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moonshadows"Sombra! Mission!"
I look up and...okay, what the fuck? Reaper sounded darkly pleased, which means he knows he'll have a chance at one of his ex-friends, but he's wisping heavily from his chest and the backs of his legs. If he's so happy about the mission, why is he also very concerned?
"What is it?" I ask warily.
"Winston is using one of Overwatch's old bases. Knowing him, he has a database of all the former Overwatch agents. We're to retrieve that database."
"So I get to hack into-"
"No."
Okay, that was very unhappy. Papi's never shut me down so hard and fast before, and I guess it shows on my face because the wisps spread to his arms.
"You're going to build a device to do that for you, and give it to me," he says shortly. "You're not coming."
"Why not!" It bursts out of me, angry and sullen, but seriously, why not?
"The same reason Widowmaker's not coming. I don't die."
That stops me cold. Shit. He expects this to be so messy that he's going to abuse his ability to regenerate in order to get out at all. "Alright," I tell him in no-argument tones, "I'll build it and give it to you, and then I'll wait on the ship for you to get back."
"You're not-"
"Don't you even finish that sentence, Gabriel Reyes!" The wisps stop dead for about three seconds. "You gonna go get yourself killed, fine. I'm gonna be right there to open the can for you and take you back safely. What, you think you're gonna just...wisp onto the ship? Be a puddle of smoke on the floor for the next week because you don't have the strength to stand up? And you expect me to just let you? Oh no, no, no, Papi. I gonna be on that ship whether you like it or not, and when you come limping back, I gonna be there to put you to bed with your supper and keep you there until you can get up in the morning and hold your coffee."
"Sombra..."
I fix him with my best steely look. "Si? Papi?"
The wisps cover his legs entirely. "Just build it," he growls, and flows away.
Oh, I'll build it. But it's not going to be what Talon wants.
===
"Just jam it into a console or server or something," I tell him as I hand over the cylinder. The Talon troops are filing out of the belly of the ship. "Then press the button and it will do the rest. I added a countdown so you'll know when it's done."
Reaper takes it without a word and turns to go.
"And when you're done," I say, just a bit sharply, "you come straight back and get in the can. No arguments."
He doesn't say anything, but the wisps that come off him before he dissolves into smoke aren't coming from his upper back.
Judging by the sounds that come through the coms - mostly screaming and crunching - it's going just as messily as Reaper anticipated. Then the device goes live, and I go work. I did not build a virus that will extract the database of Overwatch agents. What I did build was a virus that looked like it was trying to do that, but really is a distraction. All it does is interfere with systems, provide a threatening countdown, and then shut off when it reaches 98%. Meanwhile, the second program quietly installs itself, giving me a secure, encrypted chat interface with my future friend. And while all this is happening, I'm hacking in remotely to plant a tracer that will record the locations of Overwatch members so I can pass it to Tia Ana and let her get in touch or warn them.
The device goes dead at somewhere around 90%. Given that Reaper's line went dead right before that, I dismiss my screens and thumb the COWA open. The tracer goes off a minute later, and a minute after that, the first weak stream of smoke comes wisping unsteadily into the ship and straight into the can. I'd wonder at Papi being so well-behaved, but when the last grains have settled, the can registers his mass at around 20% of baseline. Not good. I seal it and check to make sure Reaper's vitals - or what passes for them - are okay before signalling the pilot to take off. Biological functions are weak, and swarm activity is focused solely on reconstruction. He's going to be out cold for a while.
When the ship lands, I give Jerome a 'what can you do?' eye roll and heft the COWA. He shoots me a commiserating sort of grin and triggers the hatch for me. It's a dirty job, but someone has to keep Reaper in one piece, and they're all grateful it's me and not them.
Since Widow isn't going to care and Reaper's in the can, I go straight to my room and curl up with the can next to me. First order of business: send the info to Tia Ana while it's still accurate.
TALON SENT US IN TO FETCH THIS, I type as the data transfers. THOUGHT YOU SHOULD HAVE IT INSTEAD.
I APPRECIATE THAT, she types back. ARE YOU ALL UNHARMED?
WIDOW AND I ARE FINE, WE DIDN'T GO IN.
There's a pause, and I can almost see her holding the bridge of her nose. AND GABRIEL?
BARELY MADE IT BACK. HE'S DOWN TO- I check the COWA, which will need more LRF soon. -43 POUNDS. I'LL KEEP YOU POSTED.
YOU ARE A TREASURE, is Ana's response. THANK YOU.
Before I contact Angela, I plug the can in to spare the internal power source and refill the LRF reservoir. He's going through it awfully fast, but in this case, that's a good thing. At the current rate of one liter an hour (of course, that could change as he rebuilds mass, so I'll have to keep an eye on that) it'll be at least two days before he's bulked up enough for me to consider letting him out.
OUR SPECIAL PATIENT IS BACK, I type to the doctor. THIS TIME, HE'S REBUILDING FROM ~20% TOTAL MASS.
OH NO! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT CAUSED THAT?
I do, actually. The swarm has a limited sort of short-term memory, which I checked on the way back. MASSIVE ELECTRICAL DISCHARGE FOLLOWED BY VIOLENT MOLECULAR DISPERSAL. MY GUESS IS ABOUT HALF HIS MASS VAPORIZED AND ANOTHER QUARTER WAS FLUNG OUT OF CONTACT RANGE FOR THE SWARM.
There's a pause while she digests that, and I imagine her frowning in disapproval. WHO WAS HE FIGHTING?
WINSTON.
HE NEEDS TO STOP PICKING ON POOR WINSTON, she types back almost immediately. MAYBE THIS WILL TEACH HIM.
That assumes he has a choice. I'LL TALK TO HIM WHEN HE'S AWAKE.
HAS HIS SWARM SUSTAINED ANY SIGNIFICANT DAMAGE?
NO NEED TO WORRY, I tell her. I SEEDED HIS NUTRIENT FLUID WITH DORMANT NANITES. ACCELERATES HIS RECOVERY AND RETARDS SWARM PROGRAM DEGRADATION. Which, in this case, I'm particularly glad of because mother of god, he got electrically exploded.
THAT WAS EXCELLENT FORESIGHT, SCHATTENKIND.
I have to grin at that. We have our differences, but Angela does appreciate ingenuity with regards to proactive patient care. LET'S JUST SAY I KNOW MEIN VATI. After all this time, I'm used to her lapsing into German to express approval and I know it tickles her when I reciprocate.
ANY NEW DEVELOPMENTS ON YOUR OTHER PATIENT?
She's talking about Widow. SLOW GOING. THEY WATCH AND MAINTAIN HER MUCH MORE CAREFULLY. WHEN THE TIME COMES, IT WILL BE ALL OR NOTHING.
DO YOU HAVE A TIMEFRAME? In other words, when am I planning on usurping control of Talon's most obedient assassin and delivering her for retro-conditioning.
NOT YET. I'LL KEEP YOU APPRAISED.
VIELEN DANK, SCHATTENKIND.
BIS BALD, TANTE ANGELA.
===
It's just not morning without Reaper in his fuzzy slippers cuddling a mug of hot coffee, I think as I set the COWA and the jug of LRF on the floor at the foot of my usual chair and curl up in it. He still hasn't woken back up, but he's also still under 50% baseline mass, so that's to be expected. I've already prodded Widow's programming until I couldn't stand to look at it anymore and wrestled with Reaper's swarm programming to try to identify the knots that still infest it and untangle them until I was seeing crooked, so now it's time for a little relaxation.
I crack my knuckles and pull up a screen. HELLO, WINSTON.
There's an amusing three-minute pause while I imagine he and the AI Athena are scrambling to inspect my chat program and discovering that it's every bit as secure as they could have hoped or feared.
WHO ARE YOU?
I'M YOUR NEW BEST FRIEND, I type back.
I DOUBT THAT. I DIDN'T INVITE YOU IN.
NO, BUT TALON DID.
There's a long pause at that. WHAT DO YOU MEAN?
TALON WANTED ME TO WRITE A VIRUS FOR REAPER TO PLANT. I WROTE AN IMPRESSIVE-LOOKING DUMMY INSTEAD.
An even longer pause, while I imagine they're verifying that the code was intended to be a very loud distraction.
THEN WHO PIGGYBACKED ON THE RECALL SIGNAL?
Oh, he - or she - is good. THAT WAS ME. I SENT IT TO ANA.
WHY?
SO SHE COULD REACH OUT TO THEM, OR PASS IT ON FOR OTHERS TO REACH OUT.
YOU WORK FOR TALON, he types slowly. WHY WOULD YOU DEFY THEM LIKE THAT?
YOU DEFIED THE U.N. TO RECALL OVERWATCH.
TOUCHE. I SUPPOSE THE BETTER QUESTION, THEN, IS: WHAT DO YOU WANT?
TO MAKE A FRIEND, I type, grinning. BUILD A BRIDGE. HAVE SOMEONE TO TALK TECH TO AND DISCUSS PROJECTS WITH.
REALLY. I can almost hear the skepticism. WHAT PROJECT ARE YOU WORKING ON CURRENTLY?
REBUILDING AND STABILIZING A HEAVILY-DAMAGED ORGANIC INTELLIGENCE THAT EXISTS SYMBIOTICALLY WITH A SELF-REPLICATING NANITE SWARM.
INTERESTING. There's a pause, then, HOW HEAVILY DAMAGED?
I BELIEVE THE ORIGINAL DAMAGE WAS EXTENSIVE AND PROTRACTED COMBUSTION.
AND THE SUBJECT SURVIVED?
WITH SIGNIFICANT PSYCHOLOGICAL DAMAGE, I type. NOT TO MENTION ISSUES WITH MAINTAINING MOLECULAR COHESION.
There's a pause I like to think is horrified. Then Winston types, THAT'S HORRIBLE! BURNING TO DEATH WOULD GIVE ANYONE PSYCHOLOGICAL DAMAGE, BUT THEN FALLING APART...
Before he can think of Reaper, I type, I MANAGED TO STABILIZE HIS HANDS AND FEET, BUT HE CAN'T MAINTAIN INTERNAL ORGANS.
THEN HOW DO YOU MAINTAIN HIM ENOUGH FOR HIM TO REBUILD?
THE NANITE SWARM GATHERS MATERIALS BY OSMOSIS.
SUBMERSION IN A NUTRIENT-RICH SOLUTION, he replies quickly. OF COURSE. ARE YOU WORKING ON A WAY TO RESTORE NORMAL DIGESTIVE FUNCTIONS?
NEGATIVE. THE ORGANIC MATERIAL BEING REPLICATED WAS TOO HEAVILY BURNED.
I SEE. IT SOUNDS LIKE IT WOULD ALMOST BE EASIER TO PROGRAM A NEW BODY FROM SCRATCH THAN TO TRY TO REVERSE THAT KIND OF DAMAGE. I ASSUME ALL OF THE SUBJECT'S ORIGINAL DNA IS DAMAGED BEYOND RECOVERY?
Oh yes, I think we're going to be friends. YOU ARE CORRECT, MY GOOD SIR.
That brings another long pause. I AM HARDLY A GOOD SIR, he types slowly. SURELY YOU ARE AWARE OF THIS.
NONSENSE, I type back. YOU ARE A FINE, UPSTANDING GENTLEMAN OF SCIENCE NO MATTER THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF YOUR BIRTH OR THE NATURE OF YOUR BODY. I LOOK FORWARD TO SOME DAY TALKING WITH YOU FACE TO FACE. ON THE SUBJECT OF PROGRAMMING A NEW BODY, I hurry on, I HAVE DISCOVERED THAT HUMAN FACES ARE EXTREMELY DIFFICULT TO REPRODUCE WITH FULL RANGE OF MOTION AND THE PSYCHOLOGICAL DAMAGE DOES NOT LEND ITSELF TO THE SUBJECT RESUMING HIS PREVIOUS IDENTITY IN ANY CASE. I SUSPECT I AM TOO CLOSE TO THE ENTIRE ISSUE TO BE COMPLETELY OBJECTIVE, BUT YOUR SITUATION MIGHT AFFORD YOU A SUFFICIENTLY DISTANT VIEWPOINT.
YOU MEAN, BECAUSE I AM NEITHER HUMAN NOR OMNIC, I MIGHT BE ABLE TO SEE A THIRD OPTION.
YES.
There's a long pause while Winston thinks this over.
CONSERVATION OF MASS MAKES THIS TRICKY, he types finally. PERHAPS A LARGE-BREED DOMESTIC CANINE MODIFIED WITH INCREASED DENSITY TO ACCOMMODATE HIS GREATER MASS MIGHT ALLOW HIM TO RE-ESTABLISH SOCIAL CONNECTIONS WITHOUT INVOKING HIS PREVIOUS IDENTITY.
A dog. Gabriel Reyes had a dog, if I'm remembering right, and that might bypass his issues with being helpless if he's still in a physically formidable form. WINSTON, YOU'RE A GENIUS. THANK YOU. THAT GIVES ME SOMEPLACE TO START WORKING WHILE HE REBUILDS HIS MASS.
REBUILDS HIS MASS? GOOD HEAVENS, HOW BADLY DAMAGED IS HE? I THOUGHT FROM THE WAY YOU WERE TALKING THAT THE ORIGINAL INCIDENT WAS SOME TIME AGO.
Whoops. No use trying to be coy; may as well plunge right into it. IT WAS, BUT YOU REDUCED HIM TO 20% OF HIS BASELINE MASS. HE BARELY KEPT IT TOGETHER TO GET OUT OF YOUR BASE AND HE HASN'T WOKEN UP YET. I ESTIMATE HE'LL REMAIN UNRESPONSIVE UNTIL HE REACHES 75% BASELINE.
YOU...
I wait, giving him time to settle on a reaction.
YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT REAPER. I JUST HELPED YOU HELP REAPER?
DO YOU WANT HIM TO REMAIN WITH TALON FOREVER? OR DO YOU WANT HIM TO COME BACK FROM THE EDGE HE'S TEETERING ON AND MAYBE SOMEDAY BE A FRIEND AGAIN?
RIGHT NOW, I'M NOT SURE. HE HAS A LONG WAY TO GO BEFORE I CAN FORGIVE THE THINGS HE'S DONE AND IF WE CROSS PATHS AGAIN, DON'T EXPECT ME TO HOLD BACK.
I WON'T. THE THINGS HE'S SUFFERED DON'T EXCUSE THE THINGS HE'S DONE. I'LL TALK TO HIM, AND IF I'M THERE, I'LL DO WHAT I CAN TO KEEP HIM FROM KILLING ANYONE HE USED TO KNOW.
WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?
That makes me pause. TALKING TO YOU?
ALL OF IT, he types back. WORKING FOR TALON ONLY TO DEFY THEM. GETTING INVOLVED WITH REAPER.
THE BEST WAY TO CHANGE A SYSTEM IS FROM THE INSIDE, I type slowly. I'M DOING WHAT I CAN TO MAKE THE WORLD BETTER FOR THOSE WHO CAN'T DO IT THEMSELVES. IF THAT MEANS I HAVE TO JOIN TALON TO STRIKE AT THEIR HEART, THEN THAT'S WHAT I'M GOING TO DO.
AND REAPER?
How can I possibly explain Papi? After what feels like forever, I type, HE DIDN'T WANT ME TO GO WITH HIM YESTERDAY. HE DIDN'T WANT ME TO GET HURT. Then something occurs to me. I HEARD A LOT OF SHOOTING. DID HE GET YOU BADLY?
Winston doesn't respond for a long minute. YOU'VE MADE YOUR POINT. I'LL TALK TO ANA AND GET BACK TO YOU.
Well, that's a dismissal if I ever heard one. I LOOK FORWARD TO HEARING FROM YOU.
He closes the connection, and I sigh at the can. "You're a mess, Papi."
I listen, but all that happens is a counter flips from 47% to 48%.
===
The can chimes where only I can hear it, knocking me out of sleep a second before Reaper's growl of "Sombraaaa" comes through the can's speaker.
"Go back to sleep," I grumble without even opening my eyes. "We'll talk in the morning."
There's no response.
When I wake up again, the can's flashing 'low' on LRF so I refill that and then haul the thing over to my comfy corner. Once I'm settled, I tap the lid.
"You awake?"
"Yes," comes the response a bit too late for it to have been true. "Let me out."
"Nothing doing," I tell him firmly. "You're still at seventy-eight percent. You're going to stay in bed and eat until you're all the way fed."
There's silence; I've never kept him in the can until he stops eating before, but 48 hours without Reaper being awake gave me a lot of time to think, and to wonder how he recuperated before I came along. Turns out, Talon did jack shit for him if he got seriously wounded. He'd have to slink around as a black mist and lie in wait until a lone guard or flunky wandered by, and then take what he needed. No wonder the rank-and-file is more than happy to open doors for me; the Can of Whoop-Ass means they don't have to use the buddy system and look over their shoulders after a rough mission.
"I was worried for you, Papi," I say quietly. "You've been out for two days."
Still silence, but the readouts indicate he's shifting around, so he hasn't gone back to what passes for sleep.
"Winston sent the recall signal to everyone in his database." No response. "I copied the location data and sent it to Ana."
"Why?"
It's unhappy, but not angry or betrayed. Yet. I take a moment to pick my words. "When we made the exchange in person, what she gave me was Angela's non-digital notes on your condition. She was helping me help you."
As expected, the confession makes him eddy in uneasy silence.
"Things are changing, Papi," I say softly. "Everyone gonna need to pick a side soon."
"We're already on a side," he growls.
"Doesn't mean we gotta stay here. We weren't always on this one."
Silence. I know he's thinking of Overwatch, and all the bridges smoldering in his past. "They won't want us back."
I almost question that 'we' but then I remember Amelie whose bridges are, if anything, even more burned than Reaper's. "Maybe. Maybe not. We won't know until we ask."
He makes a sound of dark, bitter humor. "You assume they'll let me get close enough to ask."
"And you assume I need to get close enough," I shoot back. Give him a minute to remember that I tracked Ana down and established friendly enough contact that we made a physical exchange and she hugged him. I know he hates relying on people, and relying on someone else to build bridges for him is going to be especially rough, but he trusts me to take care of him when he's helpless so hopefully that will mitigate some of it. "I sent Ana the locations of everyone Winston's call went out to, and the virus? It was never going to extract that database."
"You sabotaged the mission," he accuses, but it sounds more like asking for confirmation.
"You didn't think it was going to be a success either," I point out. "And I know you could have seriously hurt Winston if you'd wanted to."
"What makes you think I didn't?"
"I was listening the whole time," I lie. Well, it's not really a lie, because I was listening, but that's not what tipped me off. "I heard a lot of shots hit armor. I didn't hear any hit flesh."
More silence while he wrestles with that. I won't press the point; that wouldn't help anything.
"From now on," I tell him, "I want you in the can after every mission. Before missions, if we can manage it, so you start at your peak. And if there's no mission that week, in the can anyway. No more starving yourself, got it?"
"Even if I only hit armor," he growls, ignoring what I'd just said because we both know that silence on that front is assent, "that's not going to make them like me."
So, he is having second thoughts about how much he wants to kill his former friends. "Baby steps, Papi," I say soothingly. "They know you could kill them if you wanted to. So you just...don't...and I'll remind them of that."
"You can't blackmail them into accepting us, Sombra."
I can't resist. "Don't be silly. Blackmail is when I have something on them and threaten to release it. Not killing them when they know you could as long as they do what we want is extortion."
"Sombra..." He's trying to sound annoyed, but I know my flippant response has amused him.
"Angela says you need to stop picking on Winston. I told her I'd talk to you when you woke up. I didn't say what about."
"Why are you talking to Angela?"
Whoah, that actually sounded upset. "Because she knows biology better than I do. I get her expertise on making your swarm more efficient, and she gets to atone for her part in things by knowing that all she can do to help fix it is give me the information I need. I want to help you, Papi. I don't care who I have to make friends with to get that done."
The silence this time stretches for a few minutes.
"How long until you let me out of this contraption?"
"At this rate, not until tomorrow. I gotta make an interface so you can see out."
"That would be appreciated," he deadpans.
"In the meantime..."
A quick digital gesture, and his favorite song is piped directly into the can at a comfortably low volume, on repeat. His biological responses settle into a 'resting' configuration, and I use my secret weapon: a command I spent half of yesterday developing. The swarm produces low levels of endorphins, and within minutes Reaper's asleep again.
===
As the counter ticks over to 93%, the chat program I left with Athena and Winston opens.
ANGELA HAS GOOD THINGS TO SAY ABOUT YOU, SOMBRA.
Somehow, despite the positive phrasing, I doubt he means this as anything but a challenge. After all, I didn't tell him my name. That's fine.
BUT NOT ANA?
I HAVE NOT SPOKEN WITH HER YET.
That makes me smile; she wasn't in his database and he's probably having trouble tracking her down. Must not have asked Angela about her. THEN WHY CONTACT ME?
BECAUSE YOU NEVER ANSWERED MY QUESTION. WHY DID YOU GET INVOLVED WITH REAPER?
I still don't have a good answer for that. IS THAT GOING TO BE THE PRICE OF TRUST? I KNOW YOU AND HE HAD BAD HISTORY EVEN BEFORE REAPER, SO HOW COULD I, A SUSPICIOUS STRANGER, GIVE AN ANSWER THAT WOULD SATISFY YOU?
There's a pause of several minutes. AS MUCH AS I HATE TO ADMIT IT, YOU HAVE A POINT. I WOULDN'T TRUST ANYTHING POSITIVE YOU HAD TO SAY ABOUT HIM.
YOU CAN ASK ANA WHEN YOU TALK TO HER, I suggest. Then I grin. WILL YOU TRUST A NEGATIVE?
WHAT DO YOU MEAN?
I flip through my collection of Papi Angry Owl files and send him a still of Reaper in a lime-green fedora, followed by one of him in the tiny sombrero. Then a handful from the glitter incident. The pink bows. The red scarf. The vintage wind-up jumping smiley face in his coffee mug. The Jolly Roger flag hung from his door. And then, a handful of sound files: my favorites from the collection of all the times Reaper's growled my name in annoyance.
ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, Winston types. YOU'VE MADE YOUR POINT. I CAN ACCEPT THAT THINGS ARE COMPLICATED. Then, as if he can't help himself, HOW HAS HE NOT KILLED YOU FOR THESE?
I THINK HE SECRETLY LIKES HAVING SOMEONE AROUND WHO ISN'T AFRAID OF HIM, I type slowly. SOMEONE WHO TREATS HIM LIKE A PERSON INSTEAD OF A MONSTER. I know that will resonate uncomfortably with Winston.
EVEN THOUGH HE IS, comes the reply after a brief pause. A MONSTER, THAT IS.
Guiltily, I glance at the can. It's kind of hard to argue that someone who eats people alive isn't a monster. HUMANS ARE GOOD AT CALLING ANYTHING NOT LIKE THEM A MONSTER, I say instead. REMEMBER THE STORY OF FRANKENSTEIN. THERE'S NOTHING THAT SAYS ALL "MONSTERS" ARE BAD, OR THAT HUMANS CAN'T BE BAD, OR THAT SOMEONE WHO IS BAD CAN'T CHANGE. Again, I'm deliberately striking at his shared status as "not human".
I'LL BELIEVE REAPER CAN CHANGE WHEN I SEE IT.
Sheesh, Papi, what did you do to him?
IN THE MEANTIME, WHAT ARE YOUR PLANS FOR KEEPING HIM UNDER CONTROL?
Before I can think it through, I'm typing, HE GOT VAPORIZED AND YOU CAME OUT UNHARMED. I'M NOT SURE HE'S THE ONE THAT NEEDS TO BE KEPT UNDER CONTROL.
The connection closes.
That was not the smartest thing you could have done, little shadow. But at the same time...I don't completely regret it. Reaper has his issues, but treating him like a monster to be kept under control is what led to him being this bad to begin with, and I do not regret standing up for him. The things he suffered don't excuse the things he's done, but at the same time, the things Winston has suffered from him don't excuse literally adding insult to injury.
===
The next contact comes while we're in the middle of a mission. I nudge it to voice.
"I'm a little busy right now. Can it wait?"
"Sombra?" He sounds surprised.
Peer around a corner, rapid burst of gunfire to take down the guards. "Who else would it be on this channel?"
"I just wasn't expecting..."
Fingers fly over the interface, teasing, confusing, and the doors open. "A girl?"
"Yes, that. Ana didn't mention that. She did vouch for you."
"Sombra. Status." Reaper, on the other channel.
"Arrived at target, accessing now." Flip it back to Winston. "Look, I'd love to chat but I'm kind of in the middle of something right now so I'm just a little distracted."
"You're on a mission? For Talon?"
"No, I'm selling Girl Scout cookies. Si, Winston, I'm on a - defenses down, Widow, you're up - mission." I can see Widow moving into position, and Reaper slinking around to flank. I open the door as he approaches, and close it behind him.
"Ana thinks you're trying to...drag out what remains of Reaper's humanity."
"It doesn't need to be dragged out," I retort sharply. "Gabriel is not locked away inside him like Amelie is in Widow. What he is, is very hurt and convinced - Widow, sniper on Reaper's six - that no one wants him to be Gabriel. What I'm doing-" pause while I remotely override the mech's systems and it shoots its own legs off "-is showing him that people still care about him, even if he's not Gabriel."
Thankfully, Winston gives me a minute while he chews on that and I quickly do some server maintenance of my own design while Reaper demolishes the downed mech and its pilot.
"You're not..." He sounds horrified.
"Before you even think about finishing that sentence," I snap, "remember that he is old enough that he could be my father."
"Not a father I'd want," he mutters.
"Oh. My apologies. Not all of us had the luxury of being raised on the moon by gentle, caring scientists." It's just a bit cynical. "Some of us had to fight for everything we had without any parent at all. Some of us had to learn that if you want something done, you can't always keep your hands clean to do it."
"But Reaper..."
"He got issues. He not a nice man. I know." More doors, disable failsafes, turn defenses on the guards they were meant to protect. "But if he'd given up on the world when we needed him, none of us would be here. I lived my whole life being grateful for the sacrifices he made to help us, I'm not gonna turn around and say thank you by leaving him to self-destruct. He needs help? I'm gonna help him. Not just because Gabriel Reyes was a hero. Because he needs a friend so badly that one annoying Latina got under his skin. He took bullets for me. He gave me a Christmas present. That's everything I ever thought a father should be and more." The words are bleeding out of me, feelings I haven't really expressed to anyone, especially not out loud. "I'm no angel myself. But I gave up my life to fight for what I think is right, to make things better for those who can't fight for themselves, and I'm gonna fight to get Reaper to a place where he can be Gabriel again."
Silence as Reaper does what needs to be done and announces all-clear, back to the ship.
"You had a family once," I tell Winston bitterly. "All I have is him. You lost your family; so did he. You're rebuilding yours, but who does he have?"
"You," Winston says somberly as I abandon my post.
"You wanna distrust Reaper, fine. I won't blame you. But you better believe I gonna fight for the things I believe in and the people I care about with everything I have. Talon hurt him. For that, they gonna burn."
Widow's racing beside me as we head back to the ship. On my other side, a river of black smoke keeps pace.
"Understood," Winston murmurs as the hatch closes behind us and Reaper solidifies at his usual spot.
I leave the channel open. "You get enough to eat out there?" I ask Reaper sternly.
"Yes," he growls sullenly.
"Okay. When we get back, I wanna take your readings and be sure."
He sighs. "Fine."
Although he sounds annoyed, I can tell from his wisping that he's pleased to have me care. I beam at him. "Good."
The connection closes.
I look up and...okay, what the fuck? Reaper sounded darkly pleased, which means he knows he'll have a chance at one of his ex-friends, but he's wisping heavily from his chest and the backs of his legs. If he's so happy about the mission, why is he also very concerned?
"What is it?" I ask warily.
"Winston is using one of Overwatch's old bases. Knowing him, he has a database of all the former Overwatch agents. We're to retrieve that database."
"So I get to hack into-"
"No."
Okay, that was very unhappy. Papi's never shut me down so hard and fast before, and I guess it shows on my face because the wisps spread to his arms.
"You're going to build a device to do that for you, and give it to me," he says shortly. "You're not coming."
"Why not!" It bursts out of me, angry and sullen, but seriously, why not?
"The same reason Widowmaker's not coming. I don't die."
That stops me cold. Shit. He expects this to be so messy that he's going to abuse his ability to regenerate in order to get out at all. "Alright," I tell him in no-argument tones, "I'll build it and give it to you, and then I'll wait on the ship for you to get back."
"You're not-"
"Don't you even finish that sentence, Gabriel Reyes!" The wisps stop dead for about three seconds. "You gonna go get yourself killed, fine. I'm gonna be right there to open the can for you and take you back safely. What, you think you're gonna just...wisp onto the ship? Be a puddle of smoke on the floor for the next week because you don't have the strength to stand up? And you expect me to just let you? Oh no, no, no, Papi. I gonna be on that ship whether you like it or not, and when you come limping back, I gonna be there to put you to bed with your supper and keep you there until you can get up in the morning and hold your coffee."
"Sombra..."
I fix him with my best steely look. "Si? Papi?"
The wisps cover his legs entirely. "Just build it," he growls, and flows away.
Oh, I'll build it. But it's not going to be what Talon wants.
===
"Just jam it into a console or server or something," I tell him as I hand over the cylinder. The Talon troops are filing out of the belly of the ship. "Then press the button and it will do the rest. I added a countdown so you'll know when it's done."
Reaper takes it without a word and turns to go.
"And when you're done," I say, just a bit sharply, "you come straight back and get in the can. No arguments."
He doesn't say anything, but the wisps that come off him before he dissolves into smoke aren't coming from his upper back.
Judging by the sounds that come through the coms - mostly screaming and crunching - it's going just as messily as Reaper anticipated. Then the device goes live, and I go work. I did not build a virus that will extract the database of Overwatch agents. What I did build was a virus that looked like it was trying to do that, but really is a distraction. All it does is interfere with systems, provide a threatening countdown, and then shut off when it reaches 98%. Meanwhile, the second program quietly installs itself, giving me a secure, encrypted chat interface with my future friend. And while all this is happening, I'm hacking in remotely to plant a tracer that will record the locations of Overwatch members so I can pass it to Tia Ana and let her get in touch or warn them.
The device goes dead at somewhere around 90%. Given that Reaper's line went dead right before that, I dismiss my screens and thumb the COWA open. The tracer goes off a minute later, and a minute after that, the first weak stream of smoke comes wisping unsteadily into the ship and straight into the can. I'd wonder at Papi being so well-behaved, but when the last grains have settled, the can registers his mass at around 20% of baseline. Not good. I seal it and check to make sure Reaper's vitals - or what passes for them - are okay before signalling the pilot to take off. Biological functions are weak, and swarm activity is focused solely on reconstruction. He's going to be out cold for a while.
When the ship lands, I give Jerome a 'what can you do?' eye roll and heft the COWA. He shoots me a commiserating sort of grin and triggers the hatch for me. It's a dirty job, but someone has to keep Reaper in one piece, and they're all grateful it's me and not them.
Since Widow isn't going to care and Reaper's in the can, I go straight to my room and curl up with the can next to me. First order of business: send the info to Tia Ana while it's still accurate.
TALON SENT US IN TO FETCH THIS, I type as the data transfers. THOUGHT YOU SHOULD HAVE IT INSTEAD.
I APPRECIATE THAT, she types back. ARE YOU ALL UNHARMED?
WIDOW AND I ARE FINE, WE DIDN'T GO IN.
There's a pause, and I can almost see her holding the bridge of her nose. AND GABRIEL?
BARELY MADE IT BACK. HE'S DOWN TO- I check the COWA, which will need more LRF soon. -43 POUNDS. I'LL KEEP YOU POSTED.
YOU ARE A TREASURE, is Ana's response. THANK YOU.
Before I contact Angela, I plug the can in to spare the internal power source and refill the LRF reservoir. He's going through it awfully fast, but in this case, that's a good thing. At the current rate of one liter an hour (of course, that could change as he rebuilds mass, so I'll have to keep an eye on that) it'll be at least two days before he's bulked up enough for me to consider letting him out.
OUR SPECIAL PATIENT IS BACK, I type to the doctor. THIS TIME, HE'S REBUILDING FROM ~20% TOTAL MASS.
OH NO! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT CAUSED THAT?
I do, actually. The swarm has a limited sort of short-term memory, which I checked on the way back. MASSIVE ELECTRICAL DISCHARGE FOLLOWED BY VIOLENT MOLECULAR DISPERSAL. MY GUESS IS ABOUT HALF HIS MASS VAPORIZED AND ANOTHER QUARTER WAS FLUNG OUT OF CONTACT RANGE FOR THE SWARM.
There's a pause while she digests that, and I imagine her frowning in disapproval. WHO WAS HE FIGHTING?
WINSTON.
HE NEEDS TO STOP PICKING ON POOR WINSTON, she types back almost immediately. MAYBE THIS WILL TEACH HIM.
That assumes he has a choice. I'LL TALK TO HIM WHEN HE'S AWAKE.
HAS HIS SWARM SUSTAINED ANY SIGNIFICANT DAMAGE?
NO NEED TO WORRY, I tell her. I SEEDED HIS NUTRIENT FLUID WITH DORMANT NANITES. ACCELERATES HIS RECOVERY AND RETARDS SWARM PROGRAM DEGRADATION. Which, in this case, I'm particularly glad of because mother of god, he got electrically exploded.
THAT WAS EXCELLENT FORESIGHT, SCHATTENKIND.
I have to grin at that. We have our differences, but Angela does appreciate ingenuity with regards to proactive patient care. LET'S JUST SAY I KNOW MEIN VATI. After all this time, I'm used to her lapsing into German to express approval and I know it tickles her when I reciprocate.
ANY NEW DEVELOPMENTS ON YOUR OTHER PATIENT?
She's talking about Widow. SLOW GOING. THEY WATCH AND MAINTAIN HER MUCH MORE CAREFULLY. WHEN THE TIME COMES, IT WILL BE ALL OR NOTHING.
DO YOU HAVE A TIMEFRAME? In other words, when am I planning on usurping control of Talon's most obedient assassin and delivering her for retro-conditioning.
NOT YET. I'LL KEEP YOU APPRAISED.
VIELEN DANK, SCHATTENKIND.
BIS BALD, TANTE ANGELA.
===
It's just not morning without Reaper in his fuzzy slippers cuddling a mug of hot coffee, I think as I set the COWA and the jug of LRF on the floor at the foot of my usual chair and curl up in it. He still hasn't woken back up, but he's also still under 50% baseline mass, so that's to be expected. I've already prodded Widow's programming until I couldn't stand to look at it anymore and wrestled with Reaper's swarm programming to try to identify the knots that still infest it and untangle them until I was seeing crooked, so now it's time for a little relaxation.
I crack my knuckles and pull up a screen. HELLO, WINSTON.
There's an amusing three-minute pause while I imagine he and the AI Athena are scrambling to inspect my chat program and discovering that it's every bit as secure as they could have hoped or feared.
WHO ARE YOU?
I'M YOUR NEW BEST FRIEND, I type back.
I DOUBT THAT. I DIDN'T INVITE YOU IN.
NO, BUT TALON DID.
There's a long pause at that. WHAT DO YOU MEAN?
TALON WANTED ME TO WRITE A VIRUS FOR REAPER TO PLANT. I WROTE AN IMPRESSIVE-LOOKING DUMMY INSTEAD.
An even longer pause, while I imagine they're verifying that the code was intended to be a very loud distraction.
THEN WHO PIGGYBACKED ON THE RECALL SIGNAL?
Oh, he - or she - is good. THAT WAS ME. I SENT IT TO ANA.
WHY?
SO SHE COULD REACH OUT TO THEM, OR PASS IT ON FOR OTHERS TO REACH OUT.
YOU WORK FOR TALON, he types slowly. WHY WOULD YOU DEFY THEM LIKE THAT?
YOU DEFIED THE U.N. TO RECALL OVERWATCH.
TOUCHE. I SUPPOSE THE BETTER QUESTION, THEN, IS: WHAT DO YOU WANT?
TO MAKE A FRIEND, I type, grinning. BUILD A BRIDGE. HAVE SOMEONE TO TALK TECH TO AND DISCUSS PROJECTS WITH.
REALLY. I can almost hear the skepticism. WHAT PROJECT ARE YOU WORKING ON CURRENTLY?
REBUILDING AND STABILIZING A HEAVILY-DAMAGED ORGANIC INTELLIGENCE THAT EXISTS SYMBIOTICALLY WITH A SELF-REPLICATING NANITE SWARM.
INTERESTING. There's a pause, then, HOW HEAVILY DAMAGED?
I BELIEVE THE ORIGINAL DAMAGE WAS EXTENSIVE AND PROTRACTED COMBUSTION.
AND THE SUBJECT SURVIVED?
WITH SIGNIFICANT PSYCHOLOGICAL DAMAGE, I type. NOT TO MENTION ISSUES WITH MAINTAINING MOLECULAR COHESION.
There's a pause I like to think is horrified. Then Winston types, THAT'S HORRIBLE! BURNING TO DEATH WOULD GIVE ANYONE PSYCHOLOGICAL DAMAGE, BUT THEN FALLING APART...
Before he can think of Reaper, I type, I MANAGED TO STABILIZE HIS HANDS AND FEET, BUT HE CAN'T MAINTAIN INTERNAL ORGANS.
THEN HOW DO YOU MAINTAIN HIM ENOUGH FOR HIM TO REBUILD?
THE NANITE SWARM GATHERS MATERIALS BY OSMOSIS.
SUBMERSION IN A NUTRIENT-RICH SOLUTION, he replies quickly. OF COURSE. ARE YOU WORKING ON A WAY TO RESTORE NORMAL DIGESTIVE FUNCTIONS?
NEGATIVE. THE ORGANIC MATERIAL BEING REPLICATED WAS TOO HEAVILY BURNED.
I SEE. IT SOUNDS LIKE IT WOULD ALMOST BE EASIER TO PROGRAM A NEW BODY FROM SCRATCH THAN TO TRY TO REVERSE THAT KIND OF DAMAGE. I ASSUME ALL OF THE SUBJECT'S ORIGINAL DNA IS DAMAGED BEYOND RECOVERY?
Oh yes, I think we're going to be friends. YOU ARE CORRECT, MY GOOD SIR.
That brings another long pause. I AM HARDLY A GOOD SIR, he types slowly. SURELY YOU ARE AWARE OF THIS.
NONSENSE, I type back. YOU ARE A FINE, UPSTANDING GENTLEMAN OF SCIENCE NO MATTER THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF YOUR BIRTH OR THE NATURE OF YOUR BODY. I LOOK FORWARD TO SOME DAY TALKING WITH YOU FACE TO FACE. ON THE SUBJECT OF PROGRAMMING A NEW BODY, I hurry on, I HAVE DISCOVERED THAT HUMAN FACES ARE EXTREMELY DIFFICULT TO REPRODUCE WITH FULL RANGE OF MOTION AND THE PSYCHOLOGICAL DAMAGE DOES NOT LEND ITSELF TO THE SUBJECT RESUMING HIS PREVIOUS IDENTITY IN ANY CASE. I SUSPECT I AM TOO CLOSE TO THE ENTIRE ISSUE TO BE COMPLETELY OBJECTIVE, BUT YOUR SITUATION MIGHT AFFORD YOU A SUFFICIENTLY DISTANT VIEWPOINT.
YOU MEAN, BECAUSE I AM NEITHER HUMAN NOR OMNIC, I MIGHT BE ABLE TO SEE A THIRD OPTION.
YES.
There's a long pause while Winston thinks this over.
CONSERVATION OF MASS MAKES THIS TRICKY, he types finally. PERHAPS A LARGE-BREED DOMESTIC CANINE MODIFIED WITH INCREASED DENSITY TO ACCOMMODATE HIS GREATER MASS MIGHT ALLOW HIM TO RE-ESTABLISH SOCIAL CONNECTIONS WITHOUT INVOKING HIS PREVIOUS IDENTITY.
A dog. Gabriel Reyes had a dog, if I'm remembering right, and that might bypass his issues with being helpless if he's still in a physically formidable form. WINSTON, YOU'RE A GENIUS. THANK YOU. THAT GIVES ME SOMEPLACE TO START WORKING WHILE HE REBUILDS HIS MASS.
REBUILDS HIS MASS? GOOD HEAVENS, HOW BADLY DAMAGED IS HE? I THOUGHT FROM THE WAY YOU WERE TALKING THAT THE ORIGINAL INCIDENT WAS SOME TIME AGO.
Whoops. No use trying to be coy; may as well plunge right into it. IT WAS, BUT YOU REDUCED HIM TO 20% OF HIS BASELINE MASS. HE BARELY KEPT IT TOGETHER TO GET OUT OF YOUR BASE AND HE HASN'T WOKEN UP YET. I ESTIMATE HE'LL REMAIN UNRESPONSIVE UNTIL HE REACHES 75% BASELINE.
YOU...
I wait, giving him time to settle on a reaction.
YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT REAPER. I JUST HELPED YOU HELP REAPER?
DO YOU WANT HIM TO REMAIN WITH TALON FOREVER? OR DO YOU WANT HIM TO COME BACK FROM THE EDGE HE'S TEETERING ON AND MAYBE SOMEDAY BE A FRIEND AGAIN?
RIGHT NOW, I'M NOT SURE. HE HAS A LONG WAY TO GO BEFORE I CAN FORGIVE THE THINGS HE'S DONE AND IF WE CROSS PATHS AGAIN, DON'T EXPECT ME TO HOLD BACK.
I WON'T. THE THINGS HE'S SUFFERED DON'T EXCUSE THE THINGS HE'S DONE. I'LL TALK TO HIM, AND IF I'M THERE, I'LL DO WHAT I CAN TO KEEP HIM FROM KILLING ANYONE HE USED TO KNOW.
WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?
That makes me pause. TALKING TO YOU?
ALL OF IT, he types back. WORKING FOR TALON ONLY TO DEFY THEM. GETTING INVOLVED WITH REAPER.
THE BEST WAY TO CHANGE A SYSTEM IS FROM THE INSIDE, I type slowly. I'M DOING WHAT I CAN TO MAKE THE WORLD BETTER FOR THOSE WHO CAN'T DO IT THEMSELVES. IF THAT MEANS I HAVE TO JOIN TALON TO STRIKE AT THEIR HEART, THEN THAT'S WHAT I'M GOING TO DO.
AND REAPER?
How can I possibly explain Papi? After what feels like forever, I type, HE DIDN'T WANT ME TO GO WITH HIM YESTERDAY. HE DIDN'T WANT ME TO GET HURT. Then something occurs to me. I HEARD A LOT OF SHOOTING. DID HE GET YOU BADLY?
Winston doesn't respond for a long minute. YOU'VE MADE YOUR POINT. I'LL TALK TO ANA AND GET BACK TO YOU.
Well, that's a dismissal if I ever heard one. I LOOK FORWARD TO HEARING FROM YOU.
He closes the connection, and I sigh at the can. "You're a mess, Papi."
I listen, but all that happens is a counter flips from 47% to 48%.
===
The can chimes where only I can hear it, knocking me out of sleep a second before Reaper's growl of "Sombraaaa" comes through the can's speaker.
"Go back to sleep," I grumble without even opening my eyes. "We'll talk in the morning."
There's no response.
When I wake up again, the can's flashing 'low' on LRF so I refill that and then haul the thing over to my comfy corner. Once I'm settled, I tap the lid.
"You awake?"
"Yes," comes the response a bit too late for it to have been true. "Let me out."
"Nothing doing," I tell him firmly. "You're still at seventy-eight percent. You're going to stay in bed and eat until you're all the way fed."
There's silence; I've never kept him in the can until he stops eating before, but 48 hours without Reaper being awake gave me a lot of time to think, and to wonder how he recuperated before I came along. Turns out, Talon did jack shit for him if he got seriously wounded. He'd have to slink around as a black mist and lie in wait until a lone guard or flunky wandered by, and then take what he needed. No wonder the rank-and-file is more than happy to open doors for me; the Can of Whoop-Ass means they don't have to use the buddy system and look over their shoulders after a rough mission.
"I was worried for you, Papi," I say quietly. "You've been out for two days."
Still silence, but the readouts indicate he's shifting around, so he hasn't gone back to what passes for sleep.
"Winston sent the recall signal to everyone in his database." No response. "I copied the location data and sent it to Ana."
"Why?"
It's unhappy, but not angry or betrayed. Yet. I take a moment to pick my words. "When we made the exchange in person, what she gave me was Angela's non-digital notes on your condition. She was helping me help you."
As expected, the confession makes him eddy in uneasy silence.
"Things are changing, Papi," I say softly. "Everyone gonna need to pick a side soon."
"We're already on a side," he growls.
"Doesn't mean we gotta stay here. We weren't always on this one."
Silence. I know he's thinking of Overwatch, and all the bridges smoldering in his past. "They won't want us back."
I almost question that 'we' but then I remember Amelie whose bridges are, if anything, even more burned than Reaper's. "Maybe. Maybe not. We won't know until we ask."
He makes a sound of dark, bitter humor. "You assume they'll let me get close enough to ask."
"And you assume I need to get close enough," I shoot back. Give him a minute to remember that I tracked Ana down and established friendly enough contact that we made a physical exchange and she hugged him. I know he hates relying on people, and relying on someone else to build bridges for him is going to be especially rough, but he trusts me to take care of him when he's helpless so hopefully that will mitigate some of it. "I sent Ana the locations of everyone Winston's call went out to, and the virus? It was never going to extract that database."
"You sabotaged the mission," he accuses, but it sounds more like asking for confirmation.
"You didn't think it was going to be a success either," I point out. "And I know you could have seriously hurt Winston if you'd wanted to."
"What makes you think I didn't?"
"I was listening the whole time," I lie. Well, it's not really a lie, because I was listening, but that's not what tipped me off. "I heard a lot of shots hit armor. I didn't hear any hit flesh."
More silence while he wrestles with that. I won't press the point; that wouldn't help anything.
"From now on," I tell him, "I want you in the can after every mission. Before missions, if we can manage it, so you start at your peak. And if there's no mission that week, in the can anyway. No more starving yourself, got it?"
"Even if I only hit armor," he growls, ignoring what I'd just said because we both know that silence on that front is assent, "that's not going to make them like me."
So, he is having second thoughts about how much he wants to kill his former friends. "Baby steps, Papi," I say soothingly. "They know you could kill them if you wanted to. So you just...don't...and I'll remind them of that."
"You can't blackmail them into accepting us, Sombra."
I can't resist. "Don't be silly. Blackmail is when I have something on them and threaten to release it. Not killing them when they know you could as long as they do what we want is extortion."
"Sombra..." He's trying to sound annoyed, but I know my flippant response has amused him.
"Angela says you need to stop picking on Winston. I told her I'd talk to you when you woke up. I didn't say what about."
"Why are you talking to Angela?"
Whoah, that actually sounded upset. "Because she knows biology better than I do. I get her expertise on making your swarm more efficient, and she gets to atone for her part in things by knowing that all she can do to help fix it is give me the information I need. I want to help you, Papi. I don't care who I have to make friends with to get that done."
The silence this time stretches for a few minutes.
"How long until you let me out of this contraption?"
"At this rate, not until tomorrow. I gotta make an interface so you can see out."
"That would be appreciated," he deadpans.
"In the meantime..."
A quick digital gesture, and his favorite song is piped directly into the can at a comfortably low volume, on repeat. His biological responses settle into a 'resting' configuration, and I use my secret weapon: a command I spent half of yesterday developing. The swarm produces low levels of endorphins, and within minutes Reaper's asleep again.
===
As the counter ticks over to 93%, the chat program I left with Athena and Winston opens.
ANGELA HAS GOOD THINGS TO SAY ABOUT YOU, SOMBRA.
Somehow, despite the positive phrasing, I doubt he means this as anything but a challenge. After all, I didn't tell him my name. That's fine.
BUT NOT ANA?
I HAVE NOT SPOKEN WITH HER YET.
That makes me smile; she wasn't in his database and he's probably having trouble tracking her down. Must not have asked Angela about her. THEN WHY CONTACT ME?
BECAUSE YOU NEVER ANSWERED MY QUESTION. WHY DID YOU GET INVOLVED WITH REAPER?
I still don't have a good answer for that. IS THAT GOING TO BE THE PRICE OF TRUST? I KNOW YOU AND HE HAD BAD HISTORY EVEN BEFORE REAPER, SO HOW COULD I, A SUSPICIOUS STRANGER, GIVE AN ANSWER THAT WOULD SATISFY YOU?
There's a pause of several minutes. AS MUCH AS I HATE TO ADMIT IT, YOU HAVE A POINT. I WOULDN'T TRUST ANYTHING POSITIVE YOU HAD TO SAY ABOUT HIM.
YOU CAN ASK ANA WHEN YOU TALK TO HER, I suggest. Then I grin. WILL YOU TRUST A NEGATIVE?
WHAT DO YOU MEAN?
I flip through my collection of Papi Angry Owl files and send him a still of Reaper in a lime-green fedora, followed by one of him in the tiny sombrero. Then a handful from the glitter incident. The pink bows. The red scarf. The vintage wind-up jumping smiley face in his coffee mug. The Jolly Roger flag hung from his door. And then, a handful of sound files: my favorites from the collection of all the times Reaper's growled my name in annoyance.
ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, Winston types. YOU'VE MADE YOUR POINT. I CAN ACCEPT THAT THINGS ARE COMPLICATED. Then, as if he can't help himself, HOW HAS HE NOT KILLED YOU FOR THESE?
I THINK HE SECRETLY LIKES HAVING SOMEONE AROUND WHO ISN'T AFRAID OF HIM, I type slowly. SOMEONE WHO TREATS HIM LIKE A PERSON INSTEAD OF A MONSTER. I know that will resonate uncomfortably with Winston.
EVEN THOUGH HE IS, comes the reply after a brief pause. A MONSTER, THAT IS.
Guiltily, I glance at the can. It's kind of hard to argue that someone who eats people alive isn't a monster. HUMANS ARE GOOD AT CALLING ANYTHING NOT LIKE THEM A MONSTER, I say instead. REMEMBER THE STORY OF FRANKENSTEIN. THERE'S NOTHING THAT SAYS ALL "MONSTERS" ARE BAD, OR THAT HUMANS CAN'T BE BAD, OR THAT SOMEONE WHO IS BAD CAN'T CHANGE. Again, I'm deliberately striking at his shared status as "not human".
I'LL BELIEVE REAPER CAN CHANGE WHEN I SEE IT.
Sheesh, Papi, what did you do to him?
IN THE MEANTIME, WHAT ARE YOUR PLANS FOR KEEPING HIM UNDER CONTROL?
Before I can think it through, I'm typing, HE GOT VAPORIZED AND YOU CAME OUT UNHARMED. I'M NOT SURE HE'S THE ONE THAT NEEDS TO BE KEPT UNDER CONTROL.
The connection closes.
That was not the smartest thing you could have done, little shadow. But at the same time...I don't completely regret it. Reaper has his issues, but treating him like a monster to be kept under control is what led to him being this bad to begin with, and I do not regret standing up for him. The things he suffered don't excuse the things he's done, but at the same time, the things Winston has suffered from him don't excuse literally adding insult to injury.
===
The next contact comes while we're in the middle of a mission. I nudge it to voice.
"I'm a little busy right now. Can it wait?"
"Sombra?" He sounds surprised.
Peer around a corner, rapid burst of gunfire to take down the guards. "Who else would it be on this channel?"
"I just wasn't expecting..."
Fingers fly over the interface, teasing, confusing, and the doors open. "A girl?"
"Yes, that. Ana didn't mention that. She did vouch for you."
"Sombra. Status." Reaper, on the other channel.
"Arrived at target, accessing now." Flip it back to Winston. "Look, I'd love to chat but I'm kind of in the middle of something right now so I'm just a little distracted."
"You're on a mission? For Talon?"
"No, I'm selling Girl Scout cookies. Si, Winston, I'm on a - defenses down, Widow, you're up - mission." I can see Widow moving into position, and Reaper slinking around to flank. I open the door as he approaches, and close it behind him.
"Ana thinks you're trying to...drag out what remains of Reaper's humanity."
"It doesn't need to be dragged out," I retort sharply. "Gabriel is not locked away inside him like Amelie is in Widow. What he is, is very hurt and convinced - Widow, sniper on Reaper's six - that no one wants him to be Gabriel. What I'm doing-" pause while I remotely override the mech's systems and it shoots its own legs off "-is showing him that people still care about him, even if he's not Gabriel."
Thankfully, Winston gives me a minute while he chews on that and I quickly do some server maintenance of my own design while Reaper demolishes the downed mech and its pilot.
"You're not..." He sounds horrified.
"Before you even think about finishing that sentence," I snap, "remember that he is old enough that he could be my father."
"Not a father I'd want," he mutters.
"Oh. My apologies. Not all of us had the luxury of being raised on the moon by gentle, caring scientists." It's just a bit cynical. "Some of us had to fight for everything we had without any parent at all. Some of us had to learn that if you want something done, you can't always keep your hands clean to do it."
"But Reaper..."
"He got issues. He not a nice man. I know." More doors, disable failsafes, turn defenses on the guards they were meant to protect. "But if he'd given up on the world when we needed him, none of us would be here. I lived my whole life being grateful for the sacrifices he made to help us, I'm not gonna turn around and say thank you by leaving him to self-destruct. He needs help? I'm gonna help him. Not just because Gabriel Reyes was a hero. Because he needs a friend so badly that one annoying Latina got under his skin. He took bullets for me. He gave me a Christmas present. That's everything I ever thought a father should be and more." The words are bleeding out of me, feelings I haven't really expressed to anyone, especially not out loud. "I'm no angel myself. But I gave up my life to fight for what I think is right, to make things better for those who can't fight for themselves, and I'm gonna fight to get Reaper to a place where he can be Gabriel again."
Silence as Reaper does what needs to be done and announces all-clear, back to the ship.
"You had a family once," I tell Winston bitterly. "All I have is him. You lost your family; so did he. You're rebuilding yours, but who does he have?"
"You," Winston says somberly as I abandon my post.
"You wanna distrust Reaper, fine. I won't blame you. But you better believe I gonna fight for the things I believe in and the people I care about with everything I have. Talon hurt him. For that, they gonna burn."
Widow's racing beside me as we head back to the ship. On my other side, a river of black smoke keeps pace.
"Understood," Winston murmurs as the hatch closes behind us and Reaper solidifies at his usual spot.
I leave the channel open. "You get enough to eat out there?" I ask Reaper sternly.
"Yes," he growls sullenly.
"Okay. When we get back, I wanna take your readings and be sure."
He sighs. "Fine."
Although he sounds annoyed, I can tell from his wisping that he's pleased to have me care. I beam at him. "Good."
The connection closes.