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Backstab
Meteorite
- Joined
- Mar 20, 2017
Widowmaker stalked through the underbrush of her makeshift encampment only three miles from the newly constructed Overwatch training center. Germany’s cities were never her favorite destination, but something about the fog and pines of the country’s forests felt like home. The training facility was only accessible by airlift, and it was more than a day’s hike though the wilderness to Widowmaker’s new nest. Still, the building she observed was state-of-the-art. Unfortunately, that meant its security likely was as well. And here she was alone.
She was prone, laying on her stomach and observing the facility through her scope, when a faint scent interrupted the smell of wet dirt, moss and evergreens. She smelled leather. Perhaps not so alone after all.
Her rifle snapped into position, shortening from its sniper configuration to that of a carbine, and she swung wide onto her back to fsearch for her target. Then she heard a familiar laugh. Despite the years of professional history she shared with Sombra, she didn’t lower her weapon while she searched for her company’s position. “Reveal yourself,” she commanded.
When Sombra disengaged her cloaking device she was reclined beside Widowmaker on the ground, one hand supporting her head with its elbow resting on the ground. “Since you asked nicely,” Sombra chortled.
Widowmaker was more agitated with herself for her distractedness than she was with the interloper. “I don’t know how or why you followed me, Sombra, but this is a solo mission.” Sombra cradled her chin on the tops of her fingers, turning onto her stomach with both elbows on the ground now, staring in the direction of the training facility.
“Yes,” Sombra smirked, “Project Tarantella. I thought that was a silly name at first — too, hm, spidery. Then I looked up the word and saw it was French. That was strike two. Then I saw it was also a ballet term. Really, Widow, how much more on-the-nose could you be? Weren’t you a ballerina at some point? I can’t even joke about the name now because I can’t think of a single spider-related French ballet term to compare it to. You’ve left me with no room for exaggeration, Mija.
“But then I read some more. It turns out there was this region in France where, a long time ago, people started dancing in these uncontrollable, orgiastic rituals. They said it was because of the venom of the tarantula, and that’s where the name comes from. So I said to myself, ‘Self, you need to dig deeper into this project; it sounds like there could be some fun to be had.’ So I started digging.”
Widowmaker glowered. Sombra wanted her to ask follow up questions, but she wouldn’t amuse her.
Sombra sighed and continued, “You’re going to be glad I tagged along. I come bearing gifts.”
Widowmaker was fixed to her scope, but waved a hand in a ‘continue’ gesture. If Sombra had wanted to sabotage her efforts, she already would have by now. Perhaps she actually planned on contributing something of value.
Sombra smiled and slung an arm across Widowmaker’s shoulder. “Well, that violet chemical you have with you — interesting stuff, by the way — you were planning on releasing it into the building’s vents. Don’t. You might cover a quarter of the building that way. Release it into the water supply for the showers. The heat will act as a catalyst. There’s an intake for the vents near the showers. I can turn it on full-blast and, together with the showers turning it into a heated aerosol, we might be able to spread the gas throughout the entire building.”
Widowmaker raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but her curiosity quickly took a new course, “How do you know so much about this chemical?”
“Well,” Sombra continued as faux-innocently as possible, “I got curious when I ‘found’ your plans. I sent some of it off to a lab for more analysis.”
Widowmaker looked at her sideways, “You had me there for a moment, hacker. I’ve had the most advanced labs in the world check into this formula.”
“Well,” Sombra laughed, “I may have found a more advanced lab than that. What’s her name? I’m terrible with names. Zwiggy . . . Ziggy something?”
Within seconds, Widowmaker had Sombra standing and pinned against a tree with her forearm. Her other hand trained the barrel of her carbine against the hacker’s temple. “Ziegler. Dr. Ziegler. You have my formula to MERCY?” she growled. The ‘advanced lab’ in question was in the basement of the training facility three miles over Sombra’s shoulder.
“Relax,” Sombra pleaded. Then more seriously, more straight-faced than Widowmaker had ever seen her, she tried again, “Relax. I said I came bearing gifts. Plural. The first was that tip. And Mercy has no clue that Talon developed that chemical. She thinks it came from a private pharmaceutical company with a really, really unorthodox approach to fertility. As for that second gift? Mercy has a developed more, shall we say, potent version of the drug in her lab. I can show you where,” Sombra smiled.
Widowmaker didn’t relax her grip, “What’s your angle in this?”
Sombra was used to faking sincerity. She didn’t have to fake it this time. “Your chemical will affect everyone in that building except a certain spunky Brit with, as Dr. Ziggy would put it, 'significant metabolic abnormalities.' I don’t know exactly what you have planned, but near as I can tell, it involves a whole lot of people turning our short-haired friend into their communal plaything. I just want to play too,” Sombra winked. “Whatever you have planned, you are more devious than I gave you credit for, Mija. And you’ve even gotten me wanting to learn the steps of this Tarantella of yours. Figured you must be getting your jollies at the thought of so many people taking a crack at Tracer that you’d welcome one more. Was I right?”
Widowmaker’s face remained stone, but she had to admit, “You aren’t wrong. But I don’t buy for a minute that you aren’t after something else too.”
Sombra raised her hands in mock surrender, “You caught me, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there, huh?”
She was prone, laying on her stomach and observing the facility through her scope, when a faint scent interrupted the smell of wet dirt, moss and evergreens. She smelled leather. Perhaps not so alone after all.
Her rifle snapped into position, shortening from its sniper configuration to that of a carbine, and she swung wide onto her back to fsearch for her target. Then she heard a familiar laugh. Despite the years of professional history she shared with Sombra, she didn’t lower her weapon while she searched for her company’s position. “Reveal yourself,” she commanded.
When Sombra disengaged her cloaking device she was reclined beside Widowmaker on the ground, one hand supporting her head with its elbow resting on the ground. “Since you asked nicely,” Sombra chortled.
Widowmaker was more agitated with herself for her distractedness than she was with the interloper. “I don’t know how or why you followed me, Sombra, but this is a solo mission.” Sombra cradled her chin on the tops of her fingers, turning onto her stomach with both elbows on the ground now, staring in the direction of the training facility.
“Yes,” Sombra smirked, “Project Tarantella. I thought that was a silly name at first — too, hm, spidery. Then I looked up the word and saw it was French. That was strike two. Then I saw it was also a ballet term. Really, Widow, how much more on-the-nose could you be? Weren’t you a ballerina at some point? I can’t even joke about the name now because I can’t think of a single spider-related French ballet term to compare it to. You’ve left me with no room for exaggeration, Mija.
“But then I read some more. It turns out there was this region in France where, a long time ago, people started dancing in these uncontrollable, orgiastic rituals. They said it was because of the venom of the tarantula, and that’s where the name comes from. So I said to myself, ‘Self, you need to dig deeper into this project; it sounds like there could be some fun to be had.’ So I started digging.”
Widowmaker glowered. Sombra wanted her to ask follow up questions, but she wouldn’t amuse her.
Sombra sighed and continued, “You’re going to be glad I tagged along. I come bearing gifts.”
Widowmaker was fixed to her scope, but waved a hand in a ‘continue’ gesture. If Sombra had wanted to sabotage her efforts, she already would have by now. Perhaps she actually planned on contributing something of value.
Sombra smiled and slung an arm across Widowmaker’s shoulder. “Well, that violet chemical you have with you — interesting stuff, by the way — you were planning on releasing it into the building’s vents. Don’t. You might cover a quarter of the building that way. Release it into the water supply for the showers. The heat will act as a catalyst. There’s an intake for the vents near the showers. I can turn it on full-blast and, together with the showers turning it into a heated aerosol, we might be able to spread the gas throughout the entire building.”
Widowmaker raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but her curiosity quickly took a new course, “How do you know so much about this chemical?”
“Well,” Sombra continued as faux-innocently as possible, “I got curious when I ‘found’ your plans. I sent some of it off to a lab for more analysis.”
Widowmaker looked at her sideways, “You had me there for a moment, hacker. I’ve had the most advanced labs in the world check into this formula.”
“Well,” Sombra laughed, “I may have found a more advanced lab than that. What’s her name? I’m terrible with names. Zwiggy . . . Ziggy something?”
Within seconds, Widowmaker had Sombra standing and pinned against a tree with her forearm. Her other hand trained the barrel of her carbine against the hacker’s temple. “Ziegler. Dr. Ziegler. You have my formula to MERCY?” she growled. The ‘advanced lab’ in question was in the basement of the training facility three miles over Sombra’s shoulder.
“Relax,” Sombra pleaded. Then more seriously, more straight-faced than Widowmaker had ever seen her, she tried again, “Relax. I said I came bearing gifts. Plural. The first was that tip. And Mercy has no clue that Talon developed that chemical. She thinks it came from a private pharmaceutical company with a really, really unorthodox approach to fertility. As for that second gift? Mercy has a developed more, shall we say, potent version of the drug in her lab. I can show you where,” Sombra smiled.
Widowmaker didn’t relax her grip, “What’s your angle in this?”
Sombra was used to faking sincerity. She didn’t have to fake it this time. “Your chemical will affect everyone in that building except a certain spunky Brit with, as Dr. Ziggy would put it, 'significant metabolic abnormalities.' I don’t know exactly what you have planned, but near as I can tell, it involves a whole lot of people turning our short-haired friend into their communal plaything. I just want to play too,” Sombra winked. “Whatever you have planned, you are more devious than I gave you credit for, Mija. And you’ve even gotten me wanting to learn the steps of this Tarantella of yours. Figured you must be getting your jollies at the thought of so many people taking a crack at Tracer that you’d welcome one more. Was I right?”
Widowmaker’s face remained stone, but she had to admit, “You aren’t wrong. But I don’t buy for a minute that you aren’t after something else too.”
Sombra raised her hands in mock surrender, “You caught me, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there, huh?”
