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moonshadowsThere's an interesting little nugget of information in the cache of medical data I copied out of Angela Ziegler's servers, unexpected gold among the dross. Jack Morrison also survived the explosion at the Swiss HQ. There isn't much detail, just enough to know he's alive. I don't tell Reaper; it just doesn't seem like a smart thing to do. But by the same token, I sacrifice precious time sifting through news reports looking for his trail, because clearly I don't have enough balls to juggle between finding the head of Talon, looking for the information my sponsor sent me here to find, arguing with the programming of Reaper's swarm, tracking down someone who can put me in touch with the Shambali, going on missions for Talon, keeping up with any of my friends who need (or owe me) a favor, and trying to figure out a way to make Talon's tiny prototype slipstream engines into something useful because even with the notes Winston had on the Overwatch servers, it's still extremely experimental tech. Overwatch abandoned it, even after Winston was able to get Tracer out of her temporal hell, and sometime in the last five years Talon decided to try to weaponize the thing because hey, teleporting troops. Who wouldn't, right? But according to the test notes, using it for propulsion just sort of pushes the subject through a rip in the fabric of spacetime, and then the engine does a lousy job punching through to the real world again.
I think I can work up a pairing signal and a remote activator and use it to pull me through spacetime to where the engine is. It won't be as elegant or flexible as what Tracer can do, but it will be stable. If I can make it work, and I want to get my sponsor's input on the design before I try it out.
While I'm searching for Jack Morrison's trail, a flashing dot appears in the lower-right corner of my visualization. The friends I established during my Paris shopping trip talked to their friends and are relaying a message to me. As I unravel the encryption, I wonder if this is the end goal or just another link in the chain. Let's see...blah blah blah, establish trust, prove I am who I claim to be, ah-ha! Coordinates and date for a meeting. It may not be the end goal, but I seem to be making real progress towards talking to someone from the Shambali. Shove that screen aside, pull up another one to see where I'm going. It's...
...it's in the middle of nowhere.
Well, not literally nowhere, but it's a good hour's hike outside a town so small I almost expect them to not have electricity. No-man's land security. Protocols have been established; I'll need to come in as unobtrusively as possible.
"What are you plotting, Sombra?"
Reaper's staring at me, wisps coming from the back of his head, shoulders, and flowing down his arms. I pull up another screen to check rail connections and schedules. "Nothing much. Just planning to meet a friend."
The wisps die down about halfway, but he's still wisping as he turns away again.
===
I'd be surprised this town even rates a train stop, but the train in question is more for livestock or freight than passengers. It's not quite "two dozen buildings lining one muddy street" but it's still small enough that any visitor is going to be noticed immediately, and I'm glad I have thoroughly disguised myself. No point in lingering, though. It only takes a minute to orient myself, and then I find a trail into the woods and start hiking.
About half a mile away from the coordinates, I can finally detect my contact, and I take a minute to un-disguise myself before continuing. Ten minutes later I break out of the woods and into a clearing with a depression or partial crater carved into the slope. Maybe an old tree died here, or maybe it was a missile strike. It's hard to say. There's a lone figure sitting in the depression, legs crossed and hands out in a classic meditation pose. I've never seen an omnic in this design before; this is a warrior in armor, as close to human shape as is possible with metal. It could almost be someone in some modern version of full plate armor, with a very close-fitting helmet.
At about twenty yards, I send a hello ping, but there's no response. I finish approaching and sit a respectful handful of feet away. Still no response. While I'm debating how to break the silence, my contact speaks.
"When the light of truth is hidden, what recourse remains?"
Oh, clever. It's an authentication riddle. The answer is obvious only if you know who he was here to meet. "Sombra."
Now he switches to the omnic channel. /I have been sent to speak with one who represents Sombra./
/I am Sombra./ His systems whisper to me about keeping his biological parts functioning; that explains his unique design. /You are not an omnic./
/Neither are you. I am a melding of man and machine; how am I to trust one such as you, who can turn my body against me?/
That takes me aback. /That would be a violation. We do not do such things to each other./
/But you are not omnic./ He turns his head slightly to look at me.
I look at my hands, stretching and flexing them. The hinges are so smooth, the synthskin so convincing, that sometimes it's hard to remember they're not flesh. /Perhaps. But I am no longer truly human, either. That was the sacrifice I made to enter the shadows./
/A sacrifice you made willingly?/
Ah, so his was not of his own choice. /All those who would stand up for the greater good sacrifice the lives they could have had. I just took it a step further./
/And for the greater good, you surround yourself with evil./
I'm being tested for my intentions, independent of the sponsor I claim to speak for. But I've finally cracked the algorithm he speaks with, and identified his origins as Japanese. That gives me an idea of what archetypes will most easily convey my reasons. /When the enemy is well-fortified and armored, to attack head-on is folly. The assassin, who uses guile to unlock the gates and strikes in the dead of night, is the warrior to send into such a battle./
He thinks about that for a minute. /I am Genji,/ he says finally, and the block on the link-signal he'd been withholding drops.
In silence, we sit in the grass and let the link establish. It's odd with just the two of us, neither of us really native to the omnic linkweb, but in a way that makes the connection more poignant. Two adopted children, neither fully human nor really omnic, alone in the middle of nowhere. Two lights shining in the darkness.
/So, even ninja follow a code of honor./ There's a tinge of self-recrimination there, leading to a dark and tangled section of his mind.
I don't ask. He'll be able to see my own scars soon enough, the blank areas hiding things I don't want to talk about. /All who think are equal. To usurp the mind's rightful control of its body is to declare one's self above the rest, dangerous, a would-be god for all to strike down. This was the first lesson I learned. This is why I sought out the ones you represent. The battle unfought is the only battle where both sides win./
/Well said. We are on the same side; there is no need to face each other across a battlefield./ He pauses. /Should that occur anyway, you have my word that I will not strike you down and if you were to flee, I would be slow to pursue./
/Should that occur anyway, you have my word that I will avoid you to the best of my ability./ It's my turn to pause. /My train will not arrive for several hours. May I sit here with you until then?/
He weighs my offer of linkweb bonding for the space of a breath. /I would like that./
I think I can work up a pairing signal and a remote activator and use it to pull me through spacetime to where the engine is. It won't be as elegant or flexible as what Tracer can do, but it will be stable. If I can make it work, and I want to get my sponsor's input on the design before I try it out.
While I'm searching for Jack Morrison's trail, a flashing dot appears in the lower-right corner of my visualization. The friends I established during my Paris shopping trip talked to their friends and are relaying a message to me. As I unravel the encryption, I wonder if this is the end goal or just another link in the chain. Let's see...blah blah blah, establish trust, prove I am who I claim to be, ah-ha! Coordinates and date for a meeting. It may not be the end goal, but I seem to be making real progress towards talking to someone from the Shambali. Shove that screen aside, pull up another one to see where I'm going. It's...
...it's in the middle of nowhere.
Well, not literally nowhere, but it's a good hour's hike outside a town so small I almost expect them to not have electricity. No-man's land security. Protocols have been established; I'll need to come in as unobtrusively as possible.
"What are you plotting, Sombra?"
Reaper's staring at me, wisps coming from the back of his head, shoulders, and flowing down his arms. I pull up another screen to check rail connections and schedules. "Nothing much. Just planning to meet a friend."
The wisps die down about halfway, but he's still wisping as he turns away again.
===
I'd be surprised this town even rates a train stop, but the train in question is more for livestock or freight than passengers. It's not quite "two dozen buildings lining one muddy street" but it's still small enough that any visitor is going to be noticed immediately, and I'm glad I have thoroughly disguised myself. No point in lingering, though. It only takes a minute to orient myself, and then I find a trail into the woods and start hiking.
About half a mile away from the coordinates, I can finally detect my contact, and I take a minute to un-disguise myself before continuing. Ten minutes later I break out of the woods and into a clearing with a depression or partial crater carved into the slope. Maybe an old tree died here, or maybe it was a missile strike. It's hard to say. There's a lone figure sitting in the depression, legs crossed and hands out in a classic meditation pose. I've never seen an omnic in this design before; this is a warrior in armor, as close to human shape as is possible with metal. It could almost be someone in some modern version of full plate armor, with a very close-fitting helmet.
At about twenty yards, I send a hello ping, but there's no response. I finish approaching and sit a respectful handful of feet away. Still no response. While I'm debating how to break the silence, my contact speaks.
"When the light of truth is hidden, what recourse remains?"
Oh, clever. It's an authentication riddle. The answer is obvious only if you know who he was here to meet. "Sombra."
Now he switches to the omnic channel. /I have been sent to speak with one who represents Sombra./
/I am Sombra./ His systems whisper to me about keeping his biological parts functioning; that explains his unique design. /You are not an omnic./
/Neither are you. I am a melding of man and machine; how am I to trust one such as you, who can turn my body against me?/
That takes me aback. /That would be a violation. We do not do such things to each other./
/But you are not omnic./ He turns his head slightly to look at me.
I look at my hands, stretching and flexing them. The hinges are so smooth, the synthskin so convincing, that sometimes it's hard to remember they're not flesh. /Perhaps. But I am no longer truly human, either. That was the sacrifice I made to enter the shadows./
/A sacrifice you made willingly?/
Ah, so his was not of his own choice. /All those who would stand up for the greater good sacrifice the lives they could have had. I just took it a step further./
/And for the greater good, you surround yourself with evil./
I'm being tested for my intentions, independent of the sponsor I claim to speak for. But I've finally cracked the algorithm he speaks with, and identified his origins as Japanese. That gives me an idea of what archetypes will most easily convey my reasons. /When the enemy is well-fortified and armored, to attack head-on is folly. The assassin, who uses guile to unlock the gates and strikes in the dead of night, is the warrior to send into such a battle./
He thinks about that for a minute. /I am Genji,/ he says finally, and the block on the link-signal he'd been withholding drops.
In silence, we sit in the grass and let the link establish. It's odd with just the two of us, neither of us really native to the omnic linkweb, but in a way that makes the connection more poignant. Two adopted children, neither fully human nor really omnic, alone in the middle of nowhere. Two lights shining in the darkness.
/So, even ninja follow a code of honor./ There's a tinge of self-recrimination there, leading to a dark and tangled section of his mind.
I don't ask. He'll be able to see my own scars soon enough, the blank areas hiding things I don't want to talk about. /All who think are equal. To usurp the mind's rightful control of its body is to declare one's self above the rest, dangerous, a would-be god for all to strike down. This was the first lesson I learned. This is why I sought out the ones you represent. The battle unfought is the only battle where both sides win./
/Well said. We are on the same side; there is no need to face each other across a battlefield./ He pauses. /Should that occur anyway, you have my word that I will not strike you down and if you were to flee, I would be slow to pursue./
/Should that occur anyway, you have my word that I will avoid you to the best of my ability./ It's my turn to pause. /My train will not arrive for several hours. May I sit here with you until then?/
He weighs my offer of linkweb bonding for the space of a breath. /I would like that./