigma’ for example.” A clicking sound was followed by the screen behind him changing, illuminating with an image of a man coated in bulky, blue armour. His feet were bare and hovered just off of the ground, with a balding head and dull eyes. “Before his termination, Subject Sigma was a borderline invincible force to be reckoned with. While too unstable mentally to engage on the battlefield, his research on dominion over gravity could be applied to another specialised unit in order to protect our ground units.” The video moved forward, displaying Sigma with a small darkness grasped in his hand. A black hole, swirling in the centre of his palm. Moira raised her hand. “What is it, O’Deorain?” Doomfist asked impatiently.
“I have a beyond-perfect candidate in mind for this project, if you do not already.” She answered, a cruel leer smearing across her features. The grin mirrored itself onto Doomfist’s face.
“Oh, do tell!” His enthusiasm came through, clear as crystal. He reseated himself as Moira took the stage, her lab coat billowing behind her to balance out the jarring cast. She cleared her throat, confidence in her voice again.
“Computer, show us a picture of Overwatch agent, Tracer.” 

Sure enough, a photo of Tracer was thrown onto the dark wall. It was in the cockpit of the airship after the battle at King’s Row. Moira began pacing back and forth as she spoke. “The reason we initially chose Amélie to be the Widowmaker was because she was already close to the enemy. We shaped her mind like putty and sent her back to do our bidding, and they let her into their arms because they trusted her. If it worked once before, it will most certainly work again. As an ex-Blackwatch operative, I can confirm that Overwatch is far too trusting of who they allow into their custody. Now, there are a few ex-Overwatch agents who have romantic relationships. However, of those we know have responded to the recall, Lena Oxton is the only one with this kind of relationship. She is currently involved romantically with a woman named Emily. I propose we abduct Emily, subject her to the results of Doctor de Kuiper’s experiments with dominion over gravity, and combine that process with the neural reprogramming we applied to Widowmaker in order to make her easier to control.” Each of the men sitting before her exchanged glances with one another, nodding in agreement to her concept. Moira, smile still intact, turned to address Akande. “I love the name, by the way. Did you come up with it?” 

Before Akande could respond, the irritating automated voice of Max rang out once more.
“So you want to do another sleeper agent assassination?“ His automated voice still found a way to sound condescending. “Akande, you’ve made it very clear by now that you wish not to engage Overwatch agents with lethal force.”
“I can speak for myself, Max.” Akande spat, waving Maximilien away. “Moira, we’ve been over this. We’re not going to kill any Overwatch agents. We’re too weak to face that kind of heat, right now.”
“I thought you might bring that up, Akande. Our mind reprogramming technology has advanced a lot since Widowmaker. Even if we successfully convert Emily into one of our sleeper agents, we do not have to use her for assassination. She can simply be a back door for information that Tracer tells her. And assuming the little brat is still as talkative as she always was, she will tell Emily everything and anything .” The word ‘brat’ came out as a hiss that dripped like a snake fang. Moira’s gaze watched over the silent room before her. It always made her feel good to enrapture an audience like this. Even the council at the Oasis didn’t quite scratch the itch to be listened to; To be heard by people. Here, amongst the most dangerous criminals in the world, she felt powerful. She had dominion over the entire room, each of them following her silently. If their gazes ever wandered, she’d segue into another, more prominent point of her presentation and pull them right back into her twisted imagination. “ And , because I know you’re all thinking it, I’ve already made arrangements to apprehend Emily. The recall message Winston sent out came from the Watchpoint in Gibraltar, so I gathered that that would be where all agents responding to the recall would head. I had Sombra bug the communications there, and we discovered that Emily will be coming to visit Lena at the watch point soon. I had made prior arrangements to intercept her flight and apprehend Emily for other reasons, but if she can prove useful to Project Second Coming, I think we should hit two birds with one stone. Don’t you?”

“There’s one more issue, O’Deorain.” Akande’s voice broke the illusion of power. His voice rumbled like thunder. “De Kuiper’s research allowed him to successfully control gravity, but it also broke his mind in a way we couldn’t fully control. How do you propose we avoid a repeat incident? Surely, exposing Emily to the power of a black hole will shatter her consciousness the same way de Kuiper’s was?” The other present council members nodded in thought, turning to Moira. Here was the segue she was looking for.
“Siebren de Kuiper’s exposure to a black hole was his first time setting foot outside of theory. He was a fool, wrapped up in his calculations for far too long. When he finally took the step beyond the safety of theory, he’d never seen anything like the black hole that appeared before him. Emily, however, has had glimpses into this before. Being as close with Tracer as she is, it is likely she’s witnessed the problems of Chronal Disassociation first hand. While not guaranteed, we have reason to believe that her mind would be more durable than De Kuiper’s was. Are there any other questions?” There was a gentle murmur of agreement around the council as Project Second Coming was carved into stone.

Thump.

All heads snapped to the direction of the door. It had just shut, although Akande was certain he’d shut it properly before.
“Probably the wind.” Sanjay joked. Akande was not laughing, ripping the door off the hinges and slinging it down the corridor like a frisbee. It hit nobody, dropping to the floor with not so much as a drop of blood anywhere. Behind him, the other three had gathered, each with various levels of disdain and annoyance running through their minds.
“There would have been easier ways to check that if you had stopped and thought about it, you know.” Moira quipped, taking her gaze off the door panel and looking back up at Doomfist. 

Sombra rushed back into her quarters, her breathing heavy and ragged. In her hand, she clutched her phone to her chest, a recording of the conversation logged in it. It was bad enough they condoned torture once before, she wasn’t about to let it happen again. It was just too far, even for her. She had to warn Overwatch. She had to warn Tracer. She threw herself down into her chair and typed frantically on her keyboard she was able to find a way to contact Tracer. Before long, she had it, a personal phone number. She dialled instantly.
“Come on, pick up…” She whispered to herself. Ringing. Ringing.
“Hello? Who is this? ” At last, Lena sounded out from the other side of the phone call.
“Tracer, oh thank God!” Sombra cried out, almost dropping the phone for a brief moment.
“Sombra? How did you get my phone number? ” Her muffled voice sounded confused.
“How do you think, honey?” She snapped back. “That’s beside the point. The point is, your girlfriend Emily? She’s in danger. You need to get a fighter jet or something out to her plane, ASAP!” 

From the other side of the phone, Lena stared long and hard at her screen, the pixelated skull unblinking. Lena thought to the moment in Egypt, where Sombra had smiled as an explosion that killed numerous people had detonated not even a hundred metres away. It was the closest to joy in death she had seen since the night Mondatta was assassinated, and Lena had viewed Sombra to have the second coldest heart of anyone she’d ever known since. She couldn’t believe that between then and now, Sombra had suddenly done a complete one-eighty
“You’re a Talon agent. ” She stated. “ A dangerous one at that. I wouldn’t trust you with the time of day! ” Before Sombra could even reply, the call died. She scowled, frustration rising, flooding through her. Once again, she caught her reflection in the computer screen, unfamiliar despite the fact it was literally her. Years ago she would have seen the hardened, arrogant expression of Sombra, sitting on top of the giant conspiracy web of connections that she ruled over like an empress. Now there were tears again, her cheeks stained with ruined makeup.
“Olivia…  When did you become such a crybaby?”

Chapter Text

Sombra, invisible, stood at the entrance to the airship hangar. The roar of airship engines was a dead giveaway that phase one of Project Second Coming was already in action, and that Emily was officially in danger.
‘There has to be something I can do! ’ That thought just kept on repeating in her head, over and over again. Her brain was turning in circles like a lost traveller finding north on their compass. ‘ There has to be something I can do… ’ Her conscience hissed again. She nearly broke into a sprint, tempted to find the ship that was taking off and stow away before the window closed. But then what? She take out an entire battalion of Talon Soldiers alone? ‘ There has to be something I can do… right? ’ She watched in resignation as a streamlined airship, pitch black as the night, hovered towards the exit, taking off into the endless night sky above.

The stronghold was quiet on Sombra’s route back. It was a borderline-empty sector of the base. Sombra recognised it as the previous intel-gathering sector, each room around her with hundreds of desks and computers. They’d since moved to a more recent addition to the base, the hacker division set up on more advanced computers closer to the heart of the operation. She stopped. Voices. They were barely a murmur, but Sombra could hear them alongside footsteps. She cloaked as she rounded the next corner, almost bumping right into the heaving chest of Doomfist himself.
“I promise you, Akande. I’ve done all that I can to welcome him to the organisation with open arms, but he has rejected my every attempt. I am getting to my wits end with him.” Although nobody could see Sombra, she could feel her eyebrows shoot upward. Moira whining and complaining like this? This was… Unlike her, to say the least.
“I’ve also noticed it. He raised his voice at me earlier. Although in his defence, he had just returned from his loss at King’s Row. Still not an excuse for him to get in a strop.” Again, Sombra couldn’t help but notice how odd it was to hear him speak like this. The word “strop” dripped with distaste as it left Akande’s lips, but the mighty Doomfist was no stranger to throwing his toys out of the pram when things didn’t go his way. First, it was Winston. Sombra remembered when he first escaped from prison after being defeated. The man’s ego was severely wounded with that Primal Punch. Then again, when Orisa drove him out of Numbani. Each time, Sombra had noticed him change. He no longer threw his weight around and didn’t carry himself with much of a sense of pride of power. It took a particularly hard-fought victory after a defeat like that in order to balance him out and get his mojo back. To see him look down on Arcane for going through a similar motion made Sombra curl her lip in disgust.

“The swordsman simply has no idea how to respect the chain of command.” Moira continued, pointing to her arm that had previously been injured. “Of course, I can heal from just about any harm, so the fracture I suffered at King’s Row was never going to be a big deal. But he has this… Sense that his fighting style is esoteric in some way, so that only he should have it.” Sombra resisted the urge to scoff. “When it comes to the creation of the Bladed Assassin units, he has been fighting me at every turn. Took things so far as to call my injury ‘karma’ for going against his wishes.”
“That sounds… More like a personal problem between you and him-” Sombra could see that Akande was struggling not to laugh at Moira. “We’re supposed to worry about him respecting the chain of command.” Moira took a step ahead of Akande and turned to face him, stopping both of them in their tracks.
“Need I remind you that until I suggested how valuable his abilities would be if we replicated them, your initial response to him infiltrating our home was to have him killed?” Moira said. “We have him on our side now. We move forward with what we brought him in for, regardless of if he wants to or not.

Akande took a moment of silence. Both Moira and Sombra watched apprehensively, hanging onto every second of quiet. He thought deeply before shaking his head, disappointed with the truth he had come to understand.
“O’Deorain, until you develop some form of mind control, you can’t force someone like him to respect you. You’re allowed to throw your weight around when it comes to most Talon members, but Arcane is not someone who will follow your orders at the drop of a hat. He’s not one of your scientists, and he has more free will than most of your previous subjects. Do you really expect him to respect you when your first time meeting him ended with you poking around against his wishes?” As though it were a challenge, Moira stepped even closer to Akande, her chest pumping out with an air of pride.
“If my only title of importance here was the Head of the Science Division, that would be a more than fair judgement. But I am not just the Head of the Science Division. I am a council member, Akande. Just like you, and Reaper.” She straightened out her posture entirely, her chin jutting out like an icicle growing sideways in a chilling wind. Standing up straight, she was almost as tall as his slouching form. “Like it or not, you and I have the same authority over Talon. You and I are equals in that regard. Meaning if that spoiled brat is willing to treat me with no respect, how much longer do you have before he begins directing that rebelliousness at the rest of the council? We need to put a muzzle on him; It won’t be long until we have no choice but to put him down.”

Arcane lay on his bed, his chest heaving. A thin veil of sweat stuck his mask to his face still, his skin plastered in the stuff. Quite frankly, he was completely exhausted. He didn’t want to sleep yet, but the training with the assassins this morning had taken a lot out of him. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He’d considered writing a lesson plan for the next training session with the bladed assassins, but a part of his mind was still nagging at him. A whisper in the back of his head kept telling him it was a terrible idea to pass on his knowledge. So he decided that if he was to follow orders from Moira, he’d do the bare minimum. He’d show up to the lessons, show off for a bit, and then leave. That was all Moira would get from him.

Arcane bolted into a sitting position. Someone was knocking at the door. He was on his feet in a split second, approaching the door with all tiredness suddenly gone from his body. He did a double-take to ensure he was masked up, his fingers running over the crack. He still needed to get that fixed. Satisfied that it would last, he opened the door. Sombra threw herself inside the moment the gap was big enough, slamming it behind her and panting for a moment.
“Ah, if I’d known you were coming, I would have hopped into the sho-” He was silenced when she placed a finger on his lips with enough force to almost make him stumble. He halted his pettiness to actually take in what was happening. Painted on her face was a combination of irritation and worry, all the sarcastic retorts gone from her mind. Her iridescent eyes had widened and dilated. Each moment they bore into him was another dagger of fear slashing into his mind.
“Just… shut your arrogant lips for one moment and listen!” She hissed, storming up to him. Before he could take another step back, one of her outstretched hands had grabbed his shoulder and was shaking him back and forth. “Doomfist and Moira are on their way to sentence you to solitary confinement. You don’t respect them enough for their liking, and this is their way of remedying it.” Snapping out of his stupor, Arcane gripped at Sombra’s wrist and pulled her off him.
“I’m… not sure what I do with that info.” He said, blankly. “If it’s as you say, that’s too little too late. You expect me to talk my way out of it?”
“No, because you can’t. So whatever you do, don’t even try to protest.” Of all the people who Arcane had met in Talon, Sombra was the last he’d expect to look out for him like this. “If you’re the type of person I think you are, based on our chats so far, you’d get all defensive and challenge Akande’s judgement. You don’t have the silver tongue you think you do, Arcane! If you try that, you’re dead. You’re one strike away from the council seeing you as a lost cause and just ending your life. So whatever you do, whatever they say, just go with it. Okay?”

Doomfist shoved the door to Arcane’s room open, filling the doorway with Moira peeking over his shoulder. She was beaming triumphantly, eyeing up the deer in the headlights of the Akande Express.
“Sombra, if you wouldn’t mind leaving for a moment, we need to have a chat with that friend of yours.” Akande stated calmly, stepping to the side and letting her exit. She gave Arcane one final look, tried a smile to comfort him some more, and then left him alone with the hydra heads before him. Arcane nodded at the dark space she had disappeared into before turning his attention back to Akande and Moira, dreading whatever was about to come.
“Is everything okay?” Arcane muttered, wishing the moment would hurry and be over.
“We’d like to discuss something with you.” Akande didn’t seem like the kind to beat around the bush, so this introduction intrigued the rogue. “It’s about your attitude towards your superiors. I’ve received a few complaints from higher ranking operatives, including Dr. O’Deorain, that although you complete their orders to their standards, you don’t exactly show them much respect. I’ve seen this with my own eyes, too.” Akande’s arms were folded, his stance towering over the others around him. The atmosphere was charged with the confidence of the giant. Although he wasn’t the best with social cues, Arcane knew Sombra’s warning was probably right.
“Okay, take me away then-” Arcane sighed, but Akande halted him part way through.

“However-” He began. “Your strength and skill is invaluable. As a result, the common consensus is that if you simply apologise and promise to do better, we’ll let you off with another warning.” Arcane thought he was surprised, but glancing over Akande’s shoulder, he could see that Moira was even more stunned. For the first time since he’d touched down in Talon, he saw her composure break for a reason other than excruciating pain, her eccentric façade gone as she spluttered in protest.
“Akan- That consensus is not common! It’s so uncommon that- That…” The comparison got caught in her throat before she could finish it. The hand that takes jerked forward, purple energy coalescing in her palm and preparing to fire out at Arcane. Or was it at Doomfist? Honestly, Arcane couldn’t tell at this point. It could have gone either way, considering the circumstances. But before her beam could latch onto either of them, the hand that takes was grappled by the hand that destroys, Akande’s giant gauntlet gripping her wrist and preparing to crush it.
“Don’t give me a reason to break your other arm, O’Deorain.” Akande spat, squeezing to ensure the threat went through. Moira’s lips opened in a silent scream of pain, a single tear dropping from her eye as she fought valiantly to keep herself from making any noise. Arcane felt a twinge of sympathy for her, but it was silenced quickly. “Now, Arcane. Since Moira and I are already here, why not start with us? Can we count on you to show us a bit more respect from now on?”

Arcane was well and truly dumbfounded, too. To call this ultimatum bizarre would be an understatement.
“Must be a fragile system in place here if it can be brought down by the absence of an apology.” The swordsman reflected. Akande only answered with silence, raising an eyebrow. With a heavy sigh, Arcane bowed his head. “Commander Akande ‘Doomfist’ Ogundimu, I apologise for not respecting you as a superior. Specifically, for raising my voice at you. I was very frustrated after we lost the fight at King’s Row, but that doesn’t excuse me. I’m sorry.” Arcane gently itched at his thigh as he spoke. His apology got a nod from the giant, who then turned to look at Moira. She was still at the mercy of Akande’s grip, her arm bent at an awkward angle that honestly looked like it was on the verge of snapping again. She seemed calmer now, at least, focusing on Arcane with a pained sneer. “You, however, I will not apologise to. I believe my lack of respect towards you is warranted, and I feel like that would change if you actually respected me .” Unknown to everyone present, an invisible Sombra face-palmed silently behind Akande and Moira. The snake heads locked eyes, a telepathic conversation happening between them before Akande angled Moira’s arm at Arcane. The Biotic Grasp latched onto his body, leeching away at his life energy. He staggered to his knees, his vision fading with every passing moment. The last thing that stuck in his mind was the vile leer from Moira as he collapsed to the ground at her feet.

Lena sat in her quarters at Gibraltar. The entire room had undergone an enormous cleaning session and had been turned into the perfect, romantic evening for Lena and Emily. In the middle of the room was a  table with two chairs and two plates of battered fish and chips. She’d cooked the meals from scratch. One of the fish fillets was bigger, so Lena had placed it on Emily’s plate. For her slightly smaller piece, she laid the beer-batter on thicker to give the illusion it was the same size. Emily would never settle for Lena getting the short end of the stick. Lena looked at the clock. 8:50, it read. Emily was due in ten minutes.
‘ It’s been so long. ’ She thought, her larger-than-life smile rearing its head. ‘ I just want to hear her voice again, and not through a phone call, for a change! ’

9:00. Lena sat herself at the dining table, quivering with excitement. Any moment now, Emily would open that door and make her the happiest girl in the world all over again.

9:15. ‘ Odd. ’ Lena thought. Then she realised there was no need to think to herself. Since she was alone, she could talk out loud without anyone being confused as to why. “She should’ve been here by now.” She stated. “Maybe she expected me to meet her off the plane?” She stood from the dining chair and wandered through the base until she was at the landing bay. Nothing. The place was empty. “Maybe she’s just running late…” Lena sat on a nearby bench, waiting.

9:30. There was still no sign of Emily. A biting cold night was creeping in, the wind rushing over the surface of the ocean and darting up the cliff faces to greet her. A ball of dread formed in her gut. What if Sombra was telling the truth? What if she wasn’t planting a bug on Lena’s phone, or luring some fighter jets into an ambush? She shoved the thought to the back of her mind, hopeful.

10:00. Lena’s eyes drifted shut and she slumped over on the bench, curling up into a ball in the freezing cold night. The landing zone was still barren. The night sky was clear of planes, clouds rolling into one-another to conceal the stars. The sky stretched onwards until it met with the sea, forming the horizon. The horizon that Emily’s plane was supposed to come flying over an hour ago.

11:00. Lena woke up enough to find a blanket laid over her. A note written in Winston’s handwriting was stuck to her forehead.

“Wouldn’t want you getting hypothermia.” She read out loud. A small smile appeared on Lena’s face. “Thanks, Winston.” She chuckled, even though he didn’t appear to be nearby. She wrapped the blanket over her shoulders and sat upright again. She had to stay strong and wait. Emily would be here any minute now, she could feel it.

12:00. Lena picked herself up off of the bench and began the journey back to her room. She had made the wrong decision, and now Emily was dead. Gone in the blink of an eye, probably. At least, she hoped that was how Emily went out. She hated the idea of her suffering a slow, painful death. The door slammed behind her. She made an attempt to hide her sorrow behind a façade of rage, tearing around her quarters and flipping anything that wasn’t secured upside down. The dinner plates crashed to the floor, the now-cold fish falling with a resounding thwap. She wanted to scream, and no amount of guilt over waking her neighbours was going to stop her. So she screamed; A lingering, violent wail of agony that threatened to tear her throat to shreds.

All Overwatch agents gathered around the table, waiting for Lena to approach. At last, her footsteps sounded as she neared the mess hall. She sat down to breakfast with everyone, picking at her food.
“Lena…” Winston began. “We’ve got some bad news. Emily’s plane was intercepted by Talon last night.”
“Yeah… I guessed…” She retorted, grumpy as a troll. Everyone looked surprised.
“H-how did you guess?” Angela asked, bewildered as everybody else.
“I got a call from Sombra recently.” She explained. “She said something was going to happen to Emily…” Cassidy slammed his fist on the table in response.
“And you kept this a secret, why?!” He yelled. Lena broke down into tears.
“Because who the fuck gets a call from Sombra and thinks anything she says is real?” She shouted back. “I fucked up, okay? It’s my fault, I get that!” She removed her head from her hands for a moment and glared at Cole. “Besides! It’s my girlfriend who died because of me. What’re you angry for?!” And suddenly she was breaking down again, her head resting on her arms as she sobbed into the table. Any screams had departed after last night. Winston carefully approached her, reaching out to pat her on the back. Quick as a flash, she was out of her chair and hugging him, her head buried in his chest fur.
“She’s not dead, Lena…” he said. Lena stopped crying straight away. She was paralysed with shock more than anything. She was frozen in place with her head still glued to Winston. At last, she looked up into his eyes.
“H-how can you be so sure?” She squeaked. Hope appeared in her eyes once again.
“We got a picture from an anonymous sender, most likely Sombra.” Genji stated flatly. “Athena, show us the picture we were sent this morning.” The AI whirred for a moment before bringing up an image of a bruised and bleeding Emily trapped in a holding cell. The caption “I’m sorry” was written along the bottom.

Emily sat comfortably in the plane’s seat, her phone in her hand. A picture of her and Lena at the pub where they first met gazed back at her from the phone screen. A photograph taken a year after that night, to commemorate their anniversary. She swiped to the next photo; It was both of them eating dinner with Winston one Christmas. Emily smiled again. The smile was gone at the sound of glass shattering all along the length of the plane. Windows smashed and soldiers came pouring in, abseiling with cords attached to their armour. The bodyguards that had been assigned to Emily’s flight by Overwatch drew their weapons, but none of them were able to fire before the attackers did. A large soldier clumped down the central aisle, his boots thudding heavily on the floor as the wind whipped around his terrifying armour. Emily crouched in the seats, on her hands and knees, hoping against hope that she’d be safe. She dared to peek between the seats, eyeing the red ‘T’ emblem that stood boldly from his shoulders. A tall woman with short, ginger hair stood with him, following behind with her hands placed neatly behind her back. Another soldier was patrolling the isle in the opposite direction, passing Emily and doing a double take.
“Hey, boss, this the girl?” He asked, grabbing her by the back of her shirt and hoisting her up for all to see. The soldier with Moira turned to look back at the scientist, who smiled and nodded.
“That is her, she is the target.” She confirmed. “Get her back onto the ship.”

“No!” Emily shouted, digging her elbow into her captor’s ribs. She instantly regretted it, the hard exterior sending pain shooting through her arm. He pulled out a belt and attempted to place it over her as she struggled against him. “Let me go, damnit!” She cried out. Moira sighed with frustration.
“Knock her out already, we have spent as much time as we need on this plane.” She turned, checking her own harness was functionable before jumping out of the plane and following her tether. Emily caught a glimpse through the door. Flying alongside the airliner was a streamlined ship with harpoon guns lining the side. Cables spanned the gap between the airliner and the Talon ship, keeping them at the same pace. Emily barely made out the rest of Talon’s fleet before she conked out. The soldier holding her rammed her head into the nearest wall and she fell limp in his arms. Now, she was helpless. He took a moment to check her pulse and breathing when he noticed blood pouring from her scalp. She was stable, still. Just unconscious. Easier to handle. He placed the belt around her waist and detached his own harness, clipping it onto Emily and tossing her out of the plane. She was slowly reeled into the Talon ship, the operatives scooping her up. Any cables holding the two vessels together were reeled in. From within the ship, the soldier locked eyes with his captain. All he saw was a silent nod, not a single voice coming to him over his ear piece. Under his helmet, the soldier grinned malevolently before taking out a handful of grenades and pulling the pin on one of them.
“For the New World!” He bellowed into the nothingness.

The ships were knocked away as the plane erupted into a giant fireball and spiralled downward into the ocean. Smoke and brimstone trailed after the metal corpse, billowing into the night before being violently suffocated. The ocean water hissed. Moira pressed a finger to her ear piece.
“Akande? This is Moira. The mission was a success, we have Emily.”

“Well done, O’Deorain. Bring her back to the stronghold, we’ll get started on Project Second Coming as soon as we can.” Akande’s voice rattled into the radio, jolting awake the unconscious figure before him. Arcane craned his neck around, taking in his surroundings in a matter of moments. The stone walls, the crappy mattress, the iron bars between him and Akande, this seemed like the solitary confinement Sombra had mentioned.
“Welp, you did it.” Arcane commented, standing and approaching the bars. “You put a phoenix in a bird cage. Congratulations. You know what? I’m already starting to forgive Moira for knocking!”
“Cut the bullshit, you’re already on thin ice.” Doomfist thundered, silencing Arcane. “You’re lucky you’re still alive. I was more than tempted to let her kill you through and through.” He eyed the prisoner through the darkness, knuckles clenching in anger. Arcane grabbed at the bars and poked his head between two of them.
“Why didn’t you?” It sounded like a taunt, but he was genuinely curious. It was like Sombra had said, he was basically on his last strike. “No blood on your hands if you just let someone else do it. Or is this kind of like the Trolley Problem in your head?” Akande chuckled and shook his head. Seeing him smile like that was odd, like a turtle without its shell.
“What are you talking about, Arcane? Do you ever stop talking?” As much as it got on people’s nerves, there was an odd air of charisma about the way that Arcane just never shut his mouth. Akande couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m serious. Why not just let me die if I’m such dead weight?” Arcane retracted his head from between the bars again and cocked it to the side. A deep, heavy sigh sounded out from Akande, his massive chest deflating. At last, he shrugged. Or was he just rolling his shoulders?
“Multiple reasons, really.” Akande began. “Although I’d say the most important one is… I respect you too much to let you die to such an underhanded woman.” This caught the swordsman off-guard. Before he could even question, Akande ploughed on. “I heard from a pretty blue bird that you challenged the melee training unit, something that used to be my personal unit until you showed your face here. You did pretty well, too. Only a few seconds off my best time.”
“Well, the pretty blue bird may have helped me out.” It was an attempt to humble himself, but Akande still found a way to flip it back around to something positive.
“The fact that Widowmaker covered your back in training , when you weren’t in any real danger, means that she respects you too. Everyone here at Talon knows you’re talented and strong. Why do you think it is that whenever you’re knocked unconscious, or whenever you go to sleep with your door unlocked, you wake up with your mask still on your face?” Instinctively, Arcane checked for the mask again. Sure enough, the cool metal still sat over his eyes, leaving the bottom side of his face exposed to the cool air of the cell.
“Now that you mention it, yeah…” 

“We at Talon respect you, Arcane. And that includes your right to anonymity. I can’t promise that Sombra will stop searching for your identity, since that’s just who she is, but I can assure you that your mask will not come off without your permission for as long as you’re working with us. But we need you to get it in your head that respect is something that must go both ways.” And that was when Arcane huffed again. He would never have expected the Doomfist Successor to be so hung up on bad manors, and yet here he was, treating a botched apology like Arcane just just slipped a knife between his ribs. Akande had approached the bars while Arcane was lost in thought. “I don’t expect you to respect every single Talon member under our roof, of course. That would require a miracle, I doubt even those delusional Iris worshippers could do that. But the council is the core of the Talon family. To hold such a grudge against Moira is to back yourself into a corner. Why do you refuse to be civil with her? That’s all I’m here to learn.”

Just when Arcane was about to answer, he changed his mind at the last moment. His eyes fell to the gauntlet, having not looked at it properly until now. The entire thing was made of bronze, it seemed. The lighting was limited in the solitary area, but what little light shone out in the gloom bounced off the perfect surface, throwing oily shadows across Akande’s figure. Four large protrusions stuck out like thorns from the knuckles. It was also the first time Arcane noticed just how huge the gauntlet was, far larger than any human hand. He recalled the Doomfist Legacy, how the title had passed among three separate owners with Akande included. How special the title of Doomfist was…

“Well… Take your gauntlet, for example. The Doomfist title is an honour, because there is only one Doomfist at a time. Imagine if Moira was trying to reverse engineer the Doomfist gauntlet, creating a new model that could be given to other members of Talon. How would that make you feel?” Arcane wasn’t looking at Akande anymore. He was simply pacing around the cell, his chin between his finger and his thumb. He gave his captor a quick glance, and he definitely had Akande’s attention; The titan was hanging onto every word that left Arcane’s lips. “I can’t imagine that you’d take too kindly to that. Neither do I. Our strength, our physical might is a cut above the rest of the world. If that power gets shared with everyone else, how are we supposed to stand above them all? Redistributing our power would take away the main thing that allows us to stand Bigger than Giants.” His train of thought had reached the end of the rails. He stopped pacing and turned back towards the bars. 

“So you see yourself as my equal in strength, do you?” Doomfist questioned with a curious smile. Arcane mirrored back, smugness creeping in.
“Of course I do.” He bragged. “I’d wager I could go even with you, assuming I was holding back.” He hung his head through the gap in the bars again, grinning at Akande from the darkness. “Let me out right now and I’ll prove it.” He raised his head slightly with the challenge, cocking it to one side. Before even a moment of contemplation passed, Akande guffawed. Arcane’s challenge was extinguished instantly. Akande fought to control his laughter, shaking his head and striding towards the bars.
“Riddle me this, Arcane. If you are superior… Why are you the one behind bars? Why do you bend your knee to me ?” Any lingering flame of rebellion was stomped out in a puff of smoke. Arcane’s attempts to respond were caught in his throat, eliciting another chuckle from his captor. “The reason we respect you is because of that ambition, Arcane. Being senselessly powerful is pointless, but having that power and using it to strive towards something greater? That’s why nobody takes off your mask. But don’t you dare try to imply that ambition of yours puts you above me-” His gauntlet shot through the bars and grappled his prey, pulling Arcane close. The metallic clang of his body slamming forward rang out around the cell. 

“I rose to my position through pain and sacrifice. If I didn’t agree with those above me, do you know what I did? I killed them with my own bare hands. I showed them that they were unfit to rule over me.” The enormous fingers of the gauntlet squeezed even tighter around Arcane’s neck. Doomfist watched him in amusement. “If you truly believe that you are above me, Arcane, you should rise above me. You should be looking to kill me, first chance you get. So why don’t you? Why am I still here, caging you like a crippled animal? Taunting you from the outside?” Arcane kept struggling as Doomfist spoke, both hands gripping the gauntlet and trying to pry himself free. He was thrown back to the floor before he could escape, gasping deeply for lungfuls of air. Akande watched with disgust. “Here’s a challenge for you, Arcane. Decide if you truly believe you’re stronger than me, or if you’re just full of yourself. Really think hard about it. When you come to your senses, you will show Moira and I the respect we deserve as council members. If, however, you foolishly choose to believe you’re truly above me, then you may level your blade at me. Just know I won’t be holding back. You will fall before me, Arcane. You will fall… and you will be forgotten.”

Chapter Text

Throughout the deepest, darkest reaches of Talon’s stronghold, a faint and broken sob could be heard. Sombra slunk through the dark towards the source of the cries, cloaked and ready to bribe any Talon members she might bump into. Her senses were off the charts. She could detect every footstep, every muffled noise. The walls on either side of her seemed like a part of her own flesh and blood for how in tune she was with the technology flowing through them; Every security protocol in the stronghold had come together to form a hivemind that showed her every corridor, elevator and stairwell all at once. Emily was in her sights, now. She was crouched in the corner of her cell, separated from Sombra by a wall of bars. The hacker slunk up to the bars, uncloaking and peering at Emily.
“Hey…” She said. Emily bolted upright, backing against the wall of the cell and exposing her bloodshot eyes. Her cheeks were puffy and glistened with the trails of tears long gone.
“Don’t hurt me!” She screeched. Her feet scrambled against the loose pebbles on the floor, but it was a fruitless attempt to escape from the one person in this building who was willing to show her kindness.
“It’s okay-” Sombra watched in pain as the captive pressed herself against the furthest wall. “Emily, I am so sorry I got you into this mess. I’m going to get you out of here as soon as I possibly can.” Her voice was like a siren to Emily. Promising something wonderful, but coming from the mouth of something so unfamiliar to her. The comparison grew even stronger when she saw Sombra’s arm reaching through the bars. “I don’t blame you for being scared…” Sombra continued, retracting her arm from the cage. “You shouldn’t trust me, I’m the one who found you… I put you here, and I’m so sorry for that.” Sombra’s eyes cast to the ground. She brought one hand to her forehead as though she was banishing a sudden headache. “You shouldn’t trust me, Emily. But… You can trust me. I’m going to help get you out of here.” The woman reached through the bars once more, offering her hand to Emily’s shattered shell.

From within the cell, Emily bit down on the lure, apprehensive. “W-what are you planning?” She was still pressed to the farthest wall from the bars, her body almost flat against the rough stone. Sombra only saw panic in her eyes. She sighed and shook her head.
“I don’t know yet.” She answered truthfully. “You’re gonna have to give me more time to figure something out. But have hope, okay? You’re not alone here, I’m in your corner and I’m going to fight for you. I don’t want you to turn into another Widowmaker.” Emily’s eyes widened for a moment. She’d heard very little about Widowmaker’s tale in the whole Overwatch-Talon conflict. Lena had always been anxious about discussing work with her, Emily thought. She had always told Lena that Overwatch was dangerous, that she was worried of losing her one day. Ever since, Lena had been much more cagey about sharing details of any missions, even victories. Emily knew she had brought it on herself. She couldn’t really blame Lena for being secretive, and she knew it was for her own good. Maybe it was also a protective measure for this current scenario? If Talon ever targeted Emily to try and get information out of her, Overwatch would be covered because Emily didn’t know anything? She had no idea. At least the latter idea felt less personal. It brought her the smallest amount of comfort in her mind to latch onto that idea.

Emily shook her head before her train of thought could continue running away from her. Whoever Widowmaker was, Sombra made it sound like a bad thing. Sombra… She still felt anxious putting her faith in a Talon member, even with all of the guilt that coated every word Sombra said. Besides, she couldn’t contact Overwatch and know for sure they were coming for her. There seemed to be a figure in the cell next to hers, but whoever it was had either been asleep or dead since she had arrived, so they weren’t offering much help to her either. Anyone else had been draped in a Talon uniform and abusing her. But Sombra’s very aura portrayed something different. Right down to the fact she wasn’t wearing the signature red and white of Talon. Before her stood a renegade. And ever since she had been knocked unconscious on the plane, that was the best she had got. Emily nodded and slowly steeled into motion, edging away from the back wall and reaching her hand out to Sombra.
“Okay…” She whimpered, taking Sombra’s hand. “Please get me out of here-” Sombra smiled at Emily before cloaking again, vanishing from sight.
“We’ll be in touch.” was the last thing Emily heard as her saviour disappeared.

Amélie sat on her plush bed, re-reading an old book. She hadn’t touched the novel since before her transformation. It was a relic to her, a lingering presence from the life she once led. Every word on the page reached out to her like a whisper. She could hear the faint memory calling to her with every line she scanned. The story followed a young man named Viktor with a supernatural ability; If Viktor were to make physical contact with the remnants of an injury, be it bruised skin, a drop of blood or an old, fading scar, he would see a vision of how that injury occurred. Using this ability, he found a career as a police detective, utilising his power to see how a murder was committed and then proceeding to reverse-engineer the incident in order to build a case. She couldn’t remember the ending of the book, only that she had read it before she transformed. Now, with her entire body changed by Talon’s hands, she wondered if there was any of her left that Viktor would be able to hold without his mind being broken.

Amélie’s room was silent until a knock on the door shattered the fragile silence, shortly followed by Reaper entering the room. Anyone else and Amélie would likely have hissed at them for coming in before she said they could, but the sight of Reyes was all she needed to feel the tension in her shoulders fade. In his hand was a glass of water. Once the door shut behind him, his mask was gone and so was his abrasive aura.
“How’re you feelin’?” Gabe asked, handing Amélie the glass of water with a shaky hand. She graciously took it and sipped, and for the briefest moment, Gabriel thought he saw a smile.
“I’ve been worse. It’s just hard to process a lot of what’s happening.” She sighed. Reaper nodded in understanding. He removed one of his gloves and gave her a reassuring pat on the back as he sat next to her.
“Have any new memories resurfaced, yet?” It was happening more often, recently. Random events from Amélie‘s previous life swimming up from the deepest recesses of her mind, like the existence of this book. Shows she once danced at, meals she particularly enjoyed, just little things. Insignificant-seeming tidbits of an Amélie that was long gone. She closed the book and showed the cover to Gabriel.
“I believe… this was a gift from him. From Gérard. Where did you even get it?”
“I snuck into the Château Guillard back when you mentioned some detective story you once read. Searched the library for a while and I found it there.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that, Gabriel.” She tried to hide her smile, but Gabriel caught it this time, holding onto the fleeting moment in his mind. “It’s nice to read it again without knowing the ending. I just remember enjoying the series.”
“There… was a series?” Already, the logistics of another flight out to France began to plan in his head. Amélie noticed right away and snapped him out of it.
“Gabriel, you’ve done enough. Don’t worry yourself.” She turned the book over in her hands to read the blurb. “I think this was my favourite one anyway, I don’t need the others.” She opened the pages again, keeping her thumb at the page she was on before turning to the inside of the front cover, a page she kept finding herself revisiting. There, in Gérard’s pristine handwriting, was a note. Gabriel peered over her shoulder, but the French words stared back at him without any meaning.
“What does it say?” He asked. Amélie huffed gently.
“Happy birthday, My Darling. If you ever forget how much I love you, and you’re too nervous to speak to me about it, I encourage you to ask any friend of mine. They are guaranteed to have a list of all the times I’ve sung your praises.” She read aloud. “If I were to write a book about everything I love about you, it would be a trilogy series with each instalment longer than the bible. And if you asked me to, I’d hand-write you a copy of each of them until my wrists shattered. I love you, my dear Amélie.” She sighed once more, tracing her finger over the elegant cursive.

“We have lost a good man.” Giving this kind of speech in front of such an enormous crowd was certainly not typical of Blackwatch Commander Reyes. Yet here he was, his shaking hands hiding a set of notes behind the podium. His voice cracked and shuddered, and every ounce of willpower he could spare was directed towards keeping the tears that threatened to leak hidden away. “Gérard was not just an ally to me as an Overwatch agent, he was like a brother-” He glanced down to the front row, where the other two holders of that title sat with their own glum expressions. Jack and Ana, both silent with their heads bowed. Gabriel had basically begged them to let him give this eulogy. There was a lot to get off of his chest. He shifted his cards around again so a new one stared at him from on top of the pile. The sentence was a smack in the face. “And for him to remain so… So calm and in control of the situation, even when the woman he loved was taken from him? I admire that tenacity. I can’t imagine being in his position and holding myself so steady, even now that Martina and I have separated.”

As Gabriel went to move onto the next card, his thumb slipped and the deck went everywhere. Jack’s first instinct was to push himself out of his seat and help Gabriel gather them, but Gabriel held his hand up to him. Morrison nodded with a small smile and reseated himself at Ana’s side. Ana gripped onto Jack’s arm, her upper lip quivering. At the podium, Gabriel took a deep breath to recentre himself, casting out his thoughts of the cards. “He put himself in the line of fire without any fear. He knew the challenges he’d be facing, yet his bravery carried him through encounter, after encounter, after encounter. So I was honoured with the amount of faith and trust he would put in me over the past few years.” His voice found him again, pushing through the pain much louder and clearer. “He put me in charge of so many responsibilities, and I don’t just mean Overwatch-related. He kept me in the loop for every aspect of his life. That wonderful story he always tells of how he proposed to Amélie? I gave him the green light on the idea. I was the first person he came to ask about it, which is a title I still wear prouder than my medal of honour.” He paused, casting his gaze around the audience once more. He still hoped he would see her, that she was somewhere in the crowd, mourning. But Amélie was nowhere to be seen.

“Amélie, if you’re out there somewhere. Know that I will bring you home. Gérard made me promise that I would. I’ve gone back on quite a few of those in my life, but this is a word I will hold myself to. We will rescue you from Talon and this time we will do it right.”

This was the second time that memory had resurfaced in Gabriel’s brain. The first was after one of his early missions as a Talon agent; He’d been gearing up and preparing for an infiltration of some military black site. In the gloomy drop ship, he was equipping an earlier version of the Reaper’s mask and doing everything in his power to ignore the arrogant and irritating voice of Sombra that continued to grind against his temper. Sombra… How much she had changed since that day, doing a complete U-turn away from the selfish agent of chaos. Given the heart to heart the two had recently, it was difficult to believe that their first mission together ended with both of them pointing the business ends of their firearms at each other with intent to kill. Of course, they were interrupted. They’d taken too long to extract De Kuiper, and another Talon agent had been sent to secure the success of the mission. Widowmaker burst onto the scene with a squadron of Talon soldiers, and Reaper turned back into Gabriel when he saw the woman he had sworn to protect with her humanity stripped away from her. The memory of Gérard’s funeral was clear as day, the empty promise he’d made to a man who couldn’t even hear him anymore. And here he was, years later, still no closer to fulfilling that vow.
“I miss him too, Amélie.”

“Also, I should mention… I’ve told Sombra the truth about you, about how your conditioning is deteriorating.” Right away, he could sense her worry; Her attention turned from Gérard’s note, drilling into him with those honey-coloured eyes. Her lips slightly parted in a gasp she failed to hide. “I’m sorry if that upsets you, but someone has to take care of you once you’re out of here. Sombra is capable-”
“She’s also as selfish as they come. She’s a little scorpion, just waiting to sting at the right moment.” Amélie replied dryly. “She’ll leave me for dust the first chance she gets, and we both know that.” It was a fair assumption. Everyone knew that Sombra didn’t exactly consider herself loyal to any one faction. Even for Talon, her main anchor was the resources they provided. Gabe had heard talks among the soldiers of bets on when she’d turn on them, and had even thrown his own guess in the hat. Considering she wanted to help Amélie escape, he figured his guess was off by a few years.
“She’s had a change of heart. She found… Something, recently. Made her realise she’s in too deep. At the end of the day, she’s just a little kid who’s in over her head. She doesn’t belong here.” His tone was grim. He couldn’t bring himself to admit that Sombra had stumbled upon footage of Widowmaker’s creation. It felt too personal, something Amélie could do without knowing.
“She’s not a child, Gabriel. She’s only a few years younger than me.” Amélie spat.
“Compared to me, you’re both children.”
“Even more of a reason to not leave me in her care. Why can’t you come with me?”

The question caught Gabriel off guard. He didn’t exactly have a good answer to that question. His mind raced as he attempted to form a coherent sentence, but Amélie grew impatient and clotheslined him with the deadline. “I asked you a question.” The wraith nodded, coming to terms with the answer himself before speaking.
“Amélie, imagine if I did take you away from here. We’d never be able to stop running. Talon would hunt us down wherever we went. And let’s face it, we’re not particularly good at blending into a crowd. It wouldn’t be as simple as escaping this stronghold and being free. At least, not with me involved. But Sombra might be able to get you somewhere safe.” He turned to face a disappointed Amélie. It seemed like she still didn’t fully understand, and it pained him to look at it that way. He shook his head violently and spoke again. “She wants to take you to Overwatch. If I were to take you there, I know that my history with them would only get in the way.”

Gabe had considered the thought of returning to Overwatch once or twice. The good ol’ days, as they were so aptly called. Admittedly, they were some of the best days of his life. He wasn’t immune to fantasising about them from time to time, reminiscing of the days he and Jack were brothers of the battlefield, having each other’s backs no matter how big of a divide was driven between them. The Super Soldier program bonded them in a way once thought to be immortal. Now, every daydream ended like his first mission with Sombra did; Jack and Gabe pointing a gun at each other. The transition from brotherly rival to arch nemesis was a rocky one, but Gabe knew there was no way to reverse it. As far as he understood, Jack felt the same. Maybe if bridges were built on phoenix feathers, burning them wouldn’t be so bad.
“I’d feel safer with you, Gabriel. I trust you.” Amélie’s voice softened. Gabriel took one look into her eyes and was slammed back into another reality-check, one that he still wasn’t ready to admit to anyone.
“Well, if you trust me, trust my decision. It wasn’t easy, but… It’s what needs to be done, Amélie.” He said, putting his mask back on. Amélie opened her mouth to protest again, but her words fell upon deaf ears as Gabriel transformed into mist. She was alone again, only Detective Viktor Alexeyev to keep her company.

Reaper’s quarters were dark and dreary. A single vent into the room sat underneath a large hammock that was suspended from the ceiling. There was also a small armour stand that stood at attention in the corner of the room, and spare Hellfire shotguns rested neatly in a glass case on the wall. Besides the furniture, the room was empty until the man himself coalesced into existence. “Sombra, my room, now.” Reaper whispered into his earpiece.
“Already here, Gabe.” Sombra materialised in the corner of the room. Reaper turned to face her and folded his arms.
“Not even going to ask why you’re already in my room. How’d it go with Emily?” He asked, leaning on the nearest wall and glaring at Sombra. She nodded in response.
“I think I did good.” She explained. “I told her I’m trying to help her and just did what I could to come across as genuine. I’m sure you can see why that was hard.” Reaper chuckled for a moment before shaking his head at his own results.
“Wish I could say the same. Amélie still doesn’t feel comfortable with you knowing everything about her. I need you to actually get on her good side if we want this to work.” He pushed himself off of the wall and slumped down into his hammock. “Lucky for you, I believe there’s an upcoming mission that I can partner you two up for. It could be a good chance to talk to her, show her why I chose you.”
“Okay, and then what do we do?” She asked. “Do you have a plan, yet?” Reaper shook his head again. This entire time, he had been racking his brain to think of an alternative. Anywhere else they could take Amélie where she might be safe, protected. He combed over every single thought that entered his mind, but all of them had weaknesses he couldn’t solve with a Death Blossom. As much as he hated to admit it, Sombra just might be right. There was only one option that was really left.
“Contact Overwatch. I’ll stand guard.”

The Gibraltar boardroom was quiet. Lena’s tears had stopped pouring, her sobs halted entirely. The story of Emily’s capture had left her an emotional wreck beyond repair. All Winston could do was hold her gently in his enormous arms. The other agents had left the room, granting Lena and Winston some privacy. Their moment of peace was brief. Athena’s voice echoed around the boardroom, prompting Lena to lift her face out of Winston’s chest. Her cheeks were puffy and her eyes swollen like she’d just stuck herself in a beehive.
“Winston, you have an incoming call from the same IP address as the image of Emily.” Athena said, a slight air of joy about her. Purple light bathed the two as a pixelated skull appeared on the large screen.
“Sombra calling again?” Winston muttered under his breath. His huge hand lifted off of Lena’s shuddering back for a moment and turned her to face him. “Lena, do you want to speak to her?”
“Let… Let her speak. I don’t want to make that same mistake again.” She whimpered. Winston eyed her cautiously before opening the call, throwing Sombra’s face up onto the big screen. A dark, cloaked figure lurked in the background, standing by the door with his arms folded and leaning lazily on the door frame beside him. The Overwatch Duo would recognise the bone-white mask anywhere. Sure enough, it was Reaper.
“What’s he doing there?” Winston grunted, pointing at the silent wraith in the background. Sombra glanced back at her ally before turning to watch Lena and Winston again.
“I don’t think you realise just how big of a risk I’m taking by talking to you guys. I need a bodyguard I can count on.” Reaper, meanwhile, remained silent. Winston folded his arms to mirror the ghost-man in the back of the room. Little electric shocks stung at the back of his neck as his temper rose, remembering the day he watched helplessly as Reaper’s boot  crushed the last remains of Harold into the ground. His giant fists clenched as he resisted the urge to jump through the screen and crush whatever Reaper had in place of his windpipe between his powerful paws.
“Lena, I’ll leave this to you. I can’t stand looking at him.” He slowly trotted out of the boardroom, leaving Lena alone with Sombra and Reaper on the other side of the screen.

Sombra’s expression widened as Winston moved out of frame. “Where’s the big guy going?” Lena shook her head.
“He and Reaper haven’t been… On the best of terms, lately.” She said, barely raising her eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you, Sombra. I should have at least… I don’t know, mentioned your call. I should have done something. But I just sat and twiddled my thumbs.”
“Honey, I wouldn’t have trusted that call either!” Said Sombra. She leaned towards her computer monitor. “I know what my reputation is.” At last, Lena met Sombra’s eyes through the screen. Compared to the last time the two had been face to face, the differences in Sombra were striking. In Cairo, her violet eyes were narrowed with malice, not an ounce of guilt behind them as hundreds of Helix Security soldiers were killed. Now everything was softer, like the guilt of not just Cairo, but every other moment in her Talon career, had caught up to her in one, giant wave. A wave that towered over her and threatened to drown her in a ravenous vortex. Lena spotted a leak in Sombra’s makeup. It was subtle, but had clearly been a much larger cascade of ruined eyeliner that Sombra had since tried to fix. The moment in Cairo had been real. But so was this moment, right now.
“What changed?” Asked Lena. She heard Sombra sigh through her microphone; now it was the Talon agent’s turn to lower her eyes. Her lip trembled. At last, she took a deep breath and whispered.
“I found something, recently.” She admitted, leaning back in her chair again. She still refused to look into her camera. “Something Talon did that I can’t look past.”
“You mean aside from killing innocent civilians in terror attacks?” Lena retorted. At that moment, she was ready to end the call and give up, but she held out hope.
“Worse, somehow. It-” In her room, she turned back to Reaper, a knowing look linking them. “I don’t even know if I can say it…” Her voice quaked, her quivering lip becoming even more obvious.
“Don’t-” Reaper advised, striding away from the door and up to the computer. “Lena has enough on her plate, given… Well, you know…” He placed a calming hand on Sombra’s shoulder.

Once again, compassion from one of the last people Lena would have expected it from. She thought back to the museum, the last time she had encountered Reaper herself. Once her respected superior, forcing her to gaze into the face of death. Now commander Reyes was once again offering compassion to her, an understanding tone that grew around the wraith until he radiated an aura of empathy. The raspy voice that had thrice told Lena to perish had changed. Sombra turned her attention away from Reaper again, swallowing hard and taking a moment. She needed to find her words again.
“Just know it’s really, really bad. Horrible, even. And if we don’t get Emily out soon, she’s also going to suffer.”

Lena went quiet. In her mind, she examined the bait before her, processing revelation after revelation. As tempted as she was to bite, she couldn’t bring herself to accept the reality that this was happening. It had been difficult enough to swallow Junkrat and Roadhog arriving on Gibraltar asking for help. Now Talon was knocking on their door and apologising for their actions? Promising to make things right?
“I… I still don’t know why I should believe you, though…”
“Sombra, move out of the way. Let me talk to her.” Reaper spoke softly, gesturing for his ally to move. He took her spot in the empty chair, levelling himself with Lena as best as he could and removing his mask. He turned around for a moment to address Sombra one more time. “Go watch the door.” She nodded and obeyed. Lena watched as the dishevelled women on the other side of the screen left the two alone before turning her eyes back to the old commander sitting before her.

“Tracer? Remember the attack on Shimada Castle, the night we rescued Genji? Originally, I saw him as a lowly criminal. I figured that letting him bleed out would ultimately weaken the Shimada Clan, and that letting him pass away would have been for the greater good. But, of course, you didn’t see him that way. You saw him as he actually was ; Alone, afraid and betrayed. He was just a boy, born into a family that loved who he could be, rather than who he was. You saw the light inside of him.” Beneath the frame, Gabriel could feel his knuckles clenching tightly as the memory slashed at him with a dagger named ‘Guilt.’ “As you did for Cole. As you did for the vast majority of the criminals brought into Blackwatch. I wish there were more soldiers like that on the battlefield. You may see it as a weakness, but being able to see even the smallest amount of goodness in your opponent is the greatest strength an agent of Overwatch can have. So please, use that strength. Use it here, and now. See whatever little light is left in… In whatever is left of me, I guess… And trust me when I say that I will make sure that Emily is returned to you.”
“Like when you promised you’d find Amélie?” Lena hissed. Gabriel felt his fists clench even tighter as another guilty blade struck him.
“She’s in on this, too. I’m sending her to you guys along with Emily. Her conditioning is breaking down, and the rest of the council doesn’t know yet. If there was ever an opportunity to fulfil that promise, it’s now.” And just like that, Lena was forced to confront a harsh realisation she’d been avoiding for too long; The script of a war is never written in black and white. It was easier to believe that was the case. The actions she took as a soldier weighed much less on her conscience when she could delude herself into believing there wasn’t a grey area in history’s conflicts.

“You understand how hard it’ll be to get the guys here to agree to this, right?” Lena asked. Gabriel let out a small chuckle, the first time she’d heard him laugh without malice in years.
“If there’s anyone who can do it, it’ll be you.” Despite the ashen skin and dark eyes, the smile Reyes gave Lena filled her with warmth. “Me and Sombra are going to come up with a real plan when we can. We’ll be in contact with you soon. In the meantime, we’ll do what we can to make sure Emily is-” He cut himself off, both him and Sombra turning to face the door as footsteps clumped past the closed door outside. Nobody came inside. Gabriel sighed with relief. “Alright, we’re gonna disconnect before we get caught talking to you.” He affirmed as Sombra crossed the room again, leaning down over Gabriel’s shoulder so that her face was in frame.
“We’ll talk to you soon, cariño.”

The call shut off before Lena could say goodbye to the Talon traitors. It felt weird to even think of them as traitors to Talon, but if they were telling the truth? That’s what they were. Betrayers, turning their backs on Talon. Lena had to turn her back on her own thoughts when the door to the boardroom burst open. Muffled groaning sounded out from one of two figures that cast their silhouettes into the doorway. Junkrat, bound up in thick ropes that pinned his arms to his sides with a piece of tape over his mouth. Roadhog stood at his side, unrestrained but with his hands raised above his head.
“Boys, what are you-” Before the sentence had left her, a heavy boot struck Junkrat in the back and sent him sprawling to the floor. A new man took his place where he had once stood, a gleaming scarlet visor glaring at the dishevelled criminal lying at his feet.
“We found these two sneaking around the Watchpoint when we arrived. You really need to up your security.” Soldier: 76 grumbled. As the penny dropped, Lena’s jaw followed in its footsteps. Soldier: 76. Jack Morrison. The soldier was clad in a blue and silver jacket with his signature pulse rifle strapped to his back. The rifle glinted in the faint sunlight of the ending dawn. He was here? He actually answered the recall? And he was here, in Gibraltar?
“They, uh… They weren’t sneaking, sir.” Lena explained. “We all knew they were here, they’re helping us with something.” 

Almost instantly, Roadhog lowered his hands as a fourth figure emerged from behind his enormous bulk. She holstered what appeared to be a dart pistol with one hand while sliding her hood off of her head, revealing a silvery plait that draped down in front of her shoulder. She was harder to recognise at first, but the Eye of Horus tattoo beneath the one eye the woman had left was unmistakable. Captain Amari, also here.
“I told you, Jack. They tried to tell us they weren’t being malicious.” Ana scolded her companion as she stepped over towards the crumpled figure of Junkrat. She gripped the tape over his mouth and ripped it off, a motion that would likely have resulted in Junkrat letting out an agonised stream of curses if all his nerve endings weren’t fried. “You wouldn’t listen.”
“Forgive me for trying to apprehend two of the most dangerous criminals in the world, Ana.” Jack scowled. Ana had a retort in mind, but before she could get it out, the entire weight of Lena slammed into her in the blink of an eye. Ana staggered, stopped from falling as Lena wrapped her arms around her former captain.
“Good to see you again, Ana~” She whispered. Ana smiled softly and returned the gesture, gently rubbing the back of Lena’s head.
“You too, Lena.” She fought to hold back tears as hundreds of Golden Days memories rushed back to meet her. Without moving her head, Lena lifted one arm off of Ana and beckoned towards Jack.
“You, get over here! I need to make sure you’re really alive as well.” Even the toughened and cold Soldier: 76 couldn’t resist one of Lena’s hugs. His visor clattered to the floor as he joined them, feeling warmth he had almost forgotten as the family he hadn’t seen in years welcomed him home from the war.

Chapter Text

A curled up Emily remained motionless on the cold, stone floor. Her cell hadn’t grown any brighter, and she had long gone silent. Not a tear, not so much as an out-loud breath. Fear was powerful against her. Hope was but a tiny spark, barely visible as Talon threatened to stomp it out. And yet, under the might of their boots, it still continued to burn. She dreamt of Overwatch coming to her aid, of Lena’s warm hugs pressing against her with nothing but relief engulfing her. For the first time in 48 hours, Emily let her guard down and a smile edged its way onto her face. The sound of her cell door creaking open mimicked a gunshot, striking her smile dead as the poacher stepped out of the shadows.
“Moira called for you, time to go.” His gruff, stern dialect was slightly impaired and automated through his visor. His white armour glinted in the limited light with red highlights glowing maliciously. Emily’s eyes squeezed shut and she shook her head, resisting the urge to weep as a set of booted footsteps trampled towards her. A growl emitted from the soldier.
“I said, it’s time to go!” He shouted, grabbing the prisoner by her hair and yanking her to her feet. Emily screeched in protest. With the barrel of a gun now pointed at her, that was as far as her protest went. The soldier stared down the barrel, his finger on the trigger, ready to splatter the walls with Emily’s brains at a moment’s notice. Not even a hint of remorse was detectable. “Good soldiers follow orders.” He grunted, shoving the gun into her back and pushing her further down the corridor. “Remember that.”

Emily did as she was told, being pushed through corridor after corridor of Talon’s stronghold. Her sense of direction faded. All the corridors looked the same to her. Light-grey slate walls with dim lighting and darker slate on the lower walls and floor. The only distinct thing she remembered seeing was a security guard’s office, another soldier lounging inside with a drink in one hand and a computer mouse in the other. Uproarious laughter echoed from the computer’s speakers. As Emily passed, she noticed that he was watching a television show. The laughter was canned. She didn’t recognise the sitcom, but clearly the security guard was a pretty big fan from the way he keeled over in his squeaking chair. Before Emily could get a better look at the footage the guard was observing, she was forcefully pushed away.
“Keep walking.” The soldier behind her ordered.
“Right…”

Eventually, Emily ended up in a shiny, white laboratory. The soldier closed the door behind her and left, leaving her to a group of men and women in white coats and masks, each with tools for every job equipped. A large table sat in the centre of the room with more horrifying objects surrounding it. Emily could spy heated prongs, electrical clamps and more. It was something else entirely. She felt her entire body shudder apprehensively. One of the doctors noticed her and called over another. Although her face was mostly hidden by a mask, Emily could see that she was tall and thin, her incredibly short hair a brilliant ginger. Emily clocked her as the woman who had been on the plane. She felt herself seize up.
“Ah, you finally arrived.” Moira stated flatly. She looked Emily up and down, taking methodical strides towards her. Emily tried to look down to the floor, but one of Moira’s fingers slithered under her captive’s chin and angled her gaze upward. “Such a pretty thing…” Moira cooed to herself, turning Emily’s head from side to side. She chuckled at the sound of Emily’s breath being caught in her throat. “Who would have thought Subject Tau would be such a looker?” Emily still held her breath as Moira toyed with her. Staring intently from the corner of the lab was one of Moira’s assistants. She peered from behind her glasses, over the top of a surgical mask that failed to hide a star shaped mark on her neck. The scar caught Emily’s attention, standing out from the assistant’s pale skin like a bruise, or a hickey. A droplet of bluish-violet secretion oozed out. Sweeping her gaze across the rest of the assistants present, all of them appeared to have similar brandings. All of them tainted by Moira’s touch. Her face was wrenched to meet Moira’s again. Not a word was spoken; A silent gesture that told Emily she was next in line to be branded.

There were scars and burns across Emily’s body when she was thrown back into her cell. The drought was over and she began crying all over again as soon as the guard was gone. Her entire body seared with agony, burning against all of her senses as the memory of what caused it all began to carve its way into her mind. All she wanted was for the pain to permanently leave her alone. If she could command the nerve endings stretching all over her body, she’d gladly do so, and halt the pain entirely. But instead, she just curled up on the crappy mattress in the corner of her room, hoping against hope that she could somehow sleep it all off. She tried, squeezing her eyes closed and huddling her knees up to her chest. She winced as her arms pressed into her injuries, but it was as close to comfort as she was going to get.

“Dinner!” A voice echoed throughout the cells. She didn’t even notice how long it had been since she had been locked up again. A couple of slices of bread were tossed between the bars and landed on the floor at her feet. Another slice found its way into the cell next to her, flopping to the ground. The starving woman practically dived on the food, grasping the stale stuff and shovelling it into her mouth as fast as she could. It was gone in an instant, and she regretted not savouring it. Before she could try and beg for more, the clump of the soldier’s boots told her that he was already gone. Unknown to Emily, the masked face of the other prisoner glared through the bars, eyeing the defeated. Her hair tangled with itself and cuts littered her bare skin, her arms trickling with blood. And sure enough, on the underside of her jaw, a dark, leaky bruise was visible. The prisoner in the dark could tell that if Emily was ever to heal, those scars would always remain.

“Here…” Emily turned to see Arcane with one hand on the bars between them, the other offering half his slice of bread. “You need it more than I do, I suppose.” Emily cautiously approached Arcane, holding her breath as though making any noise would scare him off. At last, she was in range. Arcane felt her snatch the bread from his fingers, watching her scurry back to the other side of the cell and resourcefully nibbling on the ration. Satisfied, the prisoner turned around and laid his head down on his own mattress, hoping his deed would put her mind at ease, and maybe the both of them could get some sleep.
Good soldiers follow orders, huh? He thought to himself. That girl’s no soldier.

“Why…” Emily tried to speak to her new-found company. Her voice struggled to find its footing. Arcane sat up again, pulling himself up to the bars that separated them.
“Why did I give you the food?” He tried to finish for her, but she shook her head without even giving him so much as a glance.
“No… Why are… You here?” She whispered, at last pulling together enough thought to speak. “What does Talon, you know… Want with you?” Arcane watched her from the other side of her cell, bravado falling away. Even as she spoke to him, her eyes were absolutely not on him, instead staring straight ahead with her pupils shrunk down. Her entire figure shuddered. A part of Arcane wondered if Emily even realised she was talking to him. Try as he might to make eye-contact, it was becoming slowly harder for him to keep looking at her while also ignoring what he was slowly becoming a part of. He turned his head away at last.
“I came here to try and assassinate one of the council members, but I got caught.” A lie that his guilt had ghost-written for him, dressed up in the clothes of a true story. Emily didn’t seem to catch it, remaining still aside from her full-body shivers. Arcane prepared to sit back down again when he heard a slight mumble come from her. “What was that?”
“Your mask, though…” She repeated, loud enough this time for Arcane to hear. “They left it on when they took you in?” 

Once again, he felt the need to feel the mask that hid his face, gently running his fingers over the accessory. He felt the imperfections that had come with years of use, the damage of the crack that had appeared on the surface since his time with the terrorist organisation. The mask that they had refused to remove no matter how many times the opportunity came up. Even when he was being punished for a lack of respect, it was still here… Unmoved without his say so…
“Yeah, I guess they did.” His arms hung down through the gaps between the bars, leaving the mask alone. “Perhaps they’re afraid of what’s underneath?” He was met with the cold shoulder; Emily still transfixed on the space between her feet. “What about you? You don’t seem… Affiliated, I suppose.” Finally Emily looked at Arcane again. He watched as she wrung her hands together, squeezing her knees into her chest again. 
“What do you mean?”
“Well… You don’t strike me as a combatant. You weren’t wearing any protective gear, and I didn’t see them take any weapons off of you when you got here. I’m just curious what they have against you, since you don’t look like someone who could piss them off.” 

Emily wordlessly reached for a pendant that hung from her neck, unlocking the latch with the little strength she had left. The lid flipped open, revealing a small photograph of herself with her arm around Lena’s shoulders. Both of them were keeled over in laughter. On Lena’s cheek was a lip-shaped mark, the glossy pink matching the shade of Emily’s lips perfectly.
“I think they took me to hurt someone else…” Her voice was finding strength again, speaking clearer as opposed to the gentle whisper Arcane was   to hear. “My girlfriend… She’s an Overwatch agent…”

“Well, I used to be married to an Overwatch member. You might have heard of him, his name was Gérard Lacroix.”
“The name rings a bell.” Arcane interrupted, leaning back on the rail between them and the range. His head fell backward, his blank stare targeted to the ceiling rather than Widowmaker. “Killed in his sleep by Talon, wasn’t he? Sorry to question your judgement, but… If an organisation like this killed someone I was in love with, I can’t imagine I’d be particularly fond of them, let alone join their ranks.” Her lack of a response caught his attention. Turning his head back to look at her, the deadpanned expression of an empty shell stared back.
“I was the trigger woman.” She confessed. “Talon kidnapped me, ran some experiments on me and then “released” me back to Overwatch. A few days later, I awoke in the middle of the night and assassinated him on Talon’s behalf.”

Arcane gritted his teeth in preparation for another lie;
“They’ll come for you. I’m sure of it.”

Chapter Text

Amélie hummed a gentle rhythm, enjoying the peace and quiet. It was rare Talon let her have a break like this. She had forgotten how great it felt to lounge around, laying sprawled on her bed like a house cat on a sunny porch. There was a small spider on the ceiling, rappelling down on a thin strand of silk. Amélie reached out to it, her palm a plateau for the creature to land on.
“Hello there, little one.” She cooed. The spider, gazing up at Amélie curiously, was a perfect fit in the palm of her hands. The hairs along its legs tickled at her skin with every step. With her other hand, she brushed her fingers gently along the spider’s back. She could feel every bristle, every vibration.
Knock knock knock.
Just like that, the sun clouded over. Amélie watched in dismay as the startled arachnid scuttled away; Down her arm, it ran. Then to the floor, rushing to a nearby crack in the wall and disappearing through it. Amélie lazily sat up on her bed and faced the door.
"Come in." She hissed through her dismay. The door opened, a Talon Enforcer entering with business as usual on his mind.
"Widowmaker, you’ve got a new target. Here's the mission brief." He handed her a small tablet with a document open on the screen. Widowmaker gingerly took the tablet and proceeded to read.

Target's Name: Carlotta Ricci.
Location: Castello, Venice.
Occupation: CEO of Venice Foundries Incorporated.
Desired Status: Deceased.

A picture showed a European woman alongside the details, wearing glossy red lipstick and brown hair falling to her shoulders. Her grey eyes stared back into Amélie's golden ones, a silent plea for mercy. If only she had a choice.
"Yes sir." She handed the tablet back to him. "Prepare a drop ship and a small group of foot soldiers." She added dryly. The Enforcer cleared his throat.
"Actually, this is a stealth mission. You'll be going alone.” He rejected the offer for the tablet, pushing it back against her. “And as for airships, we’re currently spread rather thinly. There’s only one available right about now. You might need to negotiate for it." He turned as though he was just about to leave, but Amélie stopped him with a question.
"Negotiate with who?"

Widowmaker took a step further into the darkness. The light just barely outside of the room cast her shadow onto the floor, long and distorted. Gentle glints in the distance revealed the metal bars of jail cells to her. She could barely make out two figures. The one in the cell to the left appeared to be laying down on the thin mattress, her face hidden by her folded arms. On the other hand, a taller silhouette slumped back against the wall furthest from her, his neck craned up at the ceiling. Amélie took another ginger step towards the latter cell, peering through the darkness until she could make out the quiet hum that resonated from a particularly irritating swordsman. Arcane’s head shifted down from staring at the ceiling.
“Hey, what are you doing down here?” He pushed himself off the floor with a grunt, crossing over to the edge of the cell until he was face to face with her.
“I need to borrow your ship.” Amélie admitted. “It’s the only one available for me to use.” A series of tuts escaped Arcane as he paced away from the bars that separated them. Amélie couldn’t help but feel her impatience grow. She poked her head through the bars. “Urgh! Can I use it, or not?” Arcane only continued to tut at her, eliciting an eye roll.
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that. I don’t want you poking around in my private space.” He paced around the cell. Every few moments, his instincts itched at the back of his mind, insisting he reach for his blade and render the cell wrecked. Every time, he reminded himself that he didn’t have the blade. His arm had already moved up to draw it over his shoulder. Instead, he pretended to scratch the back of his head before turning back to face her. “If you want to borrow my ship, you’re going to have to take me with it.”

Widowmaker chuckled at the notion. “I couldn’t take you with me. You’re detained, I don’t have the authority to get you out of here even if I wanted to. Urgh, you know what? I don’t need your permission.” She took her hands and face out from between the bars and turned on her heels, each clicking step echoing around the dark room.
“You know how to fly it?” He challenged.
“I can figure it out.”
“And what about when you arrive in Venice? You know where you’ll be able to land? You know where the dead spots in the area are?”
“I-” She faltered some more. Arcane returned to the bars, as close to Amélie as he could get. He flashed a grin at her.

“Where in Venice are you headed?” Arcane pressed even further. Amélie pulled up the tablet from under her arm and scanned the information again.
“Castello, apparently.” She flashed the tablet at him, but he barely looked at it. He was back to tutting and shaking his head in a way that forced Widowmaker to mentally restrain herself from kicking in the cell door and throttling the man.
“You fire your rifle without a silencer in Castello and you’re going to wake the entire neighbourhood. Police there will be on you like a sack of bricks before you can evacuate. Unless… Well, maybe I’ll tell you how you can circumvent that if you break me out of here.”
“You’re actually going to make me go through with this, aren’t you?” Her eyes narrowed at him, gleaming golden in the gloom. She took another few steps towards the bars to get into Arcane’s face, but the shit-eating grin never left him. 
“I’m not making you do anything, here. I’m the prisoner behind bars. This choice is entirely yours.” She scowled one more time, breaking eye contact.
“I’ll go find the keys, but this had better not bite me in the arse.” With a swift movement, she pushed herself off of the bars and fled the room, Arcane sending one last call up after her.
“Grab my gear if you can find it, would you? I can be more than just your pilot.”

As his escape condition fled from sight, Arcane was left in silence. There was something off; He could sense that some eyes were still on him. He turned to the cell at his side, Emily peering up at him from her place on the mattress.
“You’re one of them?” Her voice quaked and her eyes glistened. “You’re Talon?” Arcane set his jaw as the lie he had told went up in flames. Before he could start his defence, Emily had already scrambled to the opposite side of her cell. Her eyes never left the traitor. Arcane watched as she spread herself across the stone wall. ‘ Try any harder and she’ll flatten herself ’, he thought.

An outdated office chair creaked, the grating sound bouncing off the pristine walls. A hearty chuckle was quickly silenced when the man sitting in the chair shovelled a doughnut into his gaping maw. Amélie poked her head around the door frame, eyeing the security guard. On the vast majority of monitors were camera feeds that showed the entire stronghold’s infrastructure from various angles. She even spotted the cells she had just come from. The guard wasn’t focused on any of them, though. Instead, he had set one monitor to play some content from an old television show. Every line of unfunny dialogue was followed by an uproarious laugh track, the guard lending his voice to the choir each time before wolfing down another bite from his doughnut. Amélie skulked into the office, the keys she was looking for catching her eyes. They were hung on the wall on the opposite side of the room. She guessed they were just barely out of the guard’s peripheral vision, but she knew she’d have to show herself if she wanted to reach them.

The characters in the television show were American, as far as she could tell. One of them was cheering about the fourth of July with a box of fireworks in her hands. A plan began to formulate in her mind as she raised her wrist-mounted grappling hook to eye level. With her free hand, she adjusted the direction it was pointing, aiming for the hole in the centre of the key chain in hopes that she’d be able to whip it back towards her. The characters on screen lit the fuse of a firework. As the rocket soared into the virtual night sky, Amélie adjusted her wrist one more time, closing her right eye to get her aim as accurate as she possibly could. The fireworks detonated, filling the room with a cacophony of explosive sounds. She fired out her grappling hook, which pierced the centre of the large key ring and extended the prongs. With a flick of her wrist, the hook came flying back to her, the keys caught on the prongs. The guard likely wouldn’t have seen, anyway; He was too busy doubling over from the character who had stuck a sparkler in his arse. “Urgh, Americans…” She found herself rolling her eyes again. The guard had made it too easy.

Emily hadn’t moved away from the wall yet. Her cell-mate couldn’t decide whether he wanted to lean into the fear or not. Arcane kept glancing at her for moments at a time. Never a stare, but not completely ignoring her.
“So why did Talon imprison one of their own agents? Did they… I don’t know…” Her mind was racing through possibilities. He was short with her when he finally responded.
“They want me to follow orders better, even though I’m great at what I do.” She never let her eyes leave Arcane, waiting for him to continue. Before he could, Sombra uncloaked herself and peered into Emily's cell.
"Psst!" Emily's eyes lit up at the sight of a phone. The hacker handed it to her quickly, turning around to stand guard. It wasn't long until a second British female voice rang out alongside Emily's.
"Lena! Oh my God, you have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice!" She cried, a single tear leaping off her cheek and splashing to the floor. Her lips pressed against the phone screen, a gesture that would have been pathetic to Arcame if Emily wasn’t currently being held as a prisoner of war.
"Ditto!" Lena sniffled from the other side. Arcane peered over the divider between their cells, questions and theories mingling in his mind. If he had the energy, odds are he would have continued to listen. But there was only so much he could do to remain awake. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he last slept. Sombra and Emily both turned when they heard his form thump down into the mattress in the opposite corner of his cell.

"So what's happening in Gibraltar? You guys are gonna come for me, yeah?"
"Yes! Jack and Ana have come back, and we're working with Sombra to come up with a plan to get you out of there." The phone said excitedly. "Just sit tight and keep fighting!"
"I will!" Emily nodded at her girlfriend. "It's been a lot better with Sombra giving me a hand." "We'll ge- Uh..." Lena faltered, eyeing the oozing indigo below Emily’s jaw. The sheer thought of how she must've gotten it made her want to vomit. She suppressed it with great effort. "We'll get you out of there as soon as we can!"
The clacking of footsteps on the stone floor cut their conversation short. Lena and Emily quickly said their goodbyes and Sombra snatched the phone back.
"See you later!" She smiled and waved as purple pixels enveloped her body. It wasn’t a very long conversation, but for the time being, it was all they could do. Short bursts of human conversation would do a better job of keeping Emily sane than nothing. The secret hunter rushed off in her cloaked form, coming to a stop when she arrived a safe distance from the cells. The phone whipped out from her pocket and her fingers tumbled against the keyboard in a rapid-fire 'goodbye and goodluck' text.

"Who're you talking to?" Amélie's voice made Sombra almost jump out of her skin, the phone clattering against the ground.
"Shit, shit, shit..." She bent down and scooped it up, searching it for cracks and coming up blank. She turned to Widowmaker and waved politely, but her gesture was one-sided. "Who're you talking to?" She repeated. Sombra felt like she was talking to a wall of ice. She sheepishly held the phone up.
"Emily's girlfriend." She laughed nervously. Her ally walked up to her and took the phone, looking at it thoughtfully. At last, her head craned round to look at Sombra again.
"Why?" She pushed, taking another step into Sombra’s space.
“I- I just think that this entire thing will be easier for her to handle if she’s got someone in her corner.” She was about to lower her gaze when she spotted Arcane’s blade hanging over Widowmaker’s shoulder. Draped over both her arms appeared to be the armour he wore. “Guess we’re both feeling charitable tonight, huh?” Sombra smiled sheepishly. Widowmaker, admittedly, was caught off guard. It was less than a moment later when she was already turning her nose up at the idea of being charitable.
“I need to borrow his ship. Also, he might be helpful on the mission. These are his conditions.” She raised the armour up slightly. Sombra just gave her a wink and pocketed the phone again.
“Don’t worry, Araña. Your secret's safe with me.” She patted Widowmaker on the shoulder as she went to move past her, resisting the urge to flinch away from just how cold she was. Even through her clothes, Sombra could feel the chill, like she’d just wrapped her fingers around a glass of iced water. She took her hand away before Widowmaker could feel her begin to shiver, fleeing into the stronghold and leaving Widowmaker to her deal.

By the time Arcane had awoken, his cell had already been unlocked. He rolled to face away from the wall, eyeing the gear that was set on the ground in front of him. Widowmaker was slumped against the bars on the outside, almost lifeless-looking.
“How long were you waiting?” He enquired as he shifted into a sitting position. All he got in response was a shake of the head. “Whatever… Thanks for letting me sleep.”
“I’d rather not have my pilot fly me halfway across the world with his eyes drifting shut.” She pushed herself off the ground in one, smooth motion, taking a few strides towards the door to the room with her back turned to him. “I’m already taking a risk by having you fly me. I really don’t want to add another. Hurry and get changed. I won’t look.”
“N-neither will I, I guess…” Both Arcane and Widowmaker craned their necks to regard Emily, as if beckoning for her to speak some more. Of course, the terrified woman saw it as two of the most lethal assassins she’d ever met were now both eyeing her up as a target, so there was no way she could continue speaking. She just slid down the back of her cell wall again until she was huddled on the mattress with her knees hugged to her chest. Widowmaker left wordlessly. Arcane watched her round the corner before pulling off the dirt-encrusted clothes he’d been given.

The night sky was mostly clear - except for the Phoenix's silhouette jutting out against the stars. The ship rocketed across the sky in a way that made it look like nobody was controlling it, but Arcane was more than content behind the yoke. His lone passenger was having different thoughts, being thrown about by the rocking of the ship as it soared towards its destination. A barrel roll, a loop-the-loop; She felt like she would be sick with the child currently in the pilot’s seat.
"This is why I like working alone..." She warbled. Without missing a beat, Arcane steadied the Phoenix and swivelled fully around in his seat.
"Hey, you're using the Phoenix. Wherever she goes, I go." He said, lightly. Widow wasn't listening, she was just pointing behind him.
"I'd prefer it if you looked where you're going. You know, so you don't crash the ship?" She sounded angry. ‘ No, not angry. ’ Arcane thought. ‘ Venomous is more accurate. ’ The Phoenix swerved smoothly around the peaks with hawk-like agility, not a scratch coming to the paint. "Besides!" She continued. "What's so special about your precious airship in the first place? Why are you so dead set on being with anyone who goes near it?"
"Just because you made the mistake of sharing the details of your life with me, don’t think I’m going to return the favour."
"Fine, whatever. Are you at least going to tell me about this idea you have for how we can do this quietly?”
“Now that is something I can tell you.” He began with a grin, leaping into story-teller mode. 

“Ten years ago, Captain Amari fired one of the best shots of her career with her Kinamura rifle. Some war profiteer was stirring up conflict and Overwatch wanted to take a pre-emptive strike, so Ana was sent to take care of the situation. She didn’t want to alert the locals with a gunshot, but suppressors limit the effective range of firearms. The best spot she could find to set up was out of suppressor range, so she had to adapt. She waited until a passenger plane coming in for a landing nearby flew overhead. The sound masked the shot perfectly. Target wasn’t even found until the next day. Nobody heard a thing.” He paused, expecting Widowmaker to question further. Silence. He swivelled the chair again to find her staring at him with the most deadpan expression he’d seen. “What?”
“...I didn’t take you for an Overwatch fan, is all.” Every word she spoke dripped with apprehension.
“You used to be married but you’re not anymore.” He retorted. “People change their minds. Anyway, there aren’t any airports around here, but the foundry your target will be at is right next to an active rail yard. Trains pass through there to pick up cargo. Italy’s railway network wasn’t profitable enough to warrant being upgraded to magnetic levitation when that all started happening. The trains still run through there, just that they’re still diesel engines. They should be loud enough to mask a shot from your rifle.” He faced the cockpit again when he finished speaking, taking a grip on the steering mechanism and slowing them down.
"Did you used to live in Castello?" She enquired, peering over his shoulder at the view of the neighbourhood below them. Her ally simply shook his head. He steered the Phoenix towards a woodland area on the outskirts. The wailing of the engines slowly began to die as the ship descended to the ground, neatly touching down on the Phoenix's talons. Widowmaker picked up her weapon, the Widow's Kiss, and crept out of the hatch on the side of the ship. "Wait here. If I need you to come bail me out of trouble, I'll call for you on your ear piece."

The clearing of the wooded area was bathed in the tender touch of the moonlight. Each tree, flower and strand of grass lightly brushed against by the moon’s domain. Widowmaker felt the crisp grass crunch under foot as she touched down from the Phoenix. They had landed on top of what looked to be a hill with a large railway spanning out from the bottom; A tunnel. Arcane had landed the ship just above a railway tunnel’s entrance.
“If you follow that railway line, you should find the rail yard and the foundry. The target will be on site. Find a vantage point and wait for a train to pass. I’ll let you know if one comes from this end.” Widowmaker nodded, dashing down the hill and bounding alongside the railroad.
“So… Now that I’ve broken you out, what happens when we get back to Talon?” She asked into her earpiece as she ran. “Will you return to your cell until they’re happy with you?”
“With any luck, this will show them just how effective I am when I’m allowed to work on my own terms.” His voice had a minor radio-filter to it, but was otherwise the smooth tone of the silver-tongued swordsman she had come to know. “Besides, I think this is what Doomfist wanted me to do.” He continued, eliciting a scoff from his passenger.
“He wanted you to disobey direct orders and avoid your punishment?”
“He wants people to pick themselves back up when they get knocked down. That’s something I’m… annoyingly good at.” This got another chuckle from Widowmaker, something he was still surprised to hear after the last time they spoke one-on-one.
“You’re feeling awfully self aware tonight, aren’t you, Arcane?”

The rail yard appeared to be ahead, railcars and scrapped locomotives sitting dormant in the sidings. Each one towered over her.
“And you’re pretty chipper yourself, I thought you were supposed to be hiding your emotions?” Arcane riposted over the ear piece. She heard a creak of a chair and assumed he was leaning back with his arms behind his head, like he’d hit her with the ultimate checkmate and was back to displaying his shit-eating grin below his mask. She rolled her eyes at the thought before firing out her grappling hook at a nearby railcar; A large oil tanker coated in rust.
“No use in hiding it from you when you already know.” The Widow’s Kiss extended into sniper mode as she spoke, scanning the area until she spotted the foundry.

Arcane spotted the tablet, again. ‘She must’ve left it here. ’ He heaved his body out of the pilot seat and crossed his ship towards it, opening the document with Carlotta Ricci’s information.
Venice Foundries Inc. was once partnered with Talon, acting as a front for gun manufacturing. Carlotta Ricci was a shareholder in our profits, but she’s recently decided to go legit and operate her foundry legally, hiding the assets in her possession and taking a large amount of our profits away from us. She knows too much, we need her eliminated as quietly as possible. Once dealt with, we will send a follow-up team to collect the assets in her possession.
“They give you this much information for who you’re killing?” He absent-mindedly spoke as he scanned the document.
“Did you not get briefed when you were a freelancer?” 
“I got a name, a picture, a location… Maybe an affiliation if I asked for it.” He answered as he began to pace. “Never a motive though.” He shrugged his shoulders. Out of nowhere, the ground beneath the Phoenix began to tremble. He slipped the tablet back onto the surface he found it as he threw himself back into the pilot seat. “Train is coming, do you have eyes on the target?”

Meanwhile, Widowmaker’s lethal crosshairs were already hovering over Carlotta’s face. She appeared to be in… Some kind of meeting? She was still, sitting behind her desk and mouthing to someone Widowmaker couldn’t see.
“There’s someone with her, how much time do I have until the train gets here?” She was met with silence for a moment while Arcane tapped some of his ship's controls to bring up a map.
“About… four minutes. It hasn’t left the tunnel yet. You think you can take them both out?”
“I could, but I’d need a better angle…” Her head snapped around to her left and right, her long ponytail lashing with each turn. There was a box car to her left with a more centred position relative to the window. Her grapple fired off again, latching onto the roof of the box car and pulling herself into position. Sure enough, the person speaking to Carlotta was revealed. He appeared to be a generic business man, dressed to the nines and hungrily eyeing up Carlotta in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with business. The rails below began to tremble. Over to her right, she could see a diesel locomotive, possibly one of the last still running, trundling along the line with a consist of flatbeds in tow. Widowmaker was about to take the first shot when both Carlotta and the man stood up. She opened the door for him, gesturing for him to leave and closing it behind him before returning to sit at her desk. She was exhausted. The train had stopped with two of the flatbeds positioned under some cranes, freight being loaded on and stacked high. The cranes were loud, but not loud enough to mask the gunshot.

All of Moira’s disturbing enhancements came to life during these moments. Training her rifle on the target without even a slight waver was much easier when the heart pumping her blood only beat four times for the average human’s five. The cool wind of the night would have nipped at her skin had she not been used to living in frigid bitterness. Her mind cleared out just about every thought as the train revved its engine and prepared to depart, her finger closing around the trigger with intention to kill. The locomotive slowly began to roll out of the station, heaving the trailers full of metal off into the night. Widowmaker went to pull the trigger, but every attempt stopped short. Her mind wasn’t clear anymore. The same thoughts that reached her when she first saw a picture of Carlotta struck into her mind again, the silent pleas for mercy that Amélie couldn’t ignore. Arcane’s voice sounded out in her ear again, irritable but not panicked.
“Widowmaker, what are you doing? Take the shot.” He scowled into his earpiece. “You’re going to miss your window!” She felt her barely-beating heart leap into her throat and closed her eyes when she fired. The shell soared through the window, shattering the glass before planting firmly in the desk in front of Carlotta. She sat up instantly, screaming out loud and scrambling to the door. 
“Target is on the run!” She admitted.

Arcane huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hold the perimeter, make sure the target doesn’t escape. I’m on my way.” He felt another train in the tunnel below him, the rumble of the ground a tell-tale sign that this was faster than the last train and likely wouldn’t be making a stop at the foundry. He scrambled down the hillside and leaped off the top of the tunnel exit, the metal beneath his feet banging from the impact. Astride the train, he watched as the foundry came into view. Workers everywhere were fleeing the building. A streak of red pierced the air, showing Arcane where Widowmaker had positioned herself. The bullet landed in the kneecap of a foundry worker who instantly toppled like a tower of Jenga. The man clenched tightly at his knee with one hand, dragging himself pathetically into cover with the little strength he could muster. Arcane leapt from the moving train and landed on the gravel with a roll, fluidly drawing his sword. From her vantage point, Widowmaker pressed a button on her visor, the Infra-Sight lenses moving into position over her eyes and showing the various heat signatures of everyone inside the building.
“Infra-Sight is up, let’s see where they’re hiding-” She scanned across the building, although identifying where Carlotta had run off to was difficult when the heat signature of the foundry itself was clogging up her view. People kept blending in, rushing around the industrial equipment with pure panic. The heat from some of the molten metal inside the building was almost blinding to her. ‘ There you are~ ’ She finally spotted the woman, rushing towards the east of the building. “She’s headed for the east exit.”
“I’m there-” Arcane said bitingly.

Widowmaker watched as Arcane smashed through the eastern fire escape, the doors landing on the floor with a thundering crash. Carlotta froze, first spotting the enormous sword clenched in one hand, then the pauldrons that were emblazoned with the sharp ‘T’ emblem, worn like a medal of pride and honour. But that wasn’t how Arcane saw that emblem. He winced as she began to plead.
“Please, you… You don’t have to do this! I’ll give you your guns-” She was on her knees in the next instant. “Your money, everything, just… Please don’t hurt me?” Arcane took his time approaching the target, the clump of his boots accompanied by the clicking of his sword tapping on the floor. Even Amélie felt the chills, watching through the walls with her Infra-Sight and listening over her ear piece.
“Please don’t hurt me…” He repeated in a tone Carlotta couldn’t decipher. The tapping of the blade stopped, leaving them both to revel in the muffed shouts of the foundry workers. “Why does everyone say that when they’re about to die?” Her pupils shrank down as the warrior loomed over her. Although she couldn’t see Arcane’s eyes, his jaw was set again, firm and unmoving. Her head sank, but the tip of his weapon pressed up into her chin, angling her to look up to him one more time, the metal feeling warm with a slight buzz of energy. “You beggars… You always make it so much harder to turn a blind eye…” A single tear trickled down Carlotta’s cheek as Arcane desecrated his sword with crimson once more.

The railway was clear for Arcane and Widowmaker to retreat, both navigating over the sleepers. The sirens blared out, red and blue lights tainting the moonlight as police swarmed the foundry. The tunnel loomed up before them, the Phoenix roosting atop the grassy mound. Both the assassins boarded wordlessly. Arcane slotted himself into the pilot seat again and raised the Phoenix a metre off the ground. The ship made a U-turn, facing towards the rail tunnel and started hovering through it.
“What if a train comes?” Widowmaker asked, clenching a little too tightly onto the back of his chair.
“I’ll handle it-” He snarled. The chair gave a little shudder until Widowmaker released it. “Just like I handled your mission for you. Just sit tight and stay quiet until we get back.” He kept both hands on the controls, cruising through the dim tunnel and focusing dead ahead to see if there was a train coming. Widowmaker stropped to the back of the ship and took a seat, only following half of his demands as she opened her mouth again.
“I could have handled it myself, you know.” She hissed. “I told you to stay put unless I called for you.” The Widow’s Kiss slammed down on the bench at her side. She was expecting another harsh retort from him, but his tone softened and caught her off guard instead.
“You broke me out of the cell, I felt the least I could do was try and return the favour.” The swordsman confessed. “I realised I didn’t say thank you at the time.” Widowmaker gave a frustrated sigh.
“If you wanted to repay me, then you should have followed my instructions and let me do my job.” 
“You’re welcome.” He half-turned his head to address her as he slung the sarcasm towards her.

“I don’t owe you gratitude , and I don’t need your protection .” The words ‘gratitude’ and ‘protection’ left foul tastes in her mouth, each syllable spoken with disgust. She picked herself up off the bench again and strode to the cockpit. “This is your idea of keeping me safe, huh?” She spat, widely gesturing to the length of the tunnel stretching out in front of them. “Flying me into a railway tunnel where-” She pointed past Arcane to a pair of beaming headlights in the distance; Another train thundering towards them as they approached the other side of the tunnel. “where we’re headed straight for a collision with a train? This is your idea of keeping me safe?!” She was having a harder time concealing her rage with every word that left her mouth. It all began to blur in Arcane’s ears; He instead chose to focus on accelerating the Phoenix.
“I preferred you when you were emotionless. We’ll leave the tunnel before we hit it. Trust me.”
“We’ve been over this, Arcane; I don’t trust you.”
“Fine! Then go and cower in the corner until I prove you wrong or something, just get out of my face!” Now it was his turn for his temper to boil over. His voice raised as he wrestled the yoke even harder, the Phoenix’s engines whirring competitively as the ship raced towards the other end. She kept on pestering him.

“Why did you take us through the tunnel anyway? Why not fly away normally?” She screeched at him. “Is everything a chance to show off to you?!”
“The police are already searching the area, they’d see us take off if we flew straight upwards from our landing spot. Following this tunnel gets us out of their search radius.” He turned his attention away from the tunnel ahead of him for a moment, yelling directly at her until he felt one of the Phoenix’s wings graze against the bricks at his side. “Please, I’ve done this literally hundreds of times so for the love of whatever God rules over this world, let me handle this! ” He could feel his teeth grating against each other with every second that passed. The train ahead of them rushed closer, the window to escape the tunnel growing smaller and smaller. A bellowing horn sounded out from the locomotive. Widowmaker squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath. The Phoenix edged its beak out of the tunnel. Arcane yanked hard on the yoke and angled it upward, soaring up above the engine as it rushed underground.

Widowmaker opened one eye as the sound of the train began to dissipate. Peering out of the cockpit, the clear night sky stared back at her. A crescent moon hung in the starscape like a lantern, bestowing the duo with the gift of sight.
“See?” Arcane boasted with a smile. Not the arrogant grin, but a genuinely awestruck beam at the universe’s beauty. “I told you, I could handle it.” Widowmaker, on the other hand, turned away from the starscape.
“I still don’t need a guardian.” She huffed. “Otherwise I’d go to Overwatch.”

The Phoenix braked sharply, halting in hover mode in the middle of the sky. The smile on Arcane’s face was shot dead. “What was that?” Widowmaker didn’t dare respond. She spotted the strength with which he had begun to grip the yoke,  squeezing to the point where the metal began to dent and split. He released his grip, moving to a command console and typing at speed. Widowmaker tried to peer over his shoulder, but the only word she caught was ‘Land.’ When he finished typing he turned to face Widowmaker again, taking a slow, methodical walk towards her. It was similar to how he had approached the target minutes ago but Widowmaker could tell it wasn’t the same. This wasn’t being done out of mercy, or reluctance, or guilt. This was all Arcane could do to prevent himself from lashing out at her. A walk of restraint.

“So, let me get this straight…” He began with his hands clasped together. “Overwatch let’s you get kidnapped; They only ever get you back because Talon wanted you to infiltrate them; Since that day, none of them have made any effort to bring you home, despite the fact they know you’re a brainwashed Talon operative-” Every step Arcane took towards Widowmaker was met with a step back from her until she was backed into a corner. “And that’s just your history with them, without factoring in the shortcomings that the rest of the damn world had to suffer for!” The Phoenix thumped to the ground at last, jolting Widowmaker and almost sending her sprawling. Arcane continued to press his advantage, invading Widowmaker’s space in a way that would have had her snap his neck if she wasn’t caught so off guard, or flooded with fear. “I , on the other hand, covered your flank during the battle at King’s Row. I carried you out of danger when the retreat was called because your usual bodyguard had his hands full rescuing the woman who did-” Arcane paused as the words began to catch in his throat. He looked Widowmaker up and down, his heart breaking with every sign of abuse he spotted. “The woman who did all of this to you.” Widowaker gasped as the swordsman thumped his fist into a button next to her, the door at her back falling open. “I’ve kept your secret about your conditioning coming undone, and I just saved your arse from another failed mission that would absolutely have resulted in Moira paying you another visit. After all of that, you’d still rather put your life in the hands of those who have failed us time and time again?!” He pushed forward in a burst of rage, drawing a line in the sand he made sure would never be crossed.

Amélie recoiled from the shove, crumpling to the ground outside the Phoenix. Flecks of spittle launched from Arcane’s mouth as he continued to berate her in a mixture of English and Italian. He snatched up the Widow’s Kiss off of the bench nearby and tossed it to the ground at her side, watching the dirt scratch the paint. Amélie couldn't bring herself to say a single word. 
“Listen to me and listen good, Lacroix;” His chest rose and fell, having just gotten a lot off of it. She’d never seen this side of him before. Not in the battle for King’s Row, not in the training range, not even earlier that night when she witnessed him kill. Ever since she met him, all he’d ever done was cover up any hint of insecurity with layers and layers of arrogance rivalled only by the divine. Yet, here she was; Watching a wounded God fall from the Heavens. But even as the divinity drained away, he still found the power to smite any words from Amélie’s lips. She watched from the ground as he slammed a closed fist into the button again. The hatch hissed to life. Before it closed behind him, Arcane spoke once more, reigning in his rage until the only trace it had ever existed was a slight tremble in his voice. “You’d be lucky to have me watching over you. Even if I was only half as good as I am, I’d still be twice the guardian any Overwatch agent could ever be…” 

The hangar was mostly quiet when the Phoenix approached. Doomfist stood with his hands behind his back, watching Arcane's landing from afar. Arcane caught a glimpse of his commander from the cockpit, a feeling of dread crawling to life in his gut. The entire flight back, he’d known there would be consequences awaiting him. Now, it was time to face the music.
"Arcane? Aren’t you supposed to be behind bars?" The enormous man’s voice dropped. He scanned Arcane as he awaited the response, a response the swordsman was clearly reluctant to give.
"The Phoenix was the only ship available for Widowmaker to use, but I’m the only one who can fly it, so I asked her to break me out. In exchange, I helped her complete her mission.”
“So… Where is she, then?” Akande pressed further, his eyes drawn to the blade sticking out from over Arcane’s shoulder. He’d barely opened his mouth to respond when his superior reached for it. The blood on the blade was obvious. Arcane was denied another chance to explain when the gauntlet on Doomfist’s other arm grabbed him by the throat. His entire body was hoisted into the air as his sword was thrown away, skittering across the floor of the hanger.
“What did you do ?” Doomfist snapped, his fingers loosening their grip ever so slightly. Arcane was in a state of panic until he spotted where his sword had landed; Just on the verge of the shadows that consumed the rest of the hangar. He reached out in an attempt to call it to him, but a boot emerged from the darkness and clamped down on top of the weapon. Reaper fully emerged into view, one of his shotguns raised to Arcane’s head level.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” His voice was one stage below feral growling. The raised shotgun hissed as the harbinger turned the safety off with his thumb. 

The duo became an exceptionally lethal trinity when Sombra materialised beside Doomfist and Arcane, her pistol’s barrel nestled against the man’s temple. 
“I’ll never know what she was thinking, letting you out.” She derided in his ear. With her free hand, she pulled a hardlight computer interface into existence and swiped through the screens. It was a message from the Venice HQ. “Widowmaker is with us. She claims she was abandoned by her escape pilot.” She read aloud, everyone focusing on her. “She’s safe and sound. Send someone to retrieve her ASAP.” Doomfist pondered, still holding Arcane aloft. His legs dangled inches from the ground. Finally, he was put down again. He clutched at his throat, gasping for breath as he hunched over on his knees.
“You’ll have plenty of time to explain yourself later.” Doomfist threatened, leaning down to meet the eye level of the thorn in his side. He turned his attention to Reaper when he straightened up again, wordlessly nodding at him. Reaper nodded back, approaching the fallen form of Arcane and hefting him back onto his feet with one of his shotguns digging into his back. Akande reached for the sword, curiously scooping it up as Reaper and Sombra bent Arcane to their will.

The cells had already been particularly uncomfortable, as far as living conditions go. Arcane would be lucky if he had more than an hour of sleep for any given day. But even the ruined mattress on the floor felt like a luscious, freshly cleaned king-size in comparison to the pointed stare that drilled into him from beyond the bars.
"Fuck you." Reaper hissed at him.
"I heard you the past sixteen times." Arcane wanted to sound frustrated, but he was too tired to do so effectively after his emotional breakdown.
"Good, I’ll say it as many times as it takes to get through that thick skull of yours.” His jailor continued. “You’re no better than the ones who turned her into who she is.”
"Really? You put me on that level?"
"You're up there with them." Reaper nodded. "Leaving her out there, all alone."
"She would have done the same to me." He shook his head in response. "It's not like we're friends or anything."
"What did she even say?" The undead man moved closer, not trying to be threatening anymore, but just plain curious as to how Widowmaker struck a nerve so easily. “Ever since you marched through our doors with that indestructible resolve of yours, I’ve been trying time and time again to find a way to break it. Each time, you’ve made me look like a ridiculous edgy teenager. But one mission alone with Widowmaker, and she’s found your skeleton key, the one you were so certain that nobody on site would be able to find it. What is it, Arcane? ”

Arcane folded his arms and slouched against the wall furthest from Reaper, still keeping his eyes averted. Not an interrogation lamp in sight, yet he could still feel himself sweating. “I don’t want to say.”
“And I don’t want every waking moment to be filled with the constant pain of my body ripping itself apart over and over again,” Reaper fired back. “We don’t always get what we want. Not in this world.”
“I don’t want to say.” Arcane repeated. “It’s pathetic.” Reaper just shrugged.
“Hmph, I guess we can just ask Widowmaker when she gets back.” He teased, leering at the prisoner. Arcane finally found the strength to look back at Reaper, unfolding his arms and pushing himself off of the stone.
“Fine… She- urgh…” Reaper grinned as Arcane squirmed with his words. He was already chuffed that Widowmaker had found this mystical skeleton key, but learning that she’d left the door unlocked for him to see for himself was absolutely something he’d have to thank her for later. Every time Arcane tried to muster up the self respect to admit the truth, he faltered. He faltered over and over again, desperately holding onto the truth as it fought to escape him. Just when Reaper was about to give up on him, he finally spoke.
“She told me she’d feel safer with Overwatch.”

Of all the possible answers, Reaper was hardly expecting that.
“Huh? That’s it?” He questioned in his softer voice. He was so baffled that he completely forgot he was trying to be intimidating towards Arcane. “Wow, you weren’t lying when you said it’s pathetic.” He couldn’t help but chuckle. He somehow felt incredibly vindicated, although he wasn’t entirely certain why.
“I spoke to her in the training range after the battle at King’s Row. She told me about how Overwatch failed to save her.” Arcane rebutted, holding the staring contest. Reaper remained silent, a wordless invite for him to continue. “How they had so many opportunities to rescue her from Talon before it was too late, but they failed. Meanwhile, I haven’t known her very long at all, yet I’ve already saved her multiple times. First, I carried her to safety while she was injured in King’s Row-” He stopped to stare daggers back at Reaper, his mouth twisting. “Because you were too busy rescuing the woman that broke her. And then again, tonight. I offered her advice and she ignored it. She missed the shot. I had to come and bail her out of trouble. Took care of the target for her and then took her out of danger on what was an undetected flight path. And she repaid me by telling me I didn’t need to coddle her? That I should let her do her job instead of stealing her credit? She said that if she wanted protection, she’d rather go back to Overwatch than put her life in my hands. I’m just supposed to let that slide?” By the end of his rant, Arcane was on the verge of shouting. “Widowmaker would be lucky to have me in her corner.”

“...Overwatch never came for her?” 

Both Arcane and Reaper turned heads to the source. Emily, wide-eyed and teary, trembled. “That blue woman who broke you out-” She jammed her finger in Arcane’s direction. “She was like me, wasn’t she? She was close to Overwatch in some way. But Overwatch never came for her…” Reaper wished he could state otherwise, but there simply wasn’t a leg for him to stand on. He stopped looking at Emily, focusing on the mirror image that stood before him; Somehow both defiant and defeated; Alive and dead; All kinds of contradictions, all at once, all bundled up into a lethal assassin rejected by a world that didn’t care for him. Definitely not an ex-Overwatch operative. He’d been around long enough for someone like Reaper to recognise him if that was the case. Either that, or his identity would be obvious to Sombra by now. And yet, the way Arcane spoke of Overwatch was so in line with his own words; The kind of man who maybe held the agency in high regard, once upon a time. It reminded Gabriel of looking at his reflection on the surface of a lake. Warped enough by the differences, but at the end of the day it was the same man looking back at him.

“Kid, look. I get it.” Reaper began. Again, he was being forced out of his comfort zone with this kind of talk, but it felt as though this was a conversation that needed to be had. “But you’ve got to remember, we’re all on the same team, here. Do you think I’d still be here if I put a bullet in the brain of everyone who insulted me?”
“I mean… It’s not like they could do much to make you leave.” Arcane said, a little sheepishly.
“Not really, but I wouldn’t be a council member. They’d treat me just like any other Talon operative. But they don’t, because they respect me. Respect for you is the only reason you’ve been knocked unconscious while here on site, yet still woke up with your mask on-” Reaper cut himself off and vanished into mist, regathering his body inside the cell before Arcane. With a flash of claws, he shoved into the prisoner and forced his back up against the cold stone. With his other hand, he grasped at the mask on Arcane’s face, his talons wrapping around the edges and threatening to rip it free. “But when you pull a stunt like this, that respect we have for you is fleeting. You keep fucking with us, and this mask is coming off, whether you like it or not. The Bladed Assassin units will match your skill, whether you like it or not.” With every sentence, he pulled even harder, the mask straining under the superhuman strength. Arcane wasn’t even sure how to resist, or if it was even an option for him. “We will know who you are, how to hurt you, and how to control you, Arcane. Whether you like it or not…” At last, the mask was released, snapping back into Arcane’s face. Reaper threw his plaything to the side, crashing into the bars between his cell and Emily’s. The young woman let out a yelp. Arcane gasped and heaved as his attacker vanished into the mist again, reappearing outside of the cell with his back turned. “Put a muzzle on it, Arcane. It’ll fit better if you do it yourself.”

When Reaper rounded the corner and was out of earshot, he let out a hefty sigh. He slipped his mask off and shook his head. Sombra revealed herself, approaching apprehensively. The moment he saw her, he clicked his neck and straightened himself.
“What happened in there?” She reached out to comfort him, but he retracted from her touch.
“Nothing.” He affirmed with his arms folded. “He just gets on my nerves, that’s all. I can’t believe he’d just leave her out there…” He pulled his hood down, a gesture Sombra hadn’t seen in years by now. The mask being taken off, she had started to get used to. It was the total removal of the hood that was new; Gabriel looked naked and exposed. His pale skin stretched thinly over his muscles. The outlines of veins scrawled over his neck like map lines. Sombra watched as the man rubbed at his temples.
“He’s quite the headache, isn’t he? Want me to watch him for a while?” She offered. Gabe couldn’t help but laugh to himself. A retort was in his mind, but he decided to keep it to himself.
“You know what? Sure, go ahead.” He beckoned for her to pass him. “Maybe you’ll do a better job at getting through to him. He doesn’t respond to my threats like a normal person does.”

Sombra stepped towards Gabe and patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe we’re both losing our touch, huh?” Gabe instantly regretted holding his tongue earlier, but he only smiled and shook his head again. As Sombra was about to round the corner, he called out to her once more.
“Hey, by the way-” He waited for her to peek back around the corner. “If you’re still struggling to uncover his identity, I think I might have an idea of where to look.” He watched as her expression changed; The raised eyebrows and slightly parted lips said it all. “Do you want me to tell you?” He asked. She stopped and thought for a moment, her eyes raising to the ceiling.
“Not yet.” She finally answered. “I really think I can figure this out. Nobody just drops off the face of the Earth entirely, there’s always a paper trail.” Gabe watched her massage her neck. She forced herself to smile at him, although he could see right through it. He whipped his hood back over his head and slipped his mask into place before taking his leave.
“You know where to find me if you change your mind.” 

In the midst of a crowded restaurant, bustling with the atmosphere of a late night dinner service, a tall and broad man sat alone. Amélie Lacroix spotted him from the entrance to the dining room, gliding between the tables and diners until she was standing at his side. Viktor Alexyev, the man from her books. His fair blond hair fell over one of his eyes. She watched in awe as he pushed it back so he could admire her with both eyes. His eyes, both of them shimmering screens of endless skies, or vast sheets of lakes afflicted with permafrost.
“You must be Miss Lacroix~” The way he spoke, the way he said Amélie’s name, dipping each word in his bottomless charm. She gave a flustered chuckle as she sat opposite him.
“Please, I’m Amélie to you~” She heavily batted her eyelashes at Viktor while resting her chin on one hand. Her hand… It wasn’t blue. Instead, it was the pale, pinkish skin she had once worn with pride while twirling on stage. 
“Well, Amélie, I implore you to try this garlic bread.” Viktor smiled, taking a slice of garlic bread off of his plate and holding it up to Amélie’s mouth. She leaned forward over the table and closed her eyes as she crunched down on the crisp food. She huffed, deeply. She’d never been one for script writing, but when the only audience of her dreams was herself, she didn’t care for the clunky pacing or dialogue, or the sudden appearance of garlic bread on the table. She barely even noticed when the restaurant around her vanished, instead turning into the private dining room from Château Guillard. She liked this new setting more, though; It made her even more keen for dessert.

The curtains were wide open, washing the dining table in a blanket moonlight. Amélie softly chewed on the garlic bread, a hand over her mouth in a bid to remain classy. She could feel a crumb hanging off of her lip. Viktor’s soft chuckle was like music to her ears as he reached out to brush the crumb away. As soon as she felt his fingers reach her, the pen writing the dream’s script was wrenched from Amélie’s hand. Viktor’s eyes widened in shock. Behind them, Amélie could see visions, memories of hers reflected back at her in the shimmering image. The creation of Widowmaker, being shown to Viktor. He drew his hand back from her, pointing accusingly at her with his voice rising into a holler. “You’re an injury!” He exclaimed, scuffling backwards as he toppled to the floor. Widowmaker stood from her chair at table and reached out to Viktor, but he only responded by scrambling away even faster. “That’s all that’s left of you; An injury!”

Amélie burst back into the waking world with a deprived gasp, bolting upright and clawing at her chest. She let out a short burst of a scream as she kicked out, feeling something crawling uneasily on her body under the blankets. Sure enough, a large spider was sent flying out from beneath the covers, landing on the floor of a mostly unused room at the Venice HQ. Amélie locked eyes with the disgusting creature. She leapt out of bed and stormed towards it, raising her foot and stomping on it. Again and again, she stomped, shrieking each time. The crushed remains of the spider stuck to the bottom of her bare foot, but she didn’t stop.
“I’m not an injury!” Amélie cried out with another footfall. “I am not an injury!” Amélie screamed again and stomped down once more. She panted with exertion, feeling pain in her ankle from slamming her foot downward with such force. She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned forward against the wall, breathing in deeply. “I’m… I’m not an injury…”

Chapter Text

“And now, the main story of tonight. The Petras Act, the law that made all Overwatch activity illegal, is being called into question by the United Nations! The law was passed after corruption was revealed within Overwatch’s ranks; Corruption that was so deeply woven into the organisation that it was easier to dismantle them than try to uproot those who were specifically responsible. Combined with the existence of Blackwatch, a covert-operations division of the agency that was responsible for kidnappings and assassinations and other criminal activities, the morality of the Overwatch agency as a whole was called into question.”

On the screen, the feed changed from the news anchor to some much older footage. A tall, blond soldier with a cape falling around him stood amongst a crowd of roaring anger with picket signs bobbing up and down over their heads. Each sign severely condemned Overwatch and everything they stood for. The caption at the bottom of the footage read the year ‘2068.’ The year of the Venice incident.
"Blackwatch is not a danger to the people. The organisation was formed as a loophole for when Overwatch’s hands are tied. Others would advocate for a scorched earth approach to accomplish what Blackwatch does. Blackwatch does not believe in a scorched earth approach. Blackwatch’s only belief is that those who threaten peace do not play by the same rules as us, and that sometimes we must play by theirs.” The crowd continued to roar in disapproval before the footage quickly cut back to the anchor, jarringly silencing the voice of the masses.

“This is a statement made by Strike Commander Morrison shortly after the existence of Blackwatch was exposed to the public. Many people see this as the beginning of the end of Overwatch. Even in death, Jack Morrison has continued to see criticism for this statement. Overwatch was eventually abolished with the creation of the Petras Act, a law which was established in the wake of the destruction of Watchpoint: Switzerland, which marked the deaths of many present Overwatch soldiers, including Strike Commander Jack Morrison as well as Blackwatch Commander Gabriel Reyes. However, since the Petras Act was passed, the overall safety of the world we live in has plummeted. Until recently, when Overwatch agents appeared in Paris, where they successfully fought off an invasion of the Omnic extremist group known as Null: Sector.” 

Other than the news anchor, the meeting room was completely silent. Everyone in the Watchpoint held their breath as the woman on the screen spoke. Finally, things were looking up.. “Then, again, they appeared in Cairo and King’s Row, where they fought against the soldiers of Talon. Not to mention the night of Tekhartha Mondatta’s assassination five years ago. There was an Overwatch agent on the scene that night. Lena Oxton, callsign ‘Tracer’, intercepted the Talon operative who pulled the trigger. While she could not change the outcome, it is likely that the Talon sniper would have had a much harder time if Tracer had been able to call for backup from other Overwatch agents. While these Overwatch activities are direct breaches of the Petras Act, experts say that the fallout would have been staggeringly worse had Overwatch operatives not been on the scene. Lives have been saved since their return, even if they’re operating outside of the law to do so. Just as Blackwatch did. As a result, one question has been circulating; Although the offending agents are in direct violation of international law, are they doing the right thing? Should Overwatch be reinstated? We may have an answer soon, as meetings are being arranged between the International Justice Commission and the United Nations, trying to come to a common decision on whether or not the Petras Act should be revoked.”

As the news anchor finished speaking, the gang sighed in relief, exchanging high fives and fist bumps, punching the air with triumph before the news could even switch to the weather. Reinhardt’s triumphant bellows drowned out almost everyone else, Torbjörn covering his ears at the giant’s side. Winston turned to Jack, who was standing solitary from the group. The curved metal and extinguished glass of his visor was held loosely at his side. Winston approached Jack, throwing away caution when he noticed that the man was smiling.
“What do you think, Jack?” Winston gloated with a grin. “Still think the world doesn’t want us?” Jack’s smile grew wider as he picked himself up off the wall. 
“Alright, monkey. No need to rub it in.”
“Ana told me about your chat, I’d argue that we all get to rub it in as much as we want.” The behemoth threw his arm over Jack’s shoulder and gestured towards the wider roster of operatives on-site. “Look at what we’ve brought back together… Isn't it amazing?” The pungent smell of peanut butter was on Winston’s breath as he spoke. Back in the day, it was almost unbearable. Now, it was a blast of nostalgia.
“I gotta admit; Seeing everyone here makes me sort of... miss it…”

“Oh, goodness Angela-” Ana gently tried to swat Angela’s hands away. “I’m fine! I get by well enough, you don’t need to worry yourself.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to get my hands on a cybernetic eye, or something?” She remained insistent. Ana shook her head, her grey plait swaying back and forth. The lab was bright and sterile. Shelves lined the walls, and medical supplies lined those shelves. Angela’s Valkyrie suit was hung on the wall nearby, and the Caduceus, tall and pristine, was suspended next to it. Ana removed her rifle from over her shoulder, handing it to Angela who immediately got to work on it. ‘ As I expected… ’ The angel thought to herself. ‘ Out of date, in need of an upgrade. But that’s not why I brought her here. ’ Without looking up to acknowledge Ana, she let the kind and nurturing facade drop. She could comfortably do so, now that she knew Ana was okay.

“You know... Fareeha might never forgive you, right?” Ana was taken aback by the brutal honesty, but more so at how out of nowhere it was.
“Where did that-”
“I saw how you were looking at her.” Angela explained. “You weren’t paying any attention to the news. You were only focused on her.” Ana wanted to protest, but she thought better of it and closed her mouth. Angela continued to tinker with the rifle, inspecting the dart ammunition inside. “I don’t exactly blame you for vanishing off the face of the Earth, Ana-” She removed one of the darts and held it between her fingers. The biotic fluid inside had begun to discolour, turning from gleaming yellow to a sickly green. “But if anyone deserved to know where you were, it was her. Do you have any idea what you put her through? First denying her Overwatch dream, and then robbing her her of a mother?”
“I should have expected you’d scold me for this if I came back.” Ana’s tone was solemn and low. 
“Hmmmm, I wonder why?” Angela refuted. It was almost impossible to discern if the sarcasm was light-hearted or not. “Cassidy told me about what happened in Cairo.”
“The Temple Bombing? I wasn't there, what-”
“No, Ana-” Angela set down the dart she was fiddling with and turned to face Ana again, leaning over the worktop and locking Ana into eye contact. “Before that. When you sent him on that little recruitment spree.”

“Make sure the perimeter is safe, then bring in the medics to tend to the wounded!” Fareeha commanded with a sweeping gesture. Urgency was in her tone, clear as the skies she protected. She had the voice of a leader, just like her mother. The Helix Soldier before her gave a salute and rushed to obey with a short; “Yes, Captain!” Fareeha felt eyes on her, but it didn’t strike her as a malicious presence. Just a new one; Someone nearby who didn’t belong there. It would have been difficult to spot him in the crowd if he wasn’t the only person there wearing a cowboy hat. In typical fashion, he was grinning right at her. Cole Cassidy, an old friend she hadn’t seen in far too long by now.

Thoughts swirled around in her mind back at Helix Security’s base of operations. She was grabbing her phone from her locker when an old photograph pinned to the inside caught her eye. It was her mother, dressed in her Captain Amari uniform of Overwatch Blue. In the photograph, Ana towered over Fareeha, but that only gave her the chance to gaze up at the mother she had placed on a pedestal with the awe of someone in the presence of a Superhero. Pinned above that photo was another, more recent memory. Fareeha was all grown up in that second picture. Her head was thrown back in a gut busting guffaw. On either side of her were Angela and Cole, both of them struggling to contain their laughter.

The real Cole, aged up to the present, stood nearby with his arms folded, waiting as Fareeha finally closed the locker.
“You ready?” 
“If you’re here about the recall, Lena already sent it to me.” Fareeha cut through him and purposefully strode towards the exit with Cassidy in tow. The reality of the present had caught up to her, snatching any hopeful memories and crushing them. “And then Reinhardt. Then Brigitte.”
“And?”
“My place is here with Helix.” She answered. “Egypt has become a safe haven under our guard. That haven is growing beyond our borders. I can’t abandon my mission.”
“And I’m not asking you to.” Cole holstered his sideways grin. He quickened his pace to close the gap between him and Fareeha, reaching out with his prosthetic arm. “You grew up wanting to be a hero, and now you are one. Is this where you’re most needed?”

Fareeha felt Cole’s metal hand gently clasp down on her shoulder.
“I believe it is.” She stated as she pulled away. The golden dusk welcomed her outside, bathing her in the warmth of Cairo. Cole followed her out, watching as she closed her eyes in the serenity of the weather. “Look, when I was a child, yes, I wanted to be a part of Overwatch-”
“And now I’m right here, asking you to be.” It was Cole’s turn to interrupt. “Sounds like we’re all asking you to be. Something else is keeping you here. Someone else.”
“My mother was-” And there was the answer Cole had expected. The answer he had hoped for. The answer he needed if he wanted his plan to move forward.
“Your mother…” Fareeha whipped her head around as he spoke. “Well, she regrets keeping you from Overwatch. She did you wrong. I know that.” He agreed, disappointedly. “Way I see it, you don’t have to believe anything I say-”

He cut himself off. Shortly ahead of them was a bridge carved of stone, arching over a small channel of water that flowed with a gentle trickling sound. Cole scanned the nearby area, but there was nobody around except for the two of them. Ana was meant to be here. Cole had arranged to have her waiting on the bridge. It was supposed to be the moment they’d reunite after all these years. Ana had promised him. But it was too late to dwell on that. And yet, in spite of Ana’s cowardice, the scuffle of combat boots behind them both was the only sign he needed to know that they weren’t alone after all. The silver pawns of Talon’s might was on them in seconds.

The skirmish was a quick one with the two of them working together. Pharah soared above, focusing on crowd control and guiding Cassidy through Cairo. Each shot he fired hit its target. Talon soldiers dropped before him like it was another day at the shooting range and the speed at which he reloaded made the title “six shooter” seem inaccurate. Pharah guided him towards the mariner on the outskirts of the city, channelling all of the soldiers onto the narrow wooden platforms and unleashing a barrage of rockets that reduced the deck to a smouldering wreck. The water frothed and boiled below her. A stray bullet had caught her in the blast, taking her out of the sky. An incredibly lucky shot, able to clip her wings in such a way. Cassidy watched as his friend tumbled from the air, crashing into the surface of the water and instantly sinking below it. He chucked his hat to the side and dove in after her. Once more, he gripped at Fareeha’s shoulder, crunching the pauldrons under his titanium fingers. He cursed himself for doing that. He still struggled to control the prosthetic, sometimes. It wasn’t that big of a deal when it was just a cigar he was wasting. Panic rose in his throat, but he kept it sealed as the water around him threatened to drown him. With a quick recalibration of the arm, he went to grab Pharah again. This time, he caught a hold of the fabric and secured it in his fist. It took all the strength he had to carry both her and her heavy suit of armour to the surface. He let out a triumphant gasp for air when his head broke through. Salt stung at his eyes, but he could just make out the nearest shoreline. Fareeha let herself be pulled to the surface alongside him. She kicked her legs to keep afloat, her bullet wound making their protests known as they filled her mind with alarm signals. Cole’s legs kicked ferociously to propel them towards the shore. The two rolled onto their backs the moment they arrived on the sand. They had both been through some pretty near death experiences in their time, but drowning wasn’t how either of them wanted to go out.

“Thanks-” Fareeha rasped. She sat upright and tilted her head to the side, grimacing as a small stream of water poured out of her ear. “I owe you one.”
“If I can cash that in right this minute, how about you come with me?” Cole joked, still laying in the sand. Fareeha chuckled, turning to look down at him. His beard was plastered to his chin, slicked downward. He looked like a dog locked outside during a rainstorm.
“I get the feeling you’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
Cole sat up at Fareeha’s side and shook himself rapidly. Tiny droplets of salt water flew from his waterlogged hair.
“You said you can’t abandon your mission with Helix, right? Well, when Reinhardt joined Overwatch, do you think he never returned to Germany to fight alongside the other Crusaders? Or Jack and Gabe, you know how many times they brought Overwatch reinforcements to help the other Super Soldiers fight? You said yourself that Helix’s protection is expanding beyond Egypt. Imagine how far you could stretch those borders as an Overwatch agent. Imagine how much higher you could fly, Fareeha.” He turned to grab his hat from where it had landed. A few grains of sand rolled off the rim. Fareeha watched as he set it back on his head, completing his look again. ‘Well, not quite complete…’ She thought. ‘He’s still missing the cigar in that crooked smile of his. Also, the dry hat sticks out like a sore thumb when he’s sopping wet like this.’
Can I maybe have some more time to consider, at least?” She asked, still apprehensive. Cole’s smile widened. He knew he’d won her over. He heaved himself to his feet and offered his hand to her. She grinned back at him and took it.
“You know how to find me, Fareeha.”

“Cole gave you the perfect opportunity to at least begin to make amends.” Angela said wistfully. “And what did you do? You ran away, again. You can try to speak to her now, but it’s different here. There’s other things that have brought you back here. There’s the Recall. There’s your… Uhm, thing with Reinhardt. How does she know that you returned specifically for her ?” Even as she tore into Ana, she handed the rifle back to its rightful owner. Ana slipped the strap over one of her shoulders. “I know it takes courage to admit your mistakes, Ana. But I also know you. Courage is something you have in spades.” She snatched the dart pistol out of the holster at Ana’s hip as she spoke and rotated the weapon in her hands, giving it the same check-up she had given the rifle. 

Then, Angela pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, I’ve had a lot on my chest since I heard you were alive.” Her voice shook, though not in a way that foretold tears. Ana just bowed her head.
“Seems like you’ve had a lot on your shoulders, too. Taking care of Fareeha in my absence…” She responded. The quiet between them was uncomfortable, interrupted only by the mechanical clicking of the dart pistol as Angela operated on it. “I made a lot of mistakes as Captain Amari. Most of them aren’t fixable. Especially not what I did to Fareeha. She came to Overwatch regardless of my wishes, so it’s not like I can give her my blessing after all this time. That ship has already sailed.” At first, Angela didn’t respond. Ana thought she had earned the cold shoulder at first, but the dart pistol’s clicking halted. She set it down on the work surface and turned back towards Ana.
“Well then, Ana… What actually is your plan?” She questioned. Ana forced herself to meet Angela’s eyes. Angela had been so passive, once upon a time. Even when Overwatch decided to repurpose her technology for the battlefield against her wishes, she had stood by with a smile. A pang of guilt struck Ana as that memory resurfaced.
“I don’t know, yet. But I know that I’m not going to find it if I keep running away from her.”

“So-” Winston started, eyeing everyone in the room. He was thrilled at how many people were already here. His heart swelled with pride every time he saw Jack and Ana. Jack, particularly, was still an enigma to him. He’d never know what exactly Ana had said to him to get him to come back. He was going to be a great ally, leading charges against opposing forces. He was dedicated, devoted and disciplined; A soldier through and through. But that wasn’t going to be enough. They needed more manpower. Otherwise their siege on the stronghold would be a slaughter, something nobody wanted to go through. If they could deal a crippling blow to Talon and make the world see that they were needed, Overwatch could take down two birds with one stone. “In case you were unaware, we’ve been in contact with the Talon operative, Sombra.” Already there were plenty of faces around the room that said ‘ That’s not a good opening, Winston. ’ and they’d be right. But he hoped he could get through to everyone. The plan was solid, as long as you could trust her word. “We have reason to believe she’s had a change of heart and would like to aid us in rescuing Emily and Amélie in return for helping her and Reaper defect. Which means that there’s a chance Commander Reyes will be joining us again.” As expected, a chorus of sharp exhales through teeth sounded out.

“Reyes? Here?!” Cole was the first to voice his protest. “That guy wants us all dead!”
“Let’s just bring Moira, Arcane and Doomfist over to our side while we’re at it, shall we?!” Genji agreed. It wasn’t often he raised his voice in such a manner, so his opinion was as clear as crystal.
“He’s a fucking psychopath.” Jack finished, scowling deeply. “He’s had it out for every one of us since Watchpoint: Switzerland. He hates every single person in this room. He’s even come right after you , Winston! In this very room ! And you want to welcome him back?” The complaining trio looked at Winston expectantly, awaiting the answer. A weighted blanket of silence hung over the entire room, feeling almost suffocating. Unable to form an answer to their question, Winston tried to give them the next best thing.
“Well… There’s no saying he’s going to stay here.” He offered. “He, uh…” Lena arose from her seat and strode over to Winston, standing at his side. 
“I got this, big guy.” She soothed, rubbing his shoulder. Winston gave her a smile, and then the floor, all eyes in the room turning to her. “Reap… Reyes , I mean, seemed pretty intent on Amélie’s safety. I’m pretty sure that he’s going to help get her to us, then vanish back into the wind. We’ll probably never have to see him again after that.” Cole’s expression softened. It was already difficult to be angry with Winston, but he could never quite get himself to even raise his voice at Lena. He cast his eyes towards his Blackwatch brother, Genji, who had his head bowed in a similar sign of submission. Then there was Jack.

“I don’t want ‘probably’, Lena.” Jack declared with a frown. “I want a guarantee.” The soldier stood proud with his arms folded, over-shadowing Lena with his broad shoulders. Genji met Cole’s gaze, which had grown stern again.
“The same goes for that Sombra, too.” Cole said pointedly. “I understand Amélie returning, but why would we want Sombra here? It’s bad enough we’re working with the Junkers. I made my feelings on that decision very clear. Working alongside active criminals is dangerous.”
“Let me remind you once more, Cole, that you were one of those criminals.” Lena shot back, sternly. “Hell, we’re all criminals, now. The fact we’re even meeting here is a direct breach of the Petras Act. We might as well all be Blackwatch agents at this point.”

“Excellent point, Lena.” Cole huffed. “We’re all criminals. But we’re united, at least. We share common enemies, common goals. As much as this room might be riddled with tension, at least we can mostly trust each other.” He strode forward, reaching the centre of the room where all eyes would be on him. “The more wildcards we bring in, the harder it is to maintain that trust. Last time someone who had even set foot on Talon property returned to Overwatch, we lost Gérard. And now…” He turned with a flourish, gesturing at Junkrat and Roadhog. “We’ve got a couple of wasteland psychos in our midst and damn Talon agents on our phone line, offering to deliver a prisoner of war to us with what’s essentially a ‘No Strings Attached’ deal. That trust is stretching thinner and thinner with every questionable ally we sign on.”
“He’s right-” Morrison agreed, moving to stand beside Cole. Not that he thought a fight was inbound. “We can’t afford to bring in any more liabilities to Overwatch’s reputation. Junkrat and Roadhog are bad enough. I don’t want Gabriel or Sombra anywhere near us unless they’re on the other side of a battlefield.” 

Dead silence, once more. Even Cole looked surprised, taking a step away from Jack.
“That… That ain’t what I meant, sir.” Jack took his eyes off the audience, giving Cole his full attention. “I’m worried about them hurting our family. I couldn’t give two shits about reputation.” Jack seemed confused. He slowly addressed his audience, turning on the spot in a big circle to see that he’d completely lost their support, now.
“What… What happened to you, Jack?” Winston had rediscovered his voice. “Is that all this is about to you? Overwatch’s reputation? What happened to Strike Commander Morrison? Dedicated soldier, protector of the innocent? That’s what Overwatch has always stood for; Doing what’s right. But the way you talk about it now… All this stuff about… Reputation. ” It was a challenge to keep the disgust out of his voice, and Winston failed with buried colours. “It’s like you care more about Overwatch as a brand than a means to be protectors.” Behind his glasses, his eyes ached and threatened tears. He couldn’t even bring himself to get angry with Jack, just disappointed to find that maybe the Jack he knew really had been buried in Arlington. Eyes were on Morrison again, lathering the room in silence so eerie that Jack swore he could hear a speck of dust land. His voice seized up whenever he tried to come up with a response. Even Cole and Genji had separated themselves from being lumped in with his ideals, taking deliberate steps away. Finally, the revenant commander was able to speak.
“I’m going to go and get some air.”

Cole swung around the corner and felt the rush of wind smack him in the face. It would have taken his hat, but years of quick-draw marksmanship meant he could easily snatch it back before it was gone. He spotted Jack sitting on the cliff’s edge, his feet dangling over the rocks. Cradled in his hands was his visor, a smudge or two on the glass.
“Mind if I sit?” Cole asked with his signature crooked smile. Jack nodded silently. Sure enough, Cole settled next to him and whipped out a cigar and lighter. Jack watched in amusement as he tried and failed to ignite the lighter, which kept getting extinguished by the roaring gusts. He grabbed at his jacket and held it as a shield. “Thank you, kindly.” Cole leaned into the jacket and lit the cigar. Poison rolled into his lungs and his blood, but he revelled in the sensation. He tried to do some tricks when blowing out the smoke, but the wind whisked his paint away before he got the chance. Instead, he plucked the cigar from his lips and offered it to Jack.
“I don’t smoke.” He said as he pulled his jacket tighter around him, shielding himself from the stabbing gale. “Haven’t for years, Vincent always hated the smell.” 
“The fact you’re even here on Gibraltar shows quitting ain’t your strong suit, Jack.” Cole retorted. Jack looked from his visor to the cigar again, thoughtful. He caught Cole’s cheeky grin and his raised eye-brow.
“Can’t argue with that logic-” Jack conceded. It had been decades since he’d touched a cigar; It felt unfamiliar in his fingers after so much time apart. But even after a single drag, he felt the tension physically leave his shoulders.

Cole craned his neck as Jack smoked, gazing up at the Overwatch logos painted all over the walls. Once a sign of heroes, present in the area and ready to help. A symbol of hope and inspiration. Now, the paint was chipped and broken, leaving cracks in the artwork. “Can I ask you something?” He turned back to Jack as he posed the question. Jack felt his shoulders tense up again in response. Every corner of his mind was telling him to refuse, but the hand that held the cigar beckoned for the cowboy to continue. “So- Why is this all about reputation for you? We should be prioritising what’s right, over what makes us look good.” Jack exhaled deeply, watching as the billowing smoke was rushed away by the wind. Part of him was proud that the outlaw had turned his life around when Overwatch gave him the chance.
“We won’t be able to do what’s right if the world doesn’t let us.” He reasoned. “They won’t let us if they don’t have trust in us.” His eyes never met Cole’s, fixed on the expanse of ocean before him. Cole gently snatched the cigar back and took a second drag of his own.
“All due respect, you’re not about to stop what you’re doing just because the world says you can’t. Neither are we. Petras Act or not, we’re going to keep fighting the good fight.”
“Well then… Why is everyone holding their breath about this UN meeting?”
“Because it’ll be easier to do our job without the law tryin’a stop us.” He shrugged. “Although I don’t know why I’m explaining it to ya. You already know this yourself, you’re still gonna be Soldier: 76 if this doesn’t work out. What difference does it make for you? ” He tapped the cigar with a finger, watching as the ash drifted over the edge. The gunslinger felt twice as relaxed as he had inside, thankfully. But the soldier at his side was still tense. Not a word came from Jack. All he did was gaze intently at the ocean. The waves continued to slam against the rock down below, relentless and determined. The day was sunny and warm, and yet the noise was like a storm down there. So much noise, and still not a word from Jack. 

“You’re not gonna tell me, are ya?” Cole pre-empted. Before Jack answered, he took the cigar back and puffed on it again, finding familiarity in the ritual.
“Not today, Cassidy. Maybe I will eventually. I don’t know… I feel like it’s kinda pathetic.” With a pattern forming, he handed the cigar back to Cole.
“Alright, well… Look, I’m not here to tell you I’m rooting for Gabe to come back. It doesn’t sound good to me either. I don’t want him to hurt us all over again. If he so much as looks at us funny, I’ll find a way to kill him. But as much as I hate to admit it, the gang is right. We need more fire power. We can’t afford to be closed minded or do everything by the book.” Jack bit his tongue at that. ‘By the book’ Where had he heard that, before? He cast his mind back to the night before the Venice incident. He and Gabriel, tending to the dead with grief. ‘ By the book… isn’t working. ’ Gabriel had said. And he’d been right, to an extent. Blackwatch had played an important role in Overwatch’s goal of securing global peace. But every time Blackwatch had cut a moral corner, they had left Overwatch to deal with two more corners to navigate.

“The final call is in your hands, Cole. But I’ll ask you exactly what I asked Gabriel. In the long run, will this help Overwatch keep the world safe?” Finally, he tore his gaze away from the frothing water. And now, it was Cole’s turn to delay his answer with tobacco. 
“Who gave me the authority to make the choice?” He nervously chuckled. Jack leaned back in disbelief.
“Why do you think Ana chose you for the recruitment spree? You really never asked yourself? I don’t know what her plan is once all is said and done. But I ain’t sticking around for long. You’re her first choice to take my place as Strike Commander.” The cigar between Cole’s metal fingers was crushed. He eyed the paper with dismay, sighed, then flicked it over the edge of the cliff.
“What about Winston?”

“Winston’s first announcement since I got here went so poorly that three of us went straight into making a scene about his choice, Cole. He’s a good man. Not a malicious bone in that enormous body of his. But that doesn’t make a good leader. He knows it, too. I bet he’s counting the days until someone else steps up and takes the reins from him. Ana thinks that should be you.”
Cole reached for his pack of cigars again. His instinct was to pull another one out and light it again, but something told him to grab the entire box instead.
“Strike Commander Cassidy, huh…” Was the only thing he said before tipping the carton upside down and letting the rest of them fall into the water below. “S’pose I should take better care of myself if I’m gonna be the one leading from the front.” Jack clapped Cole on the back, giving him a slight heart attack as he believed for the smallest moment he was about to fall.
“It ain’t an easy job, son.” Jack offered him. “You’re gonna have to deal with hard decisions daily, and your enemies will go for the jugular any chance they get. You’re gonna have the general public calling for your execution, telling you that you’re everything that’s wrong with the world despite you fighting tooth and nail to be the last thing right with it. But if you can handle that? You’ll probably save more lives than I ever did. Give it a try; Head back in there and just give a command or something.”

A sly grin flashed across Cole’s face, disappearing just as quickly. “How about I try giving you a command, first?” 
“Nice try, but I’m not under your authority if I’m not an Overwatch operative.”
“An Overwatch Strike Commander has the authority to give orders to any other military forces fighting alongside Overwatch. If you’re gonna fight for us, you ain’t immune to that.”
"So you did read the handbook!" He was right, of course. Didn’t make him any less of a smart arse. Jack respected the chain of command too much to call him out on it, but it didn’t stop him from thinking it. " Go on then, Strike Commander Cassidy. What’s your first order?” 
“Heh, you’re not gonna like it.” He started. Jack only shrugged; Another beckon for him to continue with much more enthusiasm than the last. “My first command for you; You gotta play nice if Reyes shows up here.” His voice was stern as he could manage. Jack didn’t hide his falling expression, but Cole pressed on anyway. “You’re allowed to have your doubts about him. Believe me, I do too. But I don’t want you to actively get in the way. Let him prove he hasn’t changed. Think you can do that?” He watched Jack intently. The soldier rose to his feet, taking one final look at the visor in his hands. He gripped it tighter, holding the red glass in one hand and the metal mask in the other. There was a slight, strained grunt of effort from him before he broke the accessory in two. Cole watched on in surprise as Jack tossed the metal piece over the edge before slotting the red glass back into place on his face.

“You’ll look good in ‘Overwatch Blue’, kid.”

Chapter Text

The mind-breaking crescendo of a battleground doesn’t get much easier to stomach, no matter how many times a warrior might find themselves exposed to it. Arcane watched- No… Whoever Arcane used to be, watched on in horror as everything around him was ignited. Soldiers clad in silver and crimson armour continued to fire their weapons as the civilians ran… Towards them? The Talon soldiers weren’t the threat. They were on the defensive, against an invading force of Omnics, highlighted by indigo. The Talon soldiers were the only ones the civilians had to count on. But it didn’t matter. A squadron of bombers soared overhead, showing a glimpse into Hell for the man who would die, so that Arcane would rise in his place.

The burst of noise from the door swinging open helped Arcane rise from his sleep instead, startling him. He felt around his face, relieved by the feeling of his mask. On the other side of the bars, another soldier clad in silver and crimson armour stood with a shotgun clenched in two hands. He barely acknowledged Arcane, just marching across the room with heavy footfall after footfall until he arrived in front of Emily’s door. The cell door swung open, screeching in protest. This time, the soldier didn’t even bother calling Emily’s name. He just marched inside, picked her up and draped her over his shoulder, letting his shotgun fall loosely in his one-handed grip. Arcane shivered in apprehension. He had assumed Emily was asleep, like he had been. But he caught her eye when she was picked up, suspended over the soldier’s shoulder. She was awake. She just didn’t have it in her to resist anymore. The soldier turned and left without another word, but Arcane still wasn’t alone.

The prisoner focused more intently on a spot just outside of Emily’s cell. The light hit the wall slightly differently, and the bricks weren’t quite aligned. 
“Hey, Sombra? Is that you?” It was a shot in the dark, but he was right. She revealed herself to him, slumped against the wall with her knees huddled to her chest.
“Hey…” The bags under her eyes that told Arcane all he needed to know.
“You look like shit.” He observed, getting an eye roll. “Something keeping you up?” It was a rather pointless question, as he could already take a pretty good guess. It was more of an invitation for her to talk to someone about it. It wasn’t like he could do much else from behind these bars, anyway. Sombra stood up and began pacing, trying to find the right words.
“It’s… It’s everything. Amélie being out there without anyone looking out for her. Me and Gabe… We’re the only ones in her corner. And now she’s alone… Because of you.” She finished with a hiss, rounding on him like a cobra. For a change, he didn’t have some verbal riposte to turn things around and make him seem like the good guy.

Now it was Arcane’s turn to stand. He pulled his eyes up from the floor and crossed his cell to the bars that had separated him from Emily.
“They’re doing it to her, too. Aren’t they? Emily isn’t just a war prisoner to fuck with Overwatch. They’re turning her into another Widowmaker.” His question was only met with Sombra groaning before returning to the wall and sitting down again, a sob caught in her throat that she refused to let out. The dim lights exposed a glistening tear that threatened to dive down her cheek. She leaned her head back against the wall behind her, a little too hard. The sound of the bump rebounded around the cramped space followed by Sombra groaning again. She sorely rubbed the back of her head.
“I… I found the footage.” She croaked. Behind his visor, Arcane’s eyes widened in shock.
“Of… Of what? The-”
“The torture. Everything they put her through. I found it back when you asked me to look through Max’s memory. The sick pervert kept it for… For God knows what reason.”

Arcane felt himself shudder again. He thought back to the moment he left Widowmaker behind after kicking her out of the Phoenix; The look of sheer terror on her face burned into his mind. Then he thought about Emily, again. The look in her eyes as her limp, exhausted body was picked up and taken away. He gave her a pass when it came to not trusting him. But he never gave Widowmaker that same understanding. Why was that? Because she was rude to him? The word ‘Pathetic’ started to play on repeat in his mind once again.
“How haven’t you and Reaper killed me yet? After what I did to Widow… What I did to Amélie?”

For the first time since she revealed herself, Sombra cracked a tired half-smile at him.
“We don’t get to make that decision.” She delicately brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Believe me; If I was in charge here, you’d be executed by your own sword.” Her smile was about to vanish again, but Arcane couldn’t help but join her when he imagined her tripping and stumbling while attempting to wield his weapon.
“Can you even throw an effective cut?” He challenged. In response, Sombra stood once more and sauntered up to the bars again. Arcane caught himself locked in a staring competition with her, reminiscent of when he first tried to escape the stronghold; When Sombra had put a tracker on him, and he’d caught a glimpse of her through her cloak. There was something real in her eyes that had vanished by the next time he saw her. Something strange, a little sparkle that he’d only ever read about in books. He’d seen it again when he threatened her. The façade had faded. Sombra had vanished, and whoever was hiding behind that alias was standing right in front of him. He saw it again, now. Although he still didn’t know the woman’s name, he was sure he wasn’t talking to Sombra anymore.
“Well, maybe you can teach me some time.” She leaned on the bars as she spoke, taking Arcane’s challenge. “I’ve seen you training the assassins, you’re pretty good as an instructor.” She goaded. But the idea of teaching Sombra was cast out of his mind as he was reminded about the assassins.
“Speaking of which, what’s going on with them? Who’s training them while I’m locked up here?” Sombra couldn’t help but feel shut down in her attempt to bridge the gap between them, even if it was only a little bit.
“Oh… Nobody, really. They’re kind of training amongst themselves.” Just like that, the sparkle was gone, and the real woman retreated behind the façade. “Moira watches over them, but that’s it.”

Arcane noticed the shift. Sombra didn’t do much to hide it. She looked as if she was about to leave, or stop giving Arcane any attention at least.
“Wait, did you find what I asked you to look for in Max’s memories?” It had been burning in his mind for a while now. Sombra stopped in her tracks and pulled up her computer, turning back towards Arcane and approaching him again.
“Right, sorry. I got a little distracted last time.” She hurriedly swiped files of information left and right, sifting through until she was once more at the back door into Maximilien’s mind. “Remind me what I’m looking for.”
“Who told him that he was my target when I first got here.” Arcane confirmed, peering through the screens. He could read some of the words backwards when she lingered on certain pages, but a lot of it seemed like nonsense to him. She kept on swiping through her computer. At some point, she stopped talking altogether, ignoring any quips from the irritating prisoner. It didn’t stop him. Not for a while, at least. He fired off a couple taunts about how she was losing her touch. But as her forehead creased further, he fell silent right alongside her.
“This is it.” Sombra finally said, rotating the screen so he could read it. She started as if she was going to explain, but cut herself off. “This… Wait… No, it can’t be this…” It was dated the night after Arcane attacked. Right after Sombra, Reaper, Doomfist and Moira had discussed his recruitment. Sombra pointed at the time stamp in the corner. “This is about 5 minutes after we discussed bringing you in. Moira made a beeline right to find Max, and then this happened-” The memory unfolded before the both of them.

Maximilien sat in his office, sifting through bank statements with one hand and scratching his shiny head with the other. 
“Urgh… They just piss away my money, what the fuck are they doing?” Before an answer found him, Moira did. There was a knock at the door that could only be hers; A specific pattern that Sombra had come to recognise. Max let her linger for a moment, hoping she’d go away. Then he remembered who it was at the door. “Yes, Doctor O’Deorain? Can I help you?” With that, the door swung open to reveal her snake-like leer.
“That is no way to greet a friend, Maximilien.” The door was almost silent as it shut behind her, letting her irritating tone linger in the memory.
“O’Deorain, I’m very busy taking care of the shortcomings in our funds, half of which is thanks to your projects that you refuse to explain to us.” He grated. He outright refused to meet her eyes, instead keeping his sights on the papers. He wanted nothing more than to burn them to ash. Maybe someday, he’d get his eyes fitted with some lasers. “So if you don’t need something, I ask that you make yourself scarce. I’ve got a lot of fires to put out.”

Moira strode through the office, leaning on Maximilien’s desk.
“I am sure you are aware that we had an intruder last night?” She asked. She was slowly driving his interest even further and further away.
“Yes, what of it? You want me to hunt him down? I’ll make some calls.” Moira only shook her head and brought out a tablet from behind her back.
“I do not think that will be necessary. I have evidence to suggest he shall be back.” She placed the tablet on top of the statements and slid it across the desk. Max humoured her, taking the tablet and seeing his own mirror image staring back at him. A kill contract with his name on it.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Maximilien finally addressed Moira with the attention she felt she deserved. “What is this?”
“The intruder was a freelance assassin. His target was you. Given that there has been talks of recruiting his talent, I thought it important you were aware in case he comes after you again.”

The video ended. Arcane turned to look at Sombra, who only shrugged back at him in equal confusion.
“I guess Moira was the first to know who you were here for. Even before I did.” It was a surprise to her; Egging him on, trying to get him to poke fun at her some more. But he didn’t take the bait.
“Ol’ Smokey…” He scowled. 
“How do you know that name?” Sombra exclaimed, shutting her computer down. She turned to fully face Arcane, pressing up to the bars. Arcane staggered back, thrown off guard by her… Enthusiasm, yes, that was the right word for it.
“They were my primary client before I got recruited here. Did jobs for a lot of people over the years but Ol’ Smokey was the one who came to me most. They’re the one who sent me after Max, and the other Talon heads too. They must’ve sold me out… Why? How do you know them?”

Sombra stood silent in front of Arcane, her jaw hanging. She pulled her computer back up and began searching even deeper into her database.
“This stays between us, Arcane. What I’m about to show you, I’ve literally never shown anyone before.” Before he could even get a chance to promise her, the computer screen expanded into a three-dimensional holographic map that almost filled the entire room. But it wasn’t a location, it was more like a spiderweb of names and corporations. Overwatch, Blackwatch, Talon, Null; Sector, Vishkar, Lumerico, Los Muertos, the Shimada and Hashimoto clans, Helix Security… Every corner of the world, this web of information and connections had its tendrils dug in. At the centre of it all was an eye, shimmering violet. Everything led back to it. Everything from the Super Soldier program to the Shambali. Everything from the Horizon Lunar Colony to the First Awakening. The rise, the fall, and the recent revival of Overwatch. All of it found its way back to the eye in the centre. Arcane was at a loss for words. He could only watch as Sombra paced through the hologram, craning her neck to take in all of the various connections. “This is my life’s work, Arcane. This is who I’m trying to find.” She turned to face the eye at the centre and reached out to gently touch it, the hologram flickering under her fingers. “The Conspiracy… They’re absolutely everywhere… I’ve been hunting this thing down for years, no dice. I don’t know if it’s just one guy, or a group, or what. But what I do know is that when you reach a certain depth, this ‘Ol’ Smokey’ alias is everywhere…” She whipped back around to look at Arcane. “You said they were a common client, right? Have you ever met them?” He hadn’t. He’d never met any of his clients. Every time the subject was brought up, he was reminded that he furnished his lair on the off chance anyone ever came to see him before contracting him.
“Sorry, I didn’t. Wasn’t exactly my business.” His head shook slowly. Sombra pouted and turned away, pacing through the web once more.
“Well, at least I can finally put you on here.” Light extended from Sombra’s fingertips and connected to the data maze, creating a new pathway directly from the centre. She uploaded a picture of Arcane at the other end of the connection. “How the fuck did you could get tangled up this close to the centre of this without connecting to anything else…” She stepped back to admire her handiwork, but she couldn’t. There was a far-too prominent question on her mind at that moment, and it was lurking in the cell behind her.

The hangar was alive with the shriek of jet engines as an airship came to dock. Widowmaker stayed silent in the passenger seat with her hands in her lap. The pilot tried speaking to her, but to no avail. She outright refused to say a word. It hadn’t worked out too well for her last time she spoke to her ride home. The ship lurched as it landed, jerking Widowmaker out of her stillness. She stood from her chair and approached the latch before it had even started to open. The pilot glanced back at her. Something felt off, but his shrug said he wasn’t paid enough to care. He just pressed the button at the console that unlocked the hatch, allowing Widowmaker to step back to the ground. Reaper was waiting for her at the exit. His body language was nonchalant, although his mind was anything but. 
“Welcome home, Widowmaker.” He said. Widowmaker didn’t have anything to say in return. She hadn’t spoken since that dream. All she could do was keep walking past Reaper, into the corridors of Talon. Reaper followed behind her, mirroring her silence back at her. The click of her heels and the clump of his boots was the only semblance of a conversation. He noticed that Widowmaker kept on looking around at seemingly nothing. There was nobody around. The halls were strikingly empty for what they usually were this part of the morning. He wasn’t sure what she was looking out for. It didn’t become any clearer when she turned around and threw her arms around him. Gabriel staggered. It broke his heart, feeling how cold she was, the delayed beats of her heart thumping against his chest. He returned the gesture, gently hugging her back and cradling her head against the crook of his neck.
“Are you hurt?” He asked, but she shook her head. “No… No, Arcane didn’t hurt me. He shoved me, but that was it.”

Gabriel pulled away from the hug and grasped Amélie’s shoulders, crouching down to be at eye level with her.
“What even happened out there?” He did everything he could to avoid letting his voice give him away. He had to stay strong. “I asked that punk, but it’s just… Weird he’d blow up over so little.” Amélie, on the other hand, was now struggling to make eye contact; She’d used up all her social battery just in that one hug. Now, she had to be the cool and detached Widowmaker again. The façade was still incomplete, her voice slipping up.
“I missed my shot on the target… Again… He left his ship to come help me with damage control, eliminated the target, then took me back and started to fly away. He seemed… Serene, and more human than normal. He talked about the stars. I don’t know, it rubbed me the wrong way, like he thought we were… I just wanted to keep him at arm’s length. So I made it as clear as I could that I still didn’t really trust him.”
“So you compared him to Overwatch?” Gabriel asked, jumping ahead a bit. Amélie gave an embarrassed smile as she clocked how pathetic and ungrateful it was for her to say what she had said. 
“I said I’d feel safer with them than I did with him.” Gabe looked away, mulling over her telling of the story. It corroborated what Arcane had said. Things were slowly falling into place in his mind. “What are you thinking, Gabe?” He looked back at Amélie now, still holding onto her by her shoulders. 
“I’m thinking what kind of grudge he has against Overwatch.” He answered, taking his hands off of her and continuing to walk. Amélie started after him.
“Why’s that important?” She continued to look around as they were moving. Gabriel finally clocked that she was keeping an eye out for security cameras. She had hugged him the moment there weren’t any around.
“Clues to the puzzle.” It was a cryptic answer. He didn’t have all the pieces in place just yet. He was luckily bailed out as they rounded a corner.

Sombra turned on a dime when the clump of boots and clicking of heels caught her attention. She snatched the map back up at lightning speed as Gabriel and Amélie entered the room.
“You’re still here, Sombra?” Gabriel sounded accusing, somehow, although he was genuinely surprised. “It’s been, what, 12 hours? Have you eaten?” This caught Arcane’s attention, too.
“Wait, had you been sitting there since Reaper left? How did I not notice you sooner?” Sombra turned to him, and for the briefest moment, that sparkle in her eyes returned.
“Because I was invisible, duh?” She shook her head at him with a sheepish smile. Admittedly, he did spot her in her cloaked form, but checking his ego was always valid. “No, I haven’t eaten yet. I’m fine though, I’ll get something soon.”

Amélie was still quiet, coldly glaring at Arcane. Sombra and Gabriel both watched as she stalked up to the bars with spite in every step. Arcane launched right into what he needed to say without any further prompting.
“I fucked up pretty badly.” He started off, meeting her glare still shielded by his visor. “As much as I’d love to explain myself, there really isn’t anything I could say or do that’d justify it so just… tell me what I need to do to make it up to you.” He watched her expression carefully as he spoke. She seemed to soften, the freezing glare from before thawing out. She turned to Gabriel and Sombra, then back to Arcane.
“I’ll make it easy for you, Arcane.” A smug smile eased its way out of that cold, hard shell of hers. “All I want from you is to hear you say sorry.” Even her voice had softened. It was the most Amélie he’d ever seen. “Just that one word, and you’re in the clear.” Arcane looked past her at Gabriel and Sombra, which didn’t clear anything up. Gabriel looked just as baffled as he was, while Sombra was stifling a giggle behind her hand.
“I’m… I’m sorry, Widow- Uh… Do I call you Widowmaker or Amélie?”
“Amélie is my name, you might as well use it. I don’t plan on being Widowmaker for much longer.” Gabriel stepped forward, but was stopped in his tracks as Amélie raised a hand.

“I’m not going to be at Talon for much longer, Arcane. I didn’t choose to be here, like I told you. I was taken against my will. All I want is to be free from this place, from these people… So yes, Arcane. As long as you pledge your loyalty to Talon, I will feel unsafe under your protection, no matter how many times you save my life. But, these two?” She gestured back to her allies behind her. Gabriel’s breath caught in his throat. Every fibre of his body was telling him to stop her from spilling, but he knew she wouldn’t listen to him. Not anymore. Her conditioning had deteriorated too much for her to follow a command, even from him. “These two aren’t going to be here for much longer either. We’ve got a plan. That girl, Lena’s partner, we’re going to get her out of here. We’re leaving this stronghold, and if we ever come back, it will be to lay waste to every single one of these war criminals. You could be using your sword for something much greater than realising Doomfist’s dreams. You could come with us.”

The Talon soldiers weren’t the threat. They were on the defensive, against an invading force of Omnics, highlighted by indigo. The Talon soldiers were the only ones the civilians had to count on. But it didn’t matter. A squadron of bombers soared overhead, showing a glimpse into Hell for the man who would die, so that Arcane would rise in his place.

“I don’t know if that would work, Amélie. I don’t see myself fighting alongside Overwatch, and where else could I go?” Arcane reasoned. Gabriel stepped in front of Amélie and peered at him through the bars.
“You couldn’t go back to being a freelancer?”
“I’d have to rebuild my clientele, they all dropped me when I became an operative here.”
“Well-” Before Gabriel could respond, the door to the dungeon swung open. Emily was marched back inside with a shotgun barrel buried in her back. The enforcer stepped in after her, looking around to take in those who were present.
“What’re you lot doin’ here?” He barked. Gabriel refused to turn around to face the enforcer, keeping the fact that his mask was off hidden from the loyal soldier’s sights.
“We’re just here to educate this one, is all.” He scowled back. He heard the clank of the enforcer’s armour as he shrugged his shoulders up and down, wordlessly shoving Emily towards her cell.
“Fair ‘nuff.” He said. The gate shut behind her with a resounding screech. Without any further regard for the other Talon operatives, he turned back to the exit and left with a tune whistling from his lips.

Arcane eyed his neighbour through the bars, another memory resurfacing; A memory he had buried deep in his mind. It was an early contract, before he started dealing with clients like Ol’ Smokey. Some fixer had him travel all the way to North Carolina for a hostage extraction. He got the kid out without even needing to draw his blade. That kid’s grateful grin was replaced in his mind by the tear tracks streaking down Carlotta’s face as he mercilessly decapitated her, then came the genuine terror Amélie felt towards him as he shoved her out of his ship. It was a long, deadly fall to get from there to here.

“Hey, kid-” Gabriel rapped his knuckles on the bars, drawing the captive from his mind. Arcane watched as the angel of death reached under his robes, drawing a weapon from within. But it wasn’t a shotgun. It was a sword. Arcane’s sword, humming intensely. Reaper held it by the blade, turning the hilt towards Arcane and sliding it through the bars before dropping it. The sound of the metal falling to the ground rang around the dungeon. Arcane crept towards the blade and took it in his hand, the familiarity of the weapon in his hand brought him comfort he hadn’t felt in years.
“Okay, so you’re handing the unstable prisoner a weapon?” He looked up at Gabriel with the weapon clutched tightly. “Why?”
“I was advocating for these cages to be demolished years ago. There’s a lot of fucked up shit I’m willing to put up with in Talon’s practices, but keeping prisoners in these conditions just feels… Pointless. It goes against Akande’s very ideology. He’s a brute, but he’s also got that silver tongue of his. His whole thing is bringing the sheep into the fold. He talks people back in line, or he just kills them, not this… Weird fence-sitting shit that he’s doing to you.” He took a deep breath and gazed off into space. “He’s been acting differently lately. I first noticed it when he lost to Winston, then again when Orisa got upgraded. She drove him out of Numbani, and Talon withdrew alongside him. Since then, I swear he's not been the same... Anyway, if you want to keep defying his commands, there’s your key to escape this cell we’re all trapped in. And I’ll tell you this, kid. If you want to protect people like Amélie, you aren’t going to get a chance to do that here. You won’t protect anything but yourself as a Talon operative, and that’s not me criticising you. That’s just the very nature of what this has become. So if you want to be a guardian, leave Talon. It doesn’t matter where you go, just leave, just get the fuck out of here and don’t ever look back.”