[video]

[zippity]

How's it so many of you are runnin' about and not bringin' back any stories with you? Some of us could use it you know! Instead of havin' 'em all dumped out when they drop those spots on the news, anyway.

[Ahem.

Tracer is broadcasting from the monitor room, where she's clearly been serving out her duties with as much patience as she can muster (read: not a lot). Even with all of the activity, Tracer can't deal with the tedium. She's rigged up a way to continuously spin herself in a chair while she spends time dispatching Legionnaires as is expected of her. Even with that, she's incredibly restless, and has herself perched in the window, lounging on the sill in a manner that probably would be considered unsafe if she weren't capable of rewinding time around her.

Overwatch's systems were mostly automated. When a warning went out, the Strike Team left -- and that was the end of it. This dispatching nonsense makes her thankful that it never got quite as large, but also makes her nostalgic.

That's not the only thing, but. Well, its a big part of it. And while she's trying to think of a way to bring up that first thing without outing herself, she can be seen tapping her fingers nervously on the big glowing machine on her chest.]

...speakin' of stories. How many of you lot got families back where you came from? Maybe a better half...

[She pauses here -- not too long though. Don't want to be suspicious.]

...do you think they're still lookin' for you? It's been a tick, hasn't it?

Comments

[vata]

Stupid, right? [There's no beer, no tequila this time to lighten the mood. Feet buried in the sand, knees pulled up to her chest with her chin resting over them, she doesn't seem interested in raking him over the coals.

But if you ask her, he does owe her something. A lot of somethings.

Whether or not she'll collect those dues someday might hinge on how this plays out.] Telling you I wasn't from Dorado.

Picking this place out anyway.

[mylawn]

It's not stupid.

[Doesn't much matter to him, though it does have him recalling some of their initial conversations to remember whether or not she withheld that information from him. Either way, he supposes it's a moot point now, and Jack isn't going to judge her for keeping anything close to the chest.

He doesn't join her on the ground, but he does take off his mask, letting his hand fall to his side with it.]

Are you from Dorado?

[vata]

I thought it'd scare you off. [76. Like a ghost haunting the streets of Dorado, people talked about those dígitos. Urban legends, excitable theories, rumors of a criminal overtaking territory— some people never believed any of it, but she didn't have to hack into a terminal to put her ear to the ground.

And she suspects he knows it, too.

She tilts her head up as he drops his mask, flexing a tepid little smile, as though confessing to being caught red-handed.]

You were the only familiar thing I found here.

[A beat, settling down again into the warmth of her own hands:] And you're not even real.

'Soldado 76'.

[mylawn]

Real enough.

[More real than Jack Morrison is nowadays--or, hell, ever was. He can't exactly pinpoint the exact moment when he stopped being a person and started being an unattainable ideal that he could never really hope to reach. Sure, he knows when it started, but the way he drowned in it was gradual. By the time he realized he couldn't breathe, it was already too late.

Soldier: 76 is freeing, in a way. He feels more like himself than he has in a very long time--if he manages to disregard the hole in his chest where they ripped Overwatch out of him, that is.

He'd suspected she'd wanted to get to know him because of his infamy and status as an internationally-wanted vigilante. That in itself isn't a problem, or at least he doesn't blame her. It's good tactical sense. Now, however, he knows that his recent activities in Dorado are much more personal to her than he initially thought. He suddenly feels like he has a field of eggshells laid out in front of him, but he wonders if he cares enough to avoid stepping on them.

If he didn't care about anything, however, he wouldn't be here.]

You believe everything you hear?

[vata]

If I did, I'd think you were a monster that kidnaps children for misbehaving. A dealer that lost his territory, waging war against everyone that wronged him and killed his family. [An omnic, a spy, a ghost— everyone had their theories. Some more popular than others.

She liked hers best.

But the rest speaks for itself: if Azúcar really did buy into everything at face value, their first interaction would have gone a lot less smoothly. She shifts forward, folding her legs beneath her and easing less narrowly into warm sand. He might not want to sit like a human being instead of a máquina, but it doesn't change the fact that it's nice here, even if it isn't real. Someone ought to enjoy it.]

[mylawn]

[There's a noise in the back of his throat that might be a laugh. He's heard all of those rumors and then some, and they were all fine by him--let people think what they like. Better to be a ghost. Jack most certainly would say he doesn't owe her an answer, but somehow he feels like he should offer an explanation. Clearly she didn't believe what she heard, but perhaps he thinks he should clear up any accusations of child kidnapping.]

I was investigating ties to Talon in the area. Terrorist cell.

[Before he'd caught wind of a sniper in Egypt giving that very terrorist group a whole new kind of hell. Jack, predictably, had dropped everything to go there on the impossible chance it was Ana--and it had been.]

Los Muertos. Lumérico.

[vata]

You were ordered to?

[Someone on the streets knowing what little he's told her in person— well, it's a half-step in logic: she knows better, but the woman she's pretending to be? A soldier without a name equates to black ops. Always, always black ops.

And so many people never truly assumed Overwatch was ever just Done.]

[mylawn]

I don't answer to anyone.

[At least, Soldier: 76 doesn't. He's not at the mercy of the UN anymore, and certainly doesn't need to play by the rules. Everything he does now is to further his own mission.]

This is personal.

[vata]

[She fixes him with a look of curiosity that's deeply, deeply wound up in feigned confusion: as though it's a surprise anything he'd been doing in Dorado had been personal.]

They're just thugs, mijo.

Vatos.

[Her shoulders shrug, head shaking and dropping a few luminescent locks of hair down across her face, like something's been mistranslated.]

Somebody must have sold you bad information.

[mylawn]

[Jack shakes his head--there's a niggling part of him how much of his conspiracy is imagined and how much is real. If he's just seeing things he wants to see and putting pieces together accordingly. Confirmation bias. He can't really tell anymore, but when in Dorado he'd convinced himself the connection was there. Justifying it to Azúcar makes him feel sure of himself again.]

They were running guns. Enough weaponry to hold the whole town hostage. Question is who put them up to it. Gave them the resources.

[Of course, his bet is Talon, or maybe Lumérico or maybe a combination of both, even though he'd dropped that lead when he caught wind of Ana.]

[vata]

Look, I'm not a fan of Los Muertos— not many people were— but everybody had to make money. It's not like there was a lot of it to go around, depending on where you walked.

[Some people stole, others bartered, others were dedicated to putting things Right— running their businesses the way they hoped Mexico could really be. And Los Muertos— like their little hermanita— saw an opportunity right down the middle worth taking. It took tenacity.

And fire.

But that, she keeps to herself.] Did you ever get your answers?

[mylawn]

I dropped the lead.

[He should have followed up, he thinks, but what was happening in Giza was much, much more important. It had payed off in the end when his hunch about Ana was proven correct, but he'd been brought here not long after--before the two of them could get anything done.]

Something more important came up elsewhere.

[vata]

Something always comes up.

[The fact that they're both here, now, is proof enough of that.

And why she moves to climb up onto her feet, dusting the sand from her fingertips and peering more closely at his face, lit by pale, artificial moonlight. Studying the sloping contours of his scars.]

[mylawn]

[Isn't that the truth--Jack supposes he lucked out that this particular 'something' was worth it. Being dragged off to Legion World, not so much. It takes him a moment, but he realizes she's fallen silent in favor of scrutinizing him. Eyes on him are more than a little uncomfortable, but seeing as it's why she asked him here in the first place, he's willing to make some concessions.

Jack turns to Azúcar, eyeing her in turn.]

Are those the answers you wanted?

[vata]

Pfft. No.

[That little puff of air a snort that comes out of her nose before he's barely finished asking the question, displacing a wayward strand of hair. The subtle shift between street-savvy behavior and what sincere curiosity that follows when she tips her head upwards towards him. The slightest little nod, hands already on her hips.]

Why'd you do it?

[Any of it. All of it. Overwatch, vigilantism— the Legion now. A beat:] And don't say 'it was the right thing to do.'

Everybody always says that.

[mylawn]

You're gonna have to be more specific.

[Because he's done an awful lot, and Jack doesn't want to let on more than he has to--that might be abundantly clear in the way he looks down at her and raises his eyebrow.]

[vata]

Everything.

[It's said (predictably) without hesitation. Without elaboration.

He might want specifics, but to her, how he chooses to interpret it— what parts of it he's willing to dislodge— matters more. Only amateurs pigeonhole their targets.

...And she likes listening to what he has to say.]

[mylawn]

That's not specific.

[But maybe he can come up with something, especially if she seems to be asking in a general sense. How do you describe why you do what you do to someone who's still very much a stranger? When you don't want them to know these things about you?

He settles on an obvious answer.]

Someone's got to find out what happened to Overwatch.

[Because the rest of them sure aren't.]

[vata]

And you signed up with Overwatch because...?

[Trailing off with a clawed finger raised in midair, wide-eyed and seemingly rapt, even by that minimal explanation.]

[mylawn]

The world was ending.

[He says that like it should be obvious, but she doesn't remember what it was really like, to be standing on the brink of potential extinction.]

Overwatch was the only way we were gonna win.

[vata]

Hm.

[A litte hum answers him, contemplative enough. Not exactly the speech of the year, but she imagines if she asked Gabe why he signed up, he'd say the same thing. Or something close to it.]

Okay.

[She folds her arms. Shrugs. Simple as if it was the weather they were discussing, and nothing else so entirely world-ending as this.]

[mylawn]

[Well, that's not exactly what he was expecting. Jack is silent for a long moment, studying her and expecting more of an answer to that. Clearly she's thinking about something--just refusing to voice it, and that puts him the slightest bit on edge.]

Did I pass the test?

[Because that's what this feels like, a little bit.]

[vata]

Yup.

[Gold star, Morrison.

Acknowledgement done and dealt with, she turns on her heel to face the city skyline, watching it for a few long, long beats— as if she's willing some part of it to move. really move. A light to turn off in a window somewhere, a silhouette to pass by.

She knows better.]

You know, I never thought I'd miss it.

[mylawn]

[His lips part slightly, as if he's about to reply to her, but his mouth sort of freezes as he realizes he has nothing to say. Not to that, at least. Jack wants to tell himself that her approval means absolutely nothing, but it doesn't, really. If he wasn't looking for her to accept him and all his failings--the very specific failings that shaped her experiences--then he wouldn't be here in the first place.

No use pretending. Maybe he's a little relieved. He'll watch her for a few moments, trying to discern what she might be thinking before she goes ahead and voices it.]

It's something familiar. [And home is far away, after all.] You're allowed to be a little sentimental.

[vata]

You're not.

[He is.

She'd seen the photograph he kept. Not even real, just...imagined. She still hasn't mentioned it to Gabe yet— maybe she's just waiting for the right moment to bring it up. A detail kept close to her chest. Another promise that she's still valuable, just in case things ever turn on their head.

Somewhere, beneath all the camaraderie and loyalty, Sombra knows better than to pretend he sees her as she sees him.]