Chapter Text
Numbani gleamed in the midday sun, Fareeha’s visor catching the glare as she touched down on one of the city’s many crowded rooftops. She lifted her hand to her brow, spying six other figures leaping between buildings, her jaw taut as she watched the payload advance. The winding streets were empty save their short convoy, and the city itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the last remnants of the ANUBIS code to reach its destination and be destroyed for good.
An easy job, completely unchallenged. Which was exactly the problem.
“Area 3, clear. Amari? You see something over there?”
Fareeha straightened, eyes snapping to the black figure of Captain Nassar’s Raptora touching down on an adjacent building. Though the distance between them and both their visors shouldn't have allowed it, Fareeha could feel the weight of the other woman's expectant stare. Lifting her wrist-comm, she noted that her commanding officer had contacted her through a private channel, not the one the squad used. Frowning, Fareeha answered, “Nothing.”
The response came swiftly: “Then quit day-dreaming and keep looking. Helix has already said this is our last, best chance before the contracts run out.”
The reminder was nettles beneath her skin. Jumping, Fareeha’s thrusters pushed her high above the city, her eyes scanning the rooftops and streets below for any sign of trouble. Unsurprisingly, it was only the rest of her squad and the payload below, crawling along the assigned route at a snail’s pace as her team cleared the areas ahead of it.
Gravity took hold of her at the peak of her jump, and Fareeha angled herself toward the rooftop where Captain Nassar still stood. Engaging her thrusters at the last moment, she touched down gracefully, but Captain Nassar was already closing in with quick strides.
Unlike the rest of their squad, Captain Nassar's rank was evident in the dark material of her suit. Instead of brazen blue, Captain Nassar's Raptora was black as night, the helmet taking on a different design. While Fareeha's Raptora summoned the image of eagles in flight, Captain Nassar's conjured visions of the jackal, the two prongs rising from it likened to perked ears. From beneath the stern brow and fang jaw of what was surely supposed to be Anubis, Fareeha observed the tug of agitation at her commander's thin lips.
Slowing to a halt, the captain huffed, “I didn’t tell you to focus so you could come over here and distract both of us.”
Even with her usual brusque manner, Captain Nassar was verging on true hostility, her fingers flexing on the grip of her rocket launcher.
Fareeha didn’t cow to her tone like some of the younger members of the squad might have. They arched through the air some ways off, dutifully following the payload, and Fareeha watched them for a moment, wistful. Then she cleared her throat and said, “If Talon doesn’t show, it won’t matter.”
It was the proverbial elephant in the room, and had been ever since they'd set off from Cairo, unspoken but hanging over both their heads. Now that they were closing in on the end of their mission, it pricked at their necks like an executioner's knife, ready and waiting.
Captain Nassar left her rocket launcher drop to her hip, reaching up to wipe at her face beneath the visor. The jackal's head tilted back, and Fareeha caught the glimpse of bruise-like shadows beneath her dark eyes, sweat beading on her brown skin. A hint of the black fabric of her hijab was just barely visible.
Sighing, Captain Nassar said, “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been praying for the sound of gunshots since we got out here. If we don’t get someone to prove ourselves against, we might as well pack it up and kiss Helix goodbye. Fucking Overwatch.”
Only two months after Overwatch’s unexpected revival, and the group was already taking the globe by storm. Perhaps the time had done wonders to soothe the public’s perception of them, leaving only the image of heroes from The Good Ol’ Days. Perhaps the new line-up had charmed, the older, controversial members nowhere to be seen. Whatever the cause, with the group’s reinstallation, the only thing left to Helix was scraps, and even those were beginning to grow scarce.
No one wanted a regular security firm, not when they could be employing the legendary Overwatch.
A muttered curse from Captain Nassar was the only warning before she glanced up at Fareeha, her mouth pulling into a deep frown. “Not your mother. She was something different. Just - the rest of them.”
Fareeha's tone was flat. “You don't need to remind me.”
Captain Nassar hesitated to pull her helmet back down for a moment, eyeing Fareeha as if she were debating whether or not to say more. Eventually, Captain Nassar gave a long exhale and knocked her knuckles against the Raptora’s breastplate, steering the conversation elsewhere. “Well, maybe they’ll buy out the Raptora program from Helix to keep us in business. I can’t stand to see this thing go.”
Grimacing, Fareeha said, “I’d rather stay with Helix.”
“You? Amari, I thought you’d been just waiting for the chance to defect. I heard about that visit from their doctor. You didn't sign on?”
“No.” The answer was firm, clipped enough that Fareeha could feel Captain Nassar’s curious stare. Instead of answering the question that burned in that look, she turned her eyes on the squad, growing steadily farther away. “The payload has reached the checkpoint.”
Captain Nassar clicked her tongue. “Well, if we’re to stay with Helix, here’s to hoping we get some action soon. We’ve got about twenty minutes before the ANUBIS code is secure and on its way to a proper death. Come on, Amari. Might as well be present for it, though I doubt it's going to suffer like it ought to.”
Launching from the rooftop in a blast that left Fareeha’s ears ringing, Captain Nassar took off in pursuit of the payload, her voice filtering through the open channel and demanding updates. As replies flooded in one after another, Fareeha lingered on the rooftop, mostly to give the Captain her airspace and reduce the risk of a midair collision. The rest… Well, her thoughts cycled, their conversation replaying: maybe they’ll buy out the Raptora program.
Chewing her lip, Fareeha hefted her rocket launcher to hold it in both hands and jumped - but before she had even reached the height of her jump, she heard the resounding fire of a high-caliber round and the terrible shatter of one metal wing, pain exploding across her back and whiting her vision.
With a shout that caught in her throat, Fareeha tumbled, thrusters turning her head over heels until a rooftop terrace rushed up to meet her, teeth all rattling in her mouth. The impact left her breathless and disoriented, and her Raptora’s hard exoskeleton gave a crunch, webwork cracks fracturing into even smaller pieces. The blare of alarms in her ears warned her of critical damage to the suit, but the throb of pain in her back told her scores more.
“Sniper,” she wheezed into her wrist-comm, answering the flurried calls for her status.
As the chatter turned to isolating the threat, Fareeha gasped for air, grappling for purchase to flip onto her stomach, her back spasming with fresh shocks of pain. Her helmet tumbled off, hair sticking to her face as she struggled to her elbows. It was all she could do to try to process the information around her through a haze of pain and sudden adrenaline, but she managed to make herself focus and figure out what had caught her before the ground had.
Around her, a low railing encircled what looked to be a large balcony. Potted plants and scaling walls of ivy lined the edges of it. If she had to guess, more than one of those pots had broken her fall, the ceramic and soil scattered around her. A lack of warmth told her the shot had not penetrated her armor, likely only because it had gone through a wing first before finding the left side of her lower back.
Her fingers flexed around her rocket launcher, and she grit her teeth. Even if the bullet hadn’t made it through, the percussive strength of the blow left her reeling. Within the hour, the whole of that area would be black and blue, the muscles sore for days.
Compared to what it could have been… This was karmic justice surely, for wishing for some kind of resistance.
Fareeha took deep breaths, pulling one leg up under her despite the severe protests from her back. She would be fine, which meant she needed to move.
Pushing up onto her elbows and reaching for her helmet, she froze when the glint of something metallic came sailing over the low railing of the balcony. It skipped twice before coming to a rest right beside her, beeping. Blue lights flashed, and Fareeha’s eyes widened, body curling up away from the device right before it -
Fss.
There was no explosion, but Fareeha’s next inhalation burned her throat all the way down, her eyes watering. Dropping her hands from her head, she staggered to one knee, covering her mouth with one arm and lifting her rocket launcher with the other.
The rooftop garden swam in a blue haze as gas hissed from the canister, and by instinct alone Fareeha engaged her thrusters to escape the noxious cloud, her stinging vision blurring with tears. On a broken wing, she only unbalanced herself, not even making it off the ground before a dark figure vaulted over the wall opposite of her.
Red gleamed, and Fareeha fired a hasty round, the rocket soaring right by the advancing figure to hit the wall behind them. The blast turned pieces of stone into shrapnel, a dozen more potted plants exploding as Fareeha was thrown against the wall at her back from the force of the detonation. The damaged wing crunched, and if Fareeha could have cried out at the feel of smashing injury-first into the railing that rose at her back, she would have screamed. All she managed was a strangled grunt, pain ricocheting through her skull as something wet poured down the side of her face.
Every inch of her rang in violent dissonance, the explosion leaving her both deaf and blind, scrabbling to right herself and blinking away the black narrowing her vision to points. A split brow was nothing if she’d thrown her assailant into the streets far below, giving herself a chance to reposition and find her squad.
Fareeha's next inhale was smoke and gunpowder, but the gas seemed to have dispersed, no doubt helped by her shot. Her throat still constricted, but she managed to gulp down gracious breaths of air as she pushed herself up, head spinning. The pain was manageable, but she had to -
Something hard slammed down onto her right hand, sure to have snapped her wrist if not for the protective layer of armor there. It was enough of a shock to jar the rocket launcher from her grasp, panic burning through her chest with the gas as she recoiled instinctively.
Fareeha’s sight cleared just enough to see something dart behind her, taking advantage of the empty space where her wing had been before. She managed to grunt before a length of cable found the space beneath her chin. Already starved of air, Fareeha’s only resistance was to wedge her fingers between the cable and her throat, fighting for every inhale. A long leg hooked around her waist, elbows pressing hard into her throbbing back to pull the makeshift garotte tight.
“Continue to struggle, chérie," came a harsh breath at her still ringing ear. “It will make this so much sweeter.”
Fareeha’s eyes flickered down to her launcher, gasping like a fish out of water, lungs aflame. Stretching to reach it earned her only the click of a tongue, her assailant’s other leg kicking out to push the weapon just out of her grasp.
They were completely intertwined, straining against one another - and Fareeha was losing, her vision beginning to fade once more.
She tipped her head back, the edges of her gauntlet’s fingers biting into the soft flesh of her throat, the comm-unit at Fareeha’s wrist spitting static and a storm of Amari, do you copy’ s. Kicking and rasping for air, survival blazed through Fareeha’s thoughts even as her strength waned, and a decade of training with the Raptora kicked in.
Fareeha jumped.
Missing a wing, it wasn't a proper jump, but Fareeha still exploded into the air, dragging her attacker with her, the two of them wheeling through the sky and out over the street. The body at her back clung tight to her, a surprised curse finding Fareeha’s ear even in the frenzy of disorientation. The sky and ground spun, Fareeha limp, her ears ringing with the threat of unconsciousness.
The cable cut deeper with the force of the jump, but as soon as gravity seized the two of them, it fell away, her assailant's fingers clawing at Fareeha’s armor as she drew her first ragged breath in what felt like minutes.
Descent was a rollercoaster, the butterflies in Fareeha’s stomach warning of imminent impact even if she couldn’t process it, her mind a blank. Still reeling and with one wing gone, there was no chance to stabilize or cushion the landing, and Fareeha watched the street rush up to meet them.
And then freefall turned into a sharp jerk of momentum, the ground swinging by beneath her, strong limbs wrapping around Fareeha's hips and beneath one of her arms. Fareeha’s mind registered only that something was wrong, her body still whole, right before she was dropped, hitting the ground with a solid thump and a wheeze.
Her suit crackled, every system on it sure to be compromised, and Fareeha, battered and breathless, found herself on a small patch of grass, her cheek pressed into it. The railing of a palisade rose around her, marking this as one of Numbani’s many alcoves, a patch of green in a world of chrome.
The sleek figure of her assailant dropped gracefully over said palisade, the cable - the achingly familiar cable - of a grappling hook retracting into a device at their wrist. For the first time, Fareeha could see just who’d attacked her, and a sizzle of recognition burned at the base of her skull.
Widowmaker.
There had been scarce information on Amélie Lacroix after her defection, all the files purged by her hand while the body of her husband was growing cold in their bed, but Fareeha’s mother had written of the sniper who had blinded her in one eye and driven her from the frontlines.
Skin the pallor of an old bruise, Talon’s most prized operative took long, confident strides toward Fareeha, cutting a figure sharp as an assassin's blade with her skin-tight suit and neat ponytail. Unlike Fareeha, she seemed barely ruffled, bloody scrapes from the first rocket and a layer of dust the only proof of their tussle.
Every bit the hunter the rumors made her out to be, Widowmaker moved slowly, her visor snapping back to reveal golden eyes with a tinge of wild revelry, her look like hunger incarnate.
Fareeha pushed herself up onto her elbow, arm trembling beneath the weight, as Widowmaker closed the distance between them, gait steady even if her expression oozed excitement.
“Oh, little fly. You struggled so exquisitely.”
The lilt of that voice resembled a coo, but the utter coldness of it curdled in Fareeha’s gut.
Her mother had written that the duel between the two of them had made her taste mortality, made her doubt her own ability to pull the trigger as she had for decades. A single moment of hesitation had ended a career of service, made her retreat to the farthest reaches of the world to nurture her fear alone, all the fight driven out of her.
Fareeha’s jaw clenched, a flame which had nothing to do with her labored breaths broiling between her throbbing ribs.
From over her shoulder, Widowmaker drew her slung weapon and slid a lever on its side forward, the long barrel of a sniper’s rifle snapping into place. Her black lips quirked into a sinister smile. “Don’t fret, chérie, I won’t kill you yet - ”
A concussive blast round from Fareeha’s wrist hit Widowmaker right in the gut, the force sending both of them flying, the Talon operative with a strangled yelp. Fareeha fared better because she was prepared, catching herself on her hands and knees and scrabbling to her feet. It took half a second to realize her rocket launcher had been left on the balcony somewhere above them, but Widowmaker was still on the ground when Fareeha did the next best thing.
Golden eyes flickered up as Fareeha’s thrusters kicked her forward, clumsy from the unbalanced momentum. She only managed to throw herself bodily at Widowmaker, grappling for an advantage and dragging them both to the ground.
Widowmaker sneered, but she was lean where Fareeha was bulky, she didn’t have the strength to resist when Fareeha immediately pinned her arm down, a single shot firing into the alcove’s bushes harmlessly, the sound deafening.
It was a quick fight compared to the one they’d had before.
Fareeha subdued her with crushing strength, an iron grip around both her wrists, her full weight crashing down on Widowmaker’s hips. Now it was Fareeha who hoped she’d struggle, adrenaline and victory pumping through her veins with every beat of her heart.
“You will find,” Fareeha rasped, her voice low and hoarse. She was caught, and Fareeha squeezed her wrists until she was sure bones ground together, wanting to make sure Widowmaker knew it. She thought herself a hunter, but Fareeha had her now, and she wasn't letting go. “I am not prey.”
Widowmaker’s face contorted in rage and pain, struggling briefly against Fareeha’s hold before suddenly going completely lax, her mouth pressed into a tight line. Veiled in passivity, she breathed out, her hands clenching in Fareeha’s grasp. A clear refusal: you won't get the fight you want.
“Ruthless,” Widowmaker said, voice taut. “You don’t hesitate.”
It didn’t sound like an admission of defeat, and Fareeha would never be stupid enough to consider it such. Every inch of her radiated pain, her muscles all pushed to utter exhaustion, blood dripping down her face and throat. She would bear the proof of this encounter for weeks, rings of bruises covering her body.
And she would wear them as medals of honor.
Activating the wrist-comm by pushing it down against Widowmaker’s gauntlet, she tried to steady her rapid breaths. The radio buzzed, and she switched to Arabic. “Captain Nassar, what is the status of the payload?”
Widowmaker watched her with unblinking focus, daring even on her back. Fareeha had no idea if she could understand her, but now it hardly mattered.
“Arrived. No other hostile forces have been spotted since the sniper took a shot at you. Amari, where the hell are you?”
Fareeha couldn’t help but raise a brow at the woman as she pulled one of Widowmaker’s arms across her chest, easily holding both wrists in one hand while she snatched the sniper rifle from her. Alone?
Clearing her throat and tossing aside the rifle, she said, “I need a full security detail. I’ve detained the Talon operative Widowmaker at - ” She glanced up, trying to gain her bearings. “I’m not sure where in the city we are, and my suit has taken extensive damage. If the navigation system can’t find me, look for something ground-level, grassy, by the bend of a road. Red car 100 meters away.”
The response came immediately, astonished but snappy. “Widowmaker? Amari, you can have the whole damn bar if you want - on me. You might have just saved this whole operation.”
Fareeha’s lips quirked somewhat, another rush of victory flooding her veins, but she kept her tone firm. “Be watchful for other insurgents. I don’t believe she’s here on her own.”
Captain Nassar gave a word of understanding and cut the line.
That left only the two of them, Fareeha’s blood running hot in the aftermath of their struggle. Sucking in a harsh breath, she didn’t hide the way her eyes roamed Widowmaker’s body, desperate to detect even a hint of fight in her. When she found nothing, spite bid her revert to english, taunting, “The payload has already reached its objective. You have failed here.”
The woman beneath seemed not to recoil at the petty jab, but lean into it, her lips pulling in a slow smile until sharp white teeth flashed up at Fareeha.
“I didn’t expect you to put up such a fight.”
Fareeha scoffed. “No one ever taught me how to give up.”
“Even if it means ending up blown to bits by your own rocket or a stain on the pavement? Magnifique,” she hummed. “But if I wanted, you wouldn’t have had the chance to fight back. I’ve had a dozen opportunities to shoot you out of the sky since you entered the city. And I don’t miss.”
“I’ll remember to mention that at your hearing,” Fareeha told her, trying to steady her breathing and take stock of her situation. Bruised ribs, a gash in need of stitches over her brow, and at this point, a new suit. Her teeth ground. “I doubt many will find your mercy inspiring.”
“It wasn’t mercy,” Widowmaker rebuked, like the notion was abhorrent.
Fareeha’s attention fell on Widowmaker’s gauntlet, trying to figure out how to remove it. She bared her teeth in response to Widowmaker’s cutting glare. “Bad judgement, then.”
“Curiosity. Did you know you have your mother’s face? We only met once, but she left quite the impression. When I saw you, I knew you must have been hers.” Widowmaker seemed encouraged by the knit in Fareeha’s brow, the way her nostrils flared at the mere mention of her mother. That glare morphed into something smug, and Fareeha forgot all about the gauntlet, body tense and ready. “I was curious - would you be spineless like her or -”
Widowmaker’s head snapped to the side, Fareeha holding a fistful of her hair in her free hand. The tug had been merciless, the woman’s face bunched with pain, but she had been lucky Fareeha’s mother had taught her not to punch someone who was already down.
Hair pulling, however, had never been off limits.
Straining to tilt her head, Widowmaker managed a smile. “What’s that, chérie ? You look upset. Still in mourning?”
Fareeha’s fingers tightened in Widowmaker’s dark hair, tugging until she was sure strands of hair would come away with her hand. Even if her taunts were off the mark, Fareeha’s blood boiled, her mother’s scarred face swimming behind her eyes. Leaning down so she could sneer the words right in her face, Fareeha hissed, “Mourning ? You botched my mother’s murder as terribly as you botched mine. She is living out her retirement somewhere luxurious, maybe even France if she’s feeling clever.”
Her mother always did have a sense of humor, and Fareeha found herself appreciating it for the first time in years, if only for the expression it pulled from Widowmaker now. If she insisted on trading jabs while they waited to be picked up, Fareeha would oblige.
“You were curious if you could kill me?” Widowmaker’s lips pulled back in the beginnings of a snarl, but Fareeha wasn’t afraid of her. “You seem only capable of killing unarmed civilians or men who thought they could trust you. It’s no wonder your proudest kill is of an innocent man in his own bed, Widowmaker.”
The smolderings of anger fizzled out in an instant, like a flame extinguished by a tsunami. Widowmaker’s face blanked in small increments until no trace of emotion remained.
Going so still beneath her that for a moment Fareeha thought she’d stopped breathing, Widowmaker gazed up at her steadily. Fareeha frowned, eyes narrowed in consternation at the lack of a reaction, her hunger for Widowmaker’s fury only whetted. Watching her exposed throat, the pulse fluttering slowly just beneath the skin, Fareeha heard her chuckle, low and full of delight, her eyes flickering up to watch black lips curl into a vicious smile.
“Gérard? Is that who you’re referring to? On the contrary, I have much to thank Gérard for. My proudest kill - and the one I remember most vividly - was his wife, Amélie.”
That smile widened until it all but crawled across her flesh, a deep sense of unease accompanying the sight of those sharp, animal teeth. A proper set of fangs for a spider, Fareeha thought, and not an ounce of fear, even if I’ve caught her.
“You say I wanted to kill you? I already told you, I wanted to see if you had any spine.” Widowmaker’s hands flexed against Fareeha’s grip, the edge of her gauntlet digging into Fareeha’s armored palm. “Now I see I was correct in choosing you, chérie.”
Fareeha stared, body tense at the purpose in Widowmaker’s tone, her drawl nearly sinister. With a confidence that shouldn’t have existed in someone forced onto their back, Widowmaker never blinked, still lax beneath Fareeha no matter how much Fareeha wanted her to struggle.
“Choosing me? For what - ”
Gunshots rang out, and Fareeha flinched, her head whipping around so quickly her aching back screamed in protest. Her wrist-comm fizzled, Captain Nassar’s voice announcing: Talon!
Two blocks over, maybe less -
Metal crunched, and Fareeha cried out as something punched right through the metal plating on her hand, pain exploding from three points. Her hand spasmed, recoiling, and before she could even turn, cruel fingers seized her by the hair, jerking her down until the flash of golden eyes was all she saw, the scent of gunpowder filling her nose.
Widowmaker’s mouth found hers in a bruising kiss, agony and confusion locking Fareeha’s joints as blood gushed from her hand and an insistent tongue pressed between her lips. Fareeha’s heart jumped into her throat as something bitter passed from Widowmaker’s mouth to her own, coating her tongue and filling her head with an effervescent haze.
Fareeha jerked her head away, spitting, but Widowmaker only laughed, smooth and rich.
“Ça pique, n'est-ce pas?”
Below her, the hiss of coil retracting accompanied the release of Widowmaker’s grappling hook, Fareeha’s hand pulsing with new pain as the prongs ripped themselves from both armor and flesh. Widowmaker grinned, a feral, victorious grin, and Fareeha’s fist found the side of her face by pure reflex.
The hit was solid, but Fareeha’s head was spinning, cotton coating her tongue as the substance began its work -
More rifle-fire, but the crack of bullets seemed far off, Fareeha’s face growing hot, a full body shiver tensing every muscle in her. Widowmaker’s grin had become a grimace, her brow split from the punch, and she tightened her grip in Fareeha’s hair, tugging and lifting her hips at the same time to unseat her.
Fareeha crashed to the ground, the impact registering a couple of seconds afterwards. Widowmaker was already on her feet by then, stepping over Fareeha as the haze between her temples grew thicker, thoughts turning to water and slipping away every time she tried to grasp them. The trembling returned, this time with such force that her limbs withdrew, body curling in on itself instinctively.
“A shame about your suit,” Widowmaker said, her tone betraying not an ounce of sympathy. She lifted her rifle from the ground and touched her temple, goggles snapping into place over her eyes. “You wouldn’t - ”
The rest came as a droning warble, Fareeha’s eyes rolling back, her stomach clenching.
The last thing she saw was the black insignia of Talon, two operatives emerging from a bypath, and Widowmaker - taking aim, her lips pressed into a line.