[center][img]https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/overwatch/images/5/58/TracerKneelingSpray.png/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/250?cb=20181017001404&path-prefix=pt-br[/img][/center] [b]|| S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, Atlantic Ocean[/b] [color=#D9534F]“You cannot just blink into an active assassination attempt in a foreign capital and expect the world to shrug it off!”[/color] Dugan’s voice filled the room, ricocheting off the low beams and metal filing cabinets. [color=#D9534F]“Ministers from three continents are on my line. They want to know if Overwatch is back. They want to know who authorised you. They want to know why you were even there.”[/color] Dum Dum Dugan stood behind the desk, broad and immovable, hands braced on the worn wood. A thick moustache, weathered skin, grey at the temples, and eyes that catalogued danger and disappointment in equal measure. Tracer had rarely seen the man so angry. She couldn’t look him in the eyes as he went on. Instead they drifted to the wall of memories behind him. Framed newspaper headlines clustered in a yellowed collage, with bold titles about crises a decade gone, faces frozen in the moment of being saved. A corkboard held Polaroids one of which Lena immediately recognisesd. A slightly younger Dugan in the centre of a photograph with the old Overwatch team, everyone close enough to be family. The image made the shouting feel like a violation of something tender. [color=#D9534F]“I am not arguing intent. But you blinked into a diplomatic incident.”[/color] he said, voice hardening. [color=#D9534F]“The press is already spinning it into a comeback narrative. The helicarrier phones are lighting up. We are flying back tonight for briefings and damage control. You understand what that means?”[/color] Lena kept her stance steady. The memory of the hotel sat under her skin like grit. [color=orange]“I was trying to stop a man from being killed,”[/color] was all she could muster. [color=#D9534F]“And you did not,”[/color] Dugan said. [color=#D9534F]“And now half the political world thinks you are about to start a one woman intervention force. I cannot have ministers calling me asking whether we sanction vigilantes. I cannot have ambassadors demanding answers about Overwatch’s return.”[/color] He was right of course. As the former S.H.I.E.L.D - Overwatch liason she couldn’t imagine the backlash he was getting right now. She saw the stressed it has caused him the first time; back when they called for her team to be shut down. Those weren’t fun days. [color=#D9534F]“How’d you know this was going down any?”[/color] he asked, changing the subject. She almost gulped in response. In truth she’d had an urgent phone call a few nights ago from an old acquaintance. He had been an agent of Talon, lulled in by their promises of easy riches, not knowing what his role would truly entail. He’d made it out since thankfully, but still got the odd communications from old squadmates. His identity wasn’t hers to reveal though. Dugan was one of the good ones and wouldn’t intentionally put him in danger, but who knows what would happen if the wrong person came across his name on a report. She simply shook her head, trying to look innocent. [color=orange]“Just got lucky I suppose.”[/color] she tried, her voice saddening the more she spoke. [color=orange]“Or unlucky I guess.”[/color] For a beat the steel in his expression softened. He let out a long breath and finally dropped into the chair behind the desk, the leather sighing under him. It was clear he didn’t believe her, although from the look she knew he wasn’t going to pry further. [color=#D9534F]“You did good work, Lena,”[/color] he said, quieter now. [color=#D9534F]“You gave him a chance no one else could have. I am not taking that away from you.”[/color] She nodded once. [color=orange]“The vote failed.”[/color] [color=#D9534F]“Most of them were scared they would end up like him,”[/color] Dugan said. [color=#D9534F]“Fear won the room.”[/color] Lena’s jaw tightened. [color=orange]“Brilliant.”[/color] He studied her for a long moment. [color=#D9534F]“Officially, SHIELD is telling you to return to retirement,”[/color] he said. [color=#D9534F]“That is the line I am giving the politicians. It’s a line I urge you to take.”[/color] His hand moved across his desk, pressing the stop button on the small recording that sat between them. [color=#D9534F]“I know you though Lena,”[/color] he continued, locking eyes with her. [color=#D9534F]“So unofficially, if you are going to keep digging, you need to be smarter. Stealthier. You cannot be the face of this.”[/color] She met his gaze. [color=orange]“I understand.”[/color] [color=#D9534F]“Good,”[/color] Dugan said. [color=#D9534F]“Because as great as it is to see you, I’m hoping we don’t do this again.”[/color] They exchanged pleasantries as she made her way out of the office and into the metal of the corridor. Immediately after the door shut behind her, she slumped against the opposite wall. For a moment she just breathed, letting Dugan’s words shrink to a distant, sharp thing. Frustration sat heavy in her chest. She was mad at herself. Mad at Talon and at the way the world kept rearranging itself into new kinds of harm. After Overwatch disbanded she had gone back to the RAF expecting the cockpit and the routine to be an anchor and finding instead a desk full of forms. She and Emily had made a flat out of the quiet, small ordinary rituals that felt like a life worth keeping. That life had been enough, until it wasn’t. She had been watching the chatter for months. Encrypted threads, old handles resurfacing, patterns in attacks that smelled rehearsed. Then Baptiste’s warning about Mercer. Maybe it was an after-effect from the chronal displacement. Maybe it was undiagnosed ADHD. Either way, she couldn’t keep sitting still. Dugan was right though. She needed to do better. [hr] The lab was only two decks down. Somehow she’d remembered the route through the winding corridors and squads of patrolling S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. The room was cluttered with screens, tools, and half‑assembled devices. Winston was perched near the ceiling, gripping a support beam with one hand while adjusting a sensor array with the other. His broad frame moved with surprising precision, dark fur catching the light as he shifted his weight. Thick glasses rested on his nose, and his expression held the focused intensity of a scientist deep in his work. It was an odd sight given Winston was a cybernetically enhanced gorilla. Tracer had gotten used to it over the years though. For a moment, Lena simply watched him. The way he moved from station to station, the quiet hum of his mind working faster than most people could speak. It felt like Gibraltar again. Like old times. She had missed him more than she liked to admit. Missed the steadiness, the certainty, the way he always made space for her even when he probably was not supposed to. [color=teal]“Lena,”[/color] he said without looking down. [color=teal]“I am glad you came. I have been reviewing the data you sent.”[/color] She smiled faintly. [color=orange]“You working up there now?”[/color] [color=teal]“It is efficient,”[/color] Winston replied. He dropped lightly to the floor, landing with a soft thud that made several tools rattle. He moved to a nearby workstation, tapping at a custom keyboard built with oversized reinforced keys shaped for his hands. [color=teal]“I started with the mercenaries. They were straightforward.”[/color] [color=orange]“How straightforward?”[/color] Lena asked, scooting to his side. Winston brought up a series of dossiers, an array of familiar faces appearing on the screen before her. [color=teal]“All former military. Different countries, different units, but the same pattern. Discharged, disappeared, and then resurfaced in the private sector. No shared employer. No shared handler. No shared ideology.”[/color] Lena’s shoulders sank a little. [color=orange]“So they were just hired guns.”[/color] [color=teal]“Yes,”[/color] Winston said gently. [color=teal]“Nothing more.”[/color] She exhaled, disappointment clear in her voice. [color=orange]“I was hoping for something that pointed somewhere. Someone pulling strings.”[/color] He gave his chin a quick wiggle as if to tell her to wait, then moved across the room to another workstation, this one with a vertical keyboard angled for his reach. [color=teal]“But the sniper is different.”[/color] Lena straightened. [color=orange]“Go on.”[/color] Winston climbed halfway up a support column to reach a monitor mounted near the ceiling. With a few taps, he brought up ballistic data and a map of past incidents. [color=teal]“Her shot does not match any of the mercenaries’ profiles. Her equipment does not match theirs. Her movements do not match theirs.”[/color] He zoomed in on the ballistic readouts. [color=teal]“And we have seen her work before. Same calibre, same rifling pattern, same firing signature. Several assassinations over the past two years. Different countries, different clients, same shooter.”[/color] Lena frowned slightly, taking all of the information in. [color=orange]“How do you know it is a she?”[/color] Winston shifted to another monitor, adjusting his glasses. [color=teal]“One of the earlier incidents had partial surveillance. Not enough for an identification, but enough to confirm the shooter’s build and gait. Female, lean, highly conditioned. The rest of the evidence lines up with that profile.”[/color] Lena stepped closer. [color=orange]“Do we have anything else on her?”[/color] Winston shook his head. [color=teal]“Very little. She comes and goes. No pattern in her travel. No financial trail. No digital footprint. She appears, takes the shot, and disappears again. The only reason we can link her at all is the ballistic signature.”[/color] [color=orange]“So she is a ghost,”[/color] Lena said quietly. [color=teal]“In practical terms, yes,”[/color] Winston replied. [color=teal]“Whoever she is, she is careful. Professional. And she does not want to be found.”[/color] She sighed, falling back into a chair. She was glad she had something, but as she stated before, she needed a direction. [color=orange]“Thanks, Winston,”[/color] she said, giving her old friend a smile. [color=orange]“I appreciate you helping me, genuinely.”[/color] [color=teal]“Just don’t let Dugan know. That man will skin me alive,”[/color] he said. [color=orange]“His office did look like it needed a new rug,”[/color] she jested back. The two fell back laughing. For a brief moment it felt like nothing had changed and their lives hadn’t forked off in different directions. She had missed this. She had missed her family. It was then that the door slid open, revealing another former teammate. Bobbi Morse stepped inside, a tablet tucked under her arm. She wore a fitted SHIELD field jacket over a pale shirt, blonde hair pulled back in a loose tie, sharp blue eyes scanning the room before landing on Lena. She looked exactly as Lena remembered: composed, athletic, effortlessly confident. And for a split second, memory hit like a spark. Warm skin under her hands. A laugh against her throat. A kiss at the base of her neck. Lena blinked hard, forcing the image away. [color=lightblue]“Oh. I did not realise you were here,”[/color] Bobbi paused. [color=orange]“Just finishing up,”[/color] Lena straightened a little too quickly. Her voice sounded normal. She hoped it sounded normal. The last time they had seen each other had been Bobbi’s wedding day. Although then she’d spent the majority of the day reuniting with old colleagues, getting obscenely drunk, and trying to avoid how good Bobbi looked in white. Hunter was a lucky man indeed. She couldn’t be thinking those thoughts though. Not with Emily sat back in their flat. Bobbi stepped past them, perching against a desk. [color=lightblue]“I’ve been helping Winston with a case. Some of the biochemical data overlaps with my old research. He needed an extra pair of hands.”[/color] Winston nodded from his workstation, giving Lena a very knowing look. [color=teal]“She has been invaluable.”[/color] Lena managed a polite smile. [color=orange]“Good. That is… good.”[/color] Working with Winston might actually be a bit more painful than she thought.