Slivers of golden sunlight pried through the narrow gaps where the smart-tint didn't quite meet the windowsill, bathing Lena Oxton's bedroom in a soft, diffuse glow. The former Overwatch pilot and commander - a woman whose accolades and titles stretched into seeming infinity - groaned in frustration. Pulling the crisp white sheets up over her face, she squeezed her eyes shut like a petulant child refusing to be awoken for school.
The muffled staccato of heels clicking outside her door made Lena curse the thin walls. One exploratory eye cracked open, squinting against the morning rays. Her gaze fell upon the large Overwatch insignia poster hanging opposite the bed: "Carpe Diem - Seize the Day!"
Mei's gentle voice echoed through Lena's memory, that personal mantra and motto her friend had embodied with such heroic zeal. A pang of...something...longing? Regret? Tugged at Lena's chest.
Groaning again, she stretched her slender arms overhead, fingertips brushing against the headboard. In one fluid motion, she gripped the top sheet and flung it off, exposing the skintight orange bodysuit she typically wore during patrols.
The faint bite of cool air pebbled her exposed skin as Lena swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. Reaching up, she snagged her zip-up jacket from the peg on the wall, pressing her nose into the soft lining and inhaling the comforting aroma of fabric softener and...ozone?
Yes, the ever-present electrostatic tinge of her accelerator clung to the fibers, an indelible reminder.
Crossing the plush bedroom carpet, Lena passed through the automatic bathroom door. She deftly peeled off the sweat-wicking undersuit, draping it over the hamper with a deft flick. Padding over to the main mirror, she leaned in, studying her reflection - the dusting of freckles across her cheeks, the messy tangle of brunette bedhead, the peculiar lack of fatigue rimming her warm brown eyes despite another seemingly sleepless night.
Unconsciously, Lena's fingers traced the teardrop-shaped gemstone resting in the pearl white metal necklace at the base of her throat. A series of hairline fractures webbed outward from its core, glinting with an azure luminescence that pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
Her gaze drifted over to the shelf where her previous chronal accelerator rested, its round hollow chamber dull and inert compared to the pulsing glow of the smaller newer version which rested on her neck.
With a lingering look over her shoulder at the strange artifact hanging from her neck, Lena turned on the shower stream. Tendrils of steam began to unfurl as the bathroom filled with the invigorating fragrances of exotic soaps.
Stepping under the hot torrents, she closed her eyes and simply existed within that fleeting, quiet solitude. The mattress of heated water melted the lingering tension from her shoulders as Lena allowed her mind to go deliciously blank, unraveling the endless cyclical thoughts...for now.
Because she knew all too well, such peaceful moments never lasted. Sooner than she'd like, the world would come calling with all its insistent needs and demands.
But for these precious few minutes, Tracer could simply be Lena - just another young woman savoring the simple routines of a quiet morning before inevitably being propelled into the maelstrom once more. "how boring." Lena thought.
The gentle whistle of the electric kettle summoned Lena from her bedroom, bare feet padding across the hardwood floors of the open living area. She cinched her navy blue bathrobe tighter as the chill morning air raised goosebumps along her skin.
Grabbing her favorite mug from the dish rack, Lena prepared a steaming cup of bitter tea - a bracing shock to fully rouse her senses. She was just taking her first meditative sip when the staccato clicking of heels announced her roommate's arrival.
"Guten Morgan, Lena," Angela Ziegler's mellifluous voice carried a hint of quiet amusement, no doubt at Lena's trademark bedhead and drowsy squint.
"Good morning, Angela." Lena managed a warm smile over the rim of her mug, inhaling the reviving bergamot fragrance.
The former Overwatch medic looked impeccably put together as always in her signature pale blue turtleneck and white lab coat, golden hair pulled into a practical ponytail. Sliding a pair of black semi-rimmed glasses onto her elegant features, Angela peered at Lena with nurturing concern.
"So, what's your plan for today?" She moved to the counter, deftly snagging a piece of slightly stale toast from the breadbox. With meticulously groomed fingers, Angela spread a layer of grape jelly, taking a slow, considered bite.
Lena shrugged one shoulder. "Nothing in particular. Just the monthly lab tests, but I'm free after that."
"You should consider finding a hobby," Angela gently prodded. "Or perhaps get involved with an organization, meet new people outside our circles."
Pursing her lips, Lena contemplated this notion. "Maybe. I've been looking for something worthwhile, some purpose. As much as being Overwatch's liaison keeps me busy, it's...unfulfilling."
Her eyes strayed to the expansive window comprising one wall of their airy living space. Through the spotless glass, the balcony vista overlooked the glittering San Francisco skyline, a breathtaking panorama. And yet, the view prompted Lena's mind to wander back to her strange encounter the previous evening.
Angela let out a soft, considering hum. Moving closer, she tenderly brushed an errant lock of chestnut hair from Lena's brow, her deft fingers smoothing the limp strands into a semblance of the jaunty spiked coif her former student typically favored.
"I've always been driven to help others in any way I can," the medic said, a wistful lilt entering her melodic voice. "That's what led me to Overwatch in the first place. I know it's difficult adjusting to peacetime when combat was all you've ever known. But this..." Her sculpted features softened with a reassuring smile. "This is what we fought so hard for, Lena."
Those compassionate blue eyes bored into Lena's with a ferocious maternal intensity. "You are more than just a soldier. The world will always need heroes - people to keep inspiring hope and courage. But you've more than earned your happy ending."
Warmth blossomed in Lena's chest as she gazed upon her dearest mentor, the woman who had quite literally rebuilt her from the brink of oblivion all those years ago. Impulsively, she set her mug aside and pulled the startled but acquiescing Angela into a fierce embrace.
"You're right," Lena murmured, giving her a final affectionate squeeze before releasing her. She straightened, a renewed sense of determination squaring her slim shoulders. "I actually...met someone last night. Just a boy, really, but he was there during the museum incident a few years back. When I saved him and Winston." A faint, wistful smile played across her lips. "He seems to get it, y'know? The struggle of finding purpose and normalcy after everything."
Angela's eyes crinkled with a bemused grin, and for a moment Lena worried her former mentor had misinterpreted her meaning regarding this "boy" from last night's encounter.
"It might do you good to have a friend who understands what you've been through," Angela said carefully, "but isn't tied to Overwatch's legacy and can view you without...preconceptions."
Inclining her head, Lena considered this notion as she retrieved her tea. "Fair point. Oh, I was going to ask - did you maybe want to grab a late lunch after my tests today? Catch up properly, just the two of us?"
For a moment, barely perceptible, Angela hesitated. But then that dazzling smile blossomed once more as she nodded. "sure."
Lifting her mug in a half-toast, Lena managed a more impish grin. "Carpe Diem." Angela raised her half-finished piece of toast "Seize the day."
The sterile scent of disinfectant and undercurrent of ozone hung in the air of the pristine lab. Lena shifted on the exam table, the crisp paper covering crinkling beneath her as Dr. Courderoy reviewed the results with a affirming nod.
"Vitals show you're at the top of your form. No abnormalities, no issues - your bloodwork came back perfect." The matronly scientist offered Lena a warm smile. "You're pushin' thirty but got the vitals of someone half your age. Its extraordinary"
Taking the proffered clipboard, Lena skimmed the extensive stats and medical jargon without comprehending much beyond a general bill of health. She felt a flicker of pride that she hadn't even gained half a pound since hanging up her pulse pistols.
"Do you work out regularly, Ms. Oxton?" Dr. Courderoy asked, eyeing Lena's toned physique appraisingly.
Nights of tirelessly prowling San Fransisco's streets as a self-appointed vigilante immediately sprang to mind - logging endless miles in pursuit of common street crooks. "I run," Lena replied with a nonchalant shrug of slender shoulders.
But her grueling regimen was hardly recreational. Flashes of adrenaline-fueled confrontations, furiously chasing down purse snatchers and muggers through darkened alleys...it was all just an extension of the same endless conflict, albeit with lower stakes.
The doctor made a approving hum. "It's definitely paying off then. however..." She peered over her glasses. "I would advise getting a bit more sun and regular sleep. Your vitamin D levels are low."
Lena nodded, unsurprised. Her nocturnal schedule left little time for basking in daylight - rising at 8am only to depart for nightly patrols by 5pm and not return until dawn's first light.
"No worries, doc. I'll work on that," she assured Dr. Courderoy. Though the prospect of overhauling her life's current monotonous rhythms seemed...exhausting.
As Lena regathered her belongings, stepping off the exam table to grab her orange hoodie and slip on her converse with glasses fit with circular oversized orange lenses, she caught the incredulous stares of the lab techs. The very idea that this youthful, energetic bird was in fact the nearly 30-year-old government liaison to their formerly demonized Overwatch compatriots...well, it had to seem patently absurd.
The pungent tang of antiseptics and electrical ozone hung thick in the air as Lena slipped into the lab's pristine halls. Her converse shoes padded near-silently across the glossy white tile as she hugged the wall, watchful eyes fixed on the opaque glass door at the far end of the corridor.
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1:45 on the dot - the door slid open with a hiss of hydraulics as a labcoat-clad researcher hurried out, already loosening his tie in anticipation of lunch. Lena seized the fleeting opportunity, spinning inside while the door was still ajar.
Her gaze immediately landed on the hulking apparatus dominating the secured chamber - two concentric rings encircling a central pillar from which an array of lasers and scanners bathed the unmistakable shape of the caduceus staff in a kaleidoscope of roving beams.
At the data terminal beside the staff's illuminated platform, a familiar mane of blonde hair finally came into view - Dr. Angela Ziegler, Lena's former mentor and colleague from Overwatch's glory days. Even from behind, Lena recognized the microscopic tics that betrayed the physician's intense focus: the unconscious worrying of her bottom lip, the restless bounce of her crossed ankle, shoulders squared with coiled tension.
Entire minutes stretched as Lena watched Angela's scrutinizing pale blue eyes furiously track each new stream of data populating the monitor. She held her breath as some percentage value in the bottom corner steadily climbed - 50...60...70...
At 82% Angela's rigid posture loosened just perceptibly, the anxious foot-tapping stilling. And when the numeric value struck 100% at last, her slender shoulders rounded in visible relief, the pent-up breath gusting outward.
"Angela?" Lena risked calling out, shattering the silence.
The blonde woman leapt nearly a foot in the air, whirling around with one hand clutching her clipboard like a talisman. "Lena! How...how did you get in here?" she sputtered, pale cheeks flushing crimson.
Striding further into the chamber, Lena affected a nonchalant shrug, gesturing back towards the access corridor. "Guy in the lab coat left for lunch right on schedule., I snuck in before the door closed"
Waving off Angela's sputtered rebuttals, she turned an admiring gaze towards the softly humming ring apparatus. "So you finally managed to rebuild it, eh? The staff from the old days?"
Angela's expression soured, brow furrowing as her shoulders squared like a prize fighter preparing for conflict. "Yes," she ground out from between gritted teeth. "After that snake Moira cornered me all those years ago and..." She swallowed hard, seeming to regain control over her emotional response. "She shattered the original caduceus prototype. But once the remaining components were recovered, I resolved to restore it, perhaps even mass produce the design so its biotic benefits can reach as many people as possible."
A familiar fire began rekindling in her arctic eyes, shoulders rising and falling with each impassioned breath. "No one should have to die or suffer simply because they lack access to adequate trauma care. These staffs could revolutionize medicine in the farthest flung corners of the globe if I can overcome the...manufacturing challenges."
As Angela ranted, pacing like a caged tiger in the confined space, Lena remained uncharacteristically silent and still. It had been far too long since she witnessed her former mentor's indomitable spirit in all its glory, that ferocious drive and empathy she channeled in the pursuit of safeguarding human life from oblivion at any cost.
It kindled an equally scorching feeling within Lena's core - not the mindless adrenaline of combat, but the deeper yearning for purpose, to once again direct her incredible gifts towards something meaningful. Something more than just fighting with street-level thugs or whittling away the sleepless nights as Overwatch's bureaucratic attaché.
She studied the humming caduceus staff, sensing the potential...no, the inevitability pivoting towards them like unstoppable forces of nature. This was merely the vanguard.
How long until the ramifications of Angela's remarkable achievement grew larger than one middle-aged woman could realistically control or corral?
"And then what?" The hushed question slipped out before Lena could reconsider it.
Angela halted mid-stride, her eyes sharpening focus upon Lena intensely. The accompanying smirk twisted her delicate lips in an expression equal part rueful and self-deprecating. "Then...I retire. I'm no spring chick anymore, Lena. I've been working long enough."
"we'll find something to work on together after right? You cant be telling me all about retirement after giving me an earful about how im spending my retirement." Lena joked and Angela sighed "Lunch?" she asked "lunch." Lena responded.
Lena's eyes lit up as she explained, "The whole point was that Gawain could have just tapped the Green Knight on the cheek and walked away. But he got caught up in trying to prove himself and chopped the guy's head off instead."
She took a sip of her smoothie before continuing. "When he returned a year later, he could've run away. But Gawain realized death was inevitable, whether from battle, old age, or any number of things. So in the end, he accepted his fate and made peace with owing the Green Knight his grim due."
Lena shrugged, a carefree grin spreading across her face. "I mean, the story was written 600 years ago - of course it's confusing to modern audiences."
Angela blinked, not expecting their casual chat about college to veer from Beowulf to strange anecdotes about medieval literature. But seeing Lena so at ease put a smile on her own lips.
She scanned their surroundings. Beyond the typical city smells of exhaust and greasy food wafting from a pizzeria, Angela noticed the floral fragrance of blooming cherry trees lining the street. A delivery boy on a hoverbike zoomed past, his blonde hair whipping in the wind.
Angela turned to say something to Lena, but her friend's gaze was fixed on a growing commotion up ahead. Without a word, Lena started pushing through the crowd, and Angela hurried to follow.
Shouts and the clang of metal filled the air as they neared the scuffle. An omnic with a large dent in its headpiece was wildly throwing punches at a man wielding a dented thermos like a club. The man grimaced as one blow landed solidly, but swung the thermos again, cracking against the omnic's head and dropping it to its knees.
"Such a troubling sight, mhuirnín. It seems you haven't quite achieved your goal yet."
The Scottish brogue of a familiar phantom cut through the clamor like discordant notes. Angela froze as the violence continued around her.
Lena struggled to push past the crowd. Stray arms brushed against Angela, light touches and incidental pats. But they brought a chilling reality to the phantom's words. Her breath caught in her throat, mind lurching back to the memory of icy hands trailing up her collarbone, nails like talons on flesh.
She squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders tense. The smell of exhaust choked her lungs until she coughed and gasped. Opening her eyes, she scanned the sea of faces. Brown irises had shifted to sickening shades of red and blue - hers.
Angela shoved her way out of the throng. Air flooded her lungs as she stumbled onto the sidewalk. She heard the meaty thud of fists striking soft flesh.
"Lena must be fighting." Angela sighed and sank onto a bench, trying to pull herself together.
The scent of pizza sauce wafted by. A bottle of water was thrust into her view. She followed the arm up to a blonde haired boy, blue eyes kind and uncertain as he averted his gaze.
"You looked like you needed this," he said.
With shaking fingers, Angela took the bottle. "Thank you."
The boy raked a hand through his tousled hair as his focus shifted to the crowd. "Thanks to you too, Mrs Ziegler."
She made a soft noise of acknowledgment as she gulped down the water. Its coolness helped settle her nerves.
"My brother broke his arm when he was ten. Without your biotic medicine, it could've gotten infected and..." His eyes glazed over for a moment, mind clearly revisiting an unpleasant memory, before shaking it off. "Just, thank you Mrs Zieglar. You did a lot"
Angela smiled faintly. "Just Miss Ziegler is fine."
The boy's cheeks flushed. "Sorry, Miss Ziegler."
She let out a small laugh, easing the tension. "I was just doing my duty."
Leaning forward with a warm look, Angela caught his eye. "I didn't catch your name."
The boy rubbed the back of his neck as his phone suddenly blared, pulling his attention. "Oh, um, it's..."
His words trailed off as his gaze dropped to the device in his hand. Eyes narrowing, "sorry I have to take this." he turned away to take the call.
Angela's eyes remained fixed on the boy's back as he took a phone call, likely from his boss at the pizza place. She took another sip of the refreshingly cool water, studying the logo on his bike.
The young man let out a long, weary sigh as he ended the call, his shoulders slumping. "Work troubles?" Angela asked, tucking a stray tuft of blonde hair behind her ear.
He turned back towards her. "Yeah, I have to make a delivery across town. My boss calls if I make any unplanned stops." His cheeks reddened slightly. "Anyway, I should get going. It was nice to meet you, Miss Ziegler."
"You too," Angela replied with a small wave as he mounted his hoverbike and sped off.
She leaned back on the park bench, resting her elbows on her knees as she watched him disappear into the flow of pedestrian traffic. A faint smile tugged at her lips. "He never gave me his name."
Her foot bounced with restless energy as she scanned the crowd, searching for any sign of Lena. The commotion seemed to have died down. "She's more than capable of handling a few street thugs, even without her chronal accelerator," Angela muttered under her breath.
Eyes drifting shut, she allowed the calming ambience to wash over her - the murmurs of conversation, chirping birds in the budding cherry trees, an occasional rush of air from passing hoverbikes. Lena's humorous anecdote about the medieval poem replayed in her mind. The warmth of the sun, the coolness of the bottled water, the fading adrenaline from the crowd's chaos - it all lulled Angela into a state of peaceful relaxation.
But it was fleeting. Within moments, the tranquility shattered as Moira's phantom voice echoed in her memory, that icy Scottish lilt piercing her subconscious like a frozen dagger.
Angela's breath quickened, the fine hairs on her arms standing on end. Her knuckles whitened as her fists clenched involuntarily, transported back to that dark, lifeless lab where Moira had stood in judgement. The smells of antiseptic and preserved specimens assaulted her nostrils. Rage, sorrow, guilt - they all swirled within Angela's gut as the disturbing reminiscence took hold
Angela entered the dimly lit lab. Moira loomed over a small cage, her brow furrowed in concentration as she observed the lone mouse within. It scurried back and forth, pacing nervously across the bedding in its enclosure. An empty amber vial sat nearby.
"Moira, what are you working on?" Angela asked as she approached.
The red-haired scientist didn't turn right away. "I've been working on a type of gene therapy," she finally replied. With a slight twitch of her lips, she glanced over her shoulder at Angela. "Focusing on altering the hypothalamus of the brain to lower aggression."
Moira straightened her posture, facing Angela fully. A cold smile played across her sharp features. "I believe base instincts can be overridden. I'm attempting to edit the hypothalamus of mice to create an environment where territorial disputes are a non-factor." She spread her hands. "If it works at ebbing aggression even in highly territorial species, imagine the applications in human beings."
Angela tried to suppress a shiver as Moira's pale eyes bored into her. "I don't believe editing the genetic composition of human beings is something to treat so lightly, Moira," she said, her voice tinged with unease.
Moira's brow twitched in annoyance. "I am not treating it lightly, Angela. I am developing a cure."
Angela turned back to the small enclosure, mouth tightening into a grim line as she stared at the nervous mouse. "The human mind is not something to be overwritten and edited like...like programming."
"Like omnics, you mean?" Moira interjected.
She whirled back, eyes flashing. "Omnics are a fluke - something which exists outside the realm of evolution. They would not exist at all without human intervention. They are unnatural..." Her voice dropped, low and dangerous. "And from what I've seen, they are likely to be the death of our species if allowed to fester."
Angela paled, heart pounding. She shook her head slowly. "Omnics are sentient, Moira. I've seen it. Some do not wish death on humans, they simply wish to live and experience things as we do."
Moira grasped the empty syringe, dropping it into a nearby waste bin with a clatter. Her shoulders slumped wearily. "The omnics have merely learned from us - our literature, our speech, the very concept of rights. And now they are learning of our capacity for violence. They are winning our wars."
She sighed heavily and ran a hand through her disheveled hair. Some of the tension faded from her posture as she turned back to Angela, eyes softening. Closing the distance between them, she placed a firm but gentle hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "You lost family in the Crisis, just as I did. It was humans killing humans then. Today, it is humans killing omnics. Tomorrow if there is one for the human race it will be humans vs humans again." She gave Angela's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "But understand me, a mhuirnín. Your medical advancements, as brilliant as they are, will not solve these fundamental problems."
Angela flinched at the rare term of endearment from the normally aloof scientist. She pulled away from Moira's grasp, brow creasing with determination. "These problems are what make us human." she said, voice quiet. "As the ancient Greek said, 'Allow yourself to feel it, let the waters of rage flow with all the paper boats of forgiveness. But be human.'"
She met Moira's eyes levelly. "I'm building the Caduceus technology to create a world where violence doesn't need to happen - not because it can't, people have a right to stand up for their beliefs - but through dialogue, not weapons." She shook her head slowly. "I don't wish to take that choice from them."
Angela took a deep breath. "Please, Moira. Reconsider these experiments. I beg you."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and strode out of the lab, leaving Moira alone with the nervous sounds of the caged mouse pacing its small enclosure.