[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]|| Amsterdam[/b] The bathroom was cramped and humming with the flicker of an old fluorescent tube. Lena stood before the mirror, adjusting her appearance. Her reflection looked back at her, pale under the harsh light, hair pinned up beneath the oversized hood of the coat she had chosen. It hung off her like a curtain, but it hid the neon leggings and RAF jacket well enough. It was not much of a disguise, but it was better than walking into a crowded station looking like a traffic cone. Her phone was wedged between her cheek and shoulder as she lifted the hem of her jacket. The bruises along her ribs were deep and ugly, mottled purple and yellow. She pressed a fingertip to one and winced. [color=pink]“Lena, that sounded bad.”[/color] Emily said through the phone, her voice ringing with concern. [color=orange]“It’s fine,”[/color] Lena said quickly, even though it absolutely wasn’t . [color=orange]“Just checking something. I’m okay.”[/color] [color=pink]“You always say that. And every time I picture you limping home pretending nothing happened.”[/color] Lena let out a breath and lowered the jacket. [color=orange]“I am being careful. Proper careful. This is just a quick look around. Nothing dangerous. I will be home before midnight.”[/color] [color=pink]“You said that last week.”[/color] [color=orange]“And I made it home, didn’t I?”[/color] Lena forced a smile she hoped Emily could hear. [color=orange]“I love you. I will call you the moment I am done.”[/color] There was a long pause. Then, quietly.. [color=pink]“I love you too. Please come home safe.”[/color] [color=orange]“Always,”[/color] Lena whispered, and ended the call before her voice could betray her. She pulled the hood up, checked her goggles, and slipped out of the bathroom. The moment she opened the door, the roar of the station swallowed her. Announcements, rolling luggage, the churn of thousands of footsteps. She stepped out, then reached back and tugged the OUT OF ORDER barrier back into place, hiding the little pocket of quiet she had borrowed. The station proper opened before her like a steel cathedral. Glass arched overhead, sunlight cutting through in pale beams. Commuters surged in every direction. Screens flickered with arrivals and departures. Security officers stood at intervals, scanning the crowd. She moved with the flow, tapping her goggles. They powered on with a soft hum, and Winston’s furry face appeared in the corner of her vision. [color=teal]“Your feed is active. The train is approaching Platform Seven in ninety seconds.”[/color] [color=orange]“Copy.”[/color] Ambassador Tomas Varg was a quiet, meticulous man who had spent the last decade auditing defence contracts across Europe. Tomorrow he would testify before the European High Court about a corporation whose financial trails led, if you knew how to read them, straight into Talon’s shadow. Lena had recognised the pattern. Winston had helped her confirm it. And now Varga was walking into a station that was far too open, far too predictable, and far too easy to kill a man in. Publicly executing someone about to testify against them was definitely the kind of warning Talon would want to give to their collaborators. As awful as it sounded, Tracer hoped she was right. His security team was scattered through the concourse. Lena spotted them quickly. Dark suits and subtle earpieces. Easy to spot when you knew what you were looking for. They were competent, but they were not prepared for Talon. She drifted toward Platform Seven, blending into the crowd. The rumble of the approaching train vibrated through the floor. [color=teal]“Forty seconds.”[/color] Winston warned in her ear. Lena scanned the platform again. And froze. A woman leaned casually against a pillar near the tracks. Dark hair tucked under a cap. Green jacket. Hands in pockets. Her face was half in shadow, but Lena knew it instantly. She had memorised it years ago from briefing photos. Cheshire. Thankfully she was not wearing the signature piece of her costume right now; the smiling cat mask that depicted her namesake. The thought of it still made Lena shudder slightly. Her leg ached at the memory. The thin white scar along her thigh pulsed with phantom heat. The poison had nearly killed her. Angela had worked through the night to pull her back. She definitely wasn’t someone who she wanted to face again. And Cheshire did not show up anywhere without a reason. [color=orange]“Winston,”[/color] she whispered. [color=orange]“I have visual on Cheshire.”[/color] A sharp intake of breath crackled through the comms. [color=teal]“Are you sure?”[/color] [color=orange]“Positive. She’s watching the platform.”[/color] [color=teal]“Understood. Stay back. She rarely works alone.”[/color] The train began to screech into the station, brakes screaming. And then the world blew sideways. A thunderous crack split the air. The concourse shook and smoke erupted from the ticket hall, followed by screams. Through the haze, two shapes emerged. She recognised both of them immediately from their profiles on S.H.I.E.L.D’s most wanted list. The first was massive. Francis Kwan’s silhouette was unmistakable even through smoke. Years of dock work had built him into a wall of muscle long before Talon ever got their hands on him. Now he moved inside a reinforced harness that fed power into the enormous grappling claw mounted to his right arm. Hook was what he called himself now. The armour plating across his chest and shoulders was dented and gouged from past jobs, each mark a reminder of how hard he was to stop. He fired the hook of his namesake into a support beam and swung forward, the claw tearing sparks from the metal as he hauled his bulk across the floor like a living battering ram. The second figure was leaner and far more fluid. Frank Payne; Constrictor. A former government operative whose career had collapsed under scandal before he vanished into the mercenary world. His suit was a dark, flexible weave threaded with metallic coils that wrapped around his arms and torso. The coils pulsed faintly as they charged, then snapped outward like electrified whips. Sparks danced along them, illuminating the sharp lines of his mask. Winston’s voice cut through the chaos. [color=teal]“Lena, fall back. Varga is moments from disembarking.”[/color] Lena’s heart hammered. She glanced back toward the pillar where Cheshire had been standing. She was gone. A cold spike ran through her chest. [color=orange]“Shit.”[/color] And she ran toward the smoke.