So, Tumblr Is A Place To Share (reblog Not Like) Content, Unlike Other Websites. I, Personally, Prefer

So, tumblr is a place to share (reblog not like) content, unlike other websites. I, personally, prefer to keep things ‘clean’ - I didn’t want to mix my writing with other posts / ideas / etc. But, that’s not quite in the spirit of tumblr.

Instead, I’ve compromised with myself. I’ve created a separate blog (subblog? sideblog? idk guys I’m just here) @brighteyewrites. I’ll be posting all of my writing there from now on, and then reblogging them as I so choose onto my main. 

And, good news, I’ve figured the writing thing out again. I’ve been jotting ideas down for scenes but, until last night, haven’t actually written. I turned a scene idea [~93 words] into an actual scene [~1500 words] and I couldn’t be happier. Keep on the lookout, because I should be posting something soon. Not sure what, yet, because my brain is like a golden retriever in a daycare center, but we’ll get there when we get there.

This is something like what I imagine Angela’s outfit to look like in my most recent story, “Memories” on AO3 and FF.net.

Protector

I was broken you made me whole again The only one I trusted more than myself -What I Believe [Skillet] Febuwhump Day 14: "I didn't mean it." | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela & Gabriel

AO3 | FF.net | Works

"Did you know that my parents died in the war?" She asked, the sudden change of topic making him blink with surprise. "Angela, what--" He started, but she spoke over him. "They died, leaving me an orphan with my grandparents. Already an outsider – the girl without parents – I buried myself in my academics because I had a burning need to prove myself worthy. So, I flew through school – all the way through university and medical school." Angela didn't know where the words were coming from, only that she needed to say them and he needed to hear them. "Then, my grandparents died - and I was truly an orphan then, with no one at all to turn to." She sighed as her eyes dropped to her lap. "I didn't have any friends, because who wanted to be friends with a child that was smarter than them? It was incredibly lonely, with teachers that had no time and peers that avoided me, so I drowned myself in my studies and ignored the looks and the whispers." Angela shrugged as if to say it happens sometimes, that it didn't matter - though clearly it did, considering she was recounting it to him now. "It was no different at the hospital; I excelled, moved up the ranks, and my peers hated me even as they respected me. I had no friends – not someone I'd gossip with or laugh with, though I admit I throw myself into my work so deeply that I have little time for such things, as you know." She smiled derisively, as if it didn't bother her – though if it hadn't, she wouldn't be talking about it, forcing the words out for him to hear. "Then you and Jack showed up, and I decided to join Overwatch – even with my misgivings. I expected it to be much the same, especially with my less-than-stellar opinions." She took a breath, having almost forgotten how to breathe in her need to speak. "But it wasn't. I have friends here – honest friends, not the ones that wait for you to stumble so they can pull the rug out from under you." Angela glanced up and saw that Gabriel was listening intently, still curious as to what – exactly – her point was. "You, Gabriel, you were my first friend – and I doubt you even knew it, because you're good with people in a way that I'm not. You and Jack and Ana, you were my first friends, ever since I was a small girl that still had parents." She took a shuddering breath and gripped her legs with fingers that trembled. "So believe me, Gabriel, when I say that I can't lose you – any of you. I have lost too much." Angela let out a breath that sounded like a sob. "But you go, all three of you - and you take risks, and you save people, and you get shot - and I am left behind to wait, hands wringing, praying that this time won't be the last time, that you will return home whole or on a gurney for me to put back together and not in a body bag for me to bury." Her words were heated with anger and terror and anxiety: because they made her stay behind, because they didn't trust her to survive on a battlefield, to watch their backs like they watched each other. She let the anger fuel her because anything else would lead to tears, and she just couldn't. Jack had led the team that flushed out the enemy, making sure the way was clear so she could move unhindered. Ana had watched out for her, making sure that they knew there was an enemy behind them so that she wouldn't be hurt. Gabriel had stayed at her side the entire time, and, when it came down to it, he jumped in front of a shooter for her. "So instead of letting me learn how to be useful, you three protect me like a delicate china doll. You shoved me aside to take a bullet. You gave me a concussion, but I still dutifully stopped your bleeding and even pulled a bullet out of you, because you're important and I didn't have time to take care of myself without endangering you." She practically growled the words. "Wait- you had a concussion and you performed surgery on me?" Gabriel's voice was indignant, and she rolled her eyes; he had, of course, missed the point entirely. "You're fine. All your pieces are in the right spots." She snapped back. "A concussion?" He repeated. "Yes. Blow to the head, causes dizziness, nausea? Stop me if any of this sounds familiar." Angela retorted dryly. "I know what a concussion is, Angela. Why were you doing anything with a concussion?" He demanded. "There you go again, coddling me! You had four bullets in you, and you still did your job – you," she hesitated only briefly, "killed the man that would have killed me. I get slammed into a wall – your fault, by the way – and you act like it's the end of the world!" She yelled, fury rising. "My fault? Excuse me for saving your life!" He yelled back, his own temper fraying. "But that doesn't give you any right—" Angela started yelling right back. "I'm the doctor; I have every right." Her words battled with his to be loudest. "—to perform surgery on anyone with a concussion." His eyes were blazing just as much as hers were. "You're the doctor; you should know better." "Are you dead? Dying? Missing pieces?" Angela demanded. "No, because I did my job. You. Are. Fine." The door opened, and both turned to glare at the intruders. Jack stood in the doorway, Ana a step behind him, both looking rather surprised to find the two of them at each other's throats. "My, someone's in a mood today," Ana remarked blithely, recovering first. "You must be feeling better, Gabe." She pushed Jack inside and closed the door behind her. "Now, what's got you both so riled up?" Angela crossed her arms and glared at Gabriel. "He doesn't think I'm capable of being a professional." She accused. "She had a concussion and was operating on me; I'm pretty sure I'm allowed to be pissed about that!" He met her glare with one of his own. Ana clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Simmer down, children." They both turned their glare on the older woman, who just laughed. "You're both right, though you're too angry to see it. Angela, darling, you shouldn't have been doing anything in your state – but in her defense, she was very protective of you, Gabriel." She winked jovially, and Angela found herself blushing despite herself. "Despite her injury, she still performed admirably, and had she been anyone else, you'd probably be praising them." Ana glanced at Jack, and he nodded in agreement. "Now, apologize so we can talk," Ana said, hands on her hips as she waited for them to get on with it already. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, Gabriel." Angela murmured, eyes downcast and genuinely contrite; now that the wind was out of her sails, she felt extremely remorseful. "Yeah, I know, doc. I shouldn't have yelled either." Gabriel sighed. "I didn't mean it." "Good. Now that that's done, Angela should have a report for us." The blonde doctor made a face as the other two found seats, but she sat up straighter and pushed her hair behind her ears dutifully.

So, like, 99.99% of this has been written for over a year (or three). This was originally going to be a scene in my long fic "Forging" (it would have been part of / the end of the second scene of the 8th chapter "Determination"). But, it got scrapped and put into my giant pile of 'stuff I eventually want to post somewhere' and now, well, here we are!

The issue with being a Whump Wrtier usually isn't, "Have I gone too far...?" But instead; "Have I gone far enough...?"

Breaking [My Heart]: Act I Capturing

"There's nothing simple when it comes to you and I, Always something in this everchanging life" - Everchanging [Rise Against] Winston has issued the recall towards rebuilding Overwatch. Angela - formerly known as "Mercy" - is captured by Talon, who are searching for any information that can stop the rise before it begins.

AO3 | FF.net | Works | Pandora Playlist

Trigger Warnings & General Statements This is a dark torture story. As such, there's going to be bad things happening - for the sake of not spoiling, I will not tag what, exactly will be appearing at any time. While I don't think any of the scenes are terribly graphic in nature, I do want to stress that the scenes are present and aren't for everyone. I did try to make the reactions and trauma realistic, following both real-world medicine / research and in-game universe canon (such as Angela's nanotechnology). There will be multiple POVs per chapter - two sets for both Angela and Reaper as well as a fifth from an additional character. Please, read at your own risk - and enjoy!

There’s no pain that I won’t go through, Even if I have to die for you. - Die for You [Starset]

Angela idly ran her fingers along a familiar storage container as she moved to her closet. It had been a long time since she had opened it to don her Valkyrie suit and carry her Caduceus staff, since she had been Mercy – and she wasn’t changing that today. Instead, she tugged on a mismatched set of scrubs, a pair of boots, and her medical coat. Angela pulled her hair up off her neck into a tight bun before slathering herself with sunscreen. Her pale skin would turn red and blistered if she didn’t take the precaution; she didn’t particularly want to be more miserable than she already was here. With a long-suffering sigh, she left her small apartment and stepped into the heat of the day. She missed Switzerland; it was so hot here in Cairo compared to her cooler homeland. But her comfort didn’t matter – no, what mattered were that people were suffering here. They may scoff and scowl at her, growl that she was not welcome, but that didn’t matter either. What mattered was that she could help these people, regardless of what they thought, and that was what she would do. Immediately, sweat prickled along her skin, but she ignored it. She pulled out a tablet instead, swiping through the information there to determine how her day would pass. There were many patients to check in on, either to look over their bandages or to provide medication. She had a surgery planned for later in the day – some poor man was losing his arm. All of this assumed that nothing happened to upset the delicate balance. No new attacks – terrorist or gang, it all ended the same for her – or significant accidents that left everything spinning out of control. Not that she would utter one word of complaint; these people deserved the best she could provide after all they had been through. It wasn’t their fault that the world had fallen to pieces. No, that burden fell across her shoulders and all those who had been with Overwatch when it had collapsed. They had done much good, but they had also been the cause for so much horror as well. Now, Winston was trying to resurrect the organization, to pull Overwatch back from the ashes. Her communicator – a relic from her past that she couldn’t seem to let go of – had been blinking when she had returned home two days ago. In a different, better, lifetime, Angela would have carried it with her everywhere she went; now, it was an awkward paperweight on her kitchen counter that she sometimes remembered to pocket on the chance that one of her friends would call. She had been curious – who wouldn’t be? – so she had watched his video message. Once it was over, Angela had sat back with her arms crossed, teeth worrying at her lower lip. Did she want to go back? Her life had been so much different since the fall. All her life’s work had been taken from her by the UN and WHO to be distributed among others after Overwatch had fallen. She had become a pariah where once she had been much sought after for her prowess in both the research labs and operating rooms. Now, she faced scorn everywhere she went. She had been the last defender of Overwatch, after all. Angela had been one of the most visible members of Overwatch – her wings had made that almost a foregone conclusion, even if they weren’t excellent PR material – and thus many recognized her, even outside of her Valkyrie suit. In the aftermath of the fall, Angela had stood in the spotlight to try to appease the masses. Did she want to pick up the pieces and start over again? All she had ever wanted to do was help people. Mostly, she had succeeded at that in Overwatch. Angela had helped minimize – and mitigate – civilian loss, both in the planning and execution phases of strike missions. As often as she was able, she had served on the front lines to help defend not only the agents of Overwatch, but the innocents caught in the middle. She had spearheaded innovative research that was, even now, being expanded upon to better the world. Could she do it all again? She wasn’t sure her heart could survive a second round. It had nearly killed her the first time to bury the victims and support the survivors. Angela didn’t even know where most of her friends were on most days. Genji had gone to Nepal and, as far as she was aware, hadn’t left. Similarly, Winston had holed up at Watchpoint: Gibraltar to safeguard Athena and what files remained of Overwatch. But the rest? Last she had heard, Lena was prowling around England, and Cassidy had racked up an enormous bounty in North America. Reinhardt had convinced Torbjörn’s daughter, Brigitte, to follow him across Europe as he continued to protect the weak. Torbjörn had told her about it a few months ago, grumpy in his worry for the two. Two of her medics, Remington and Daigneau, crossed her path occasionally. They had followed in her footsteps – or steps just like them – and had joined the Doctors Without Borders. Angela wondered which, if any, of them would answer the call Angela wasn’t sure she would. This wasn’t a decision she could make lightly. One would make her a criminal – Overwatch was disbanded and forced into inaction by the PETRAS act. The other would make her – what? A coward? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that if she didn’t answer, her life would continue as normal. It wasn’t glamorous – quite the opposite, in fact. It was hard and dirty, but she would be helping people. If she answered, her life would change again. And this time, there were no guarantees – Overwatch was rising, starting from nothing to try to safeguard the world once more. Angela wasn’t sure what the right path was – so she left the blinking “Y // N” unanswered.

---

For once, her day went mostly as planned. Usually, some sort of emergency occurred, throwing off her day and putting her timetable into disarray. She thrived in the chaos: hurriedly reprioritizing patients and rushing around, trying to keep everyone alive and comfortable, made it easy to forget the nightmares and the heartbreak that was her life. Not that her day wasn’t busy, even without interruptions or surprises – it just was orderly. She opened the door to her apartment with a sigh, rubbing at her back with a free hand. Maybe she would take a bath tonight and try to force her body into some semblance of relaxation. Angela locked the door before flipping the lights on and striding further into the small space she currently called home – and then froze, eyes widening. It was only her years of combat experience that kept the keys within her suddenly numb fingers. The Reaper was here. He was settled on her only couch, lazily reclined as if this was his home and not hers. His face, hidden by a bone white skull mask, had turned to regard her. Despite his casual pose, his very presence was menacing – and that was before she took in the shotgun on the cushion next to him. She wasn’t fooled; Angela was confident he could have it in his hands and fired before she could reach the door. Her hand dropped to her waist automatically, where her blaster used to sit – but she hadn’t carried the weapon in years. Angela knew that she should have started carrying it again after the cryptic phone call she had received a week ago. It had been a warning of impending danger and that she should leave Cairo to find help before it was too late. The caller had had enough information about her to make her nervous, but she hadn’t been willing to allow it to drive her away. Danger? Ever since she had joined Overwatch, that had been her life. Angela had served as the Medical Director, a powerful position made even stronger by her will and sheer genius; there were very few Overwatch operatives that were more valuable than she was. Then, she had enlisted as a combat medic and protected their strike teams – and she had the scars to prove it. Now, her life wasn’t much different from that of her time in the field; uncomfortable lodgings, dangerous surroundings, long work hours, and generally ungrateful patients that laid the blame for their troubles at her feet. She should have taken precautions when she had stayed. Angela should have called one of her friends – her protectors – about the warning, but she hadn’t wanted to get them worked up over what was probably nothing. She should have carried her weapon, but she had worried that it would bother her patients – and she already had enough trouble with that. She could have even moved to make it a little harder for an enemy to find her, but she barely had time to eat most days. Besides, she had believed that it was probably little more than a prank. Even now, years after the fall, people still grumbled about Overwatch. She’d had her fair share of curses thrown her way, and, in the early days, she had received plenty of prank calls that varied in nature. There was little to make her believe this was more than that. Angela had been safe – from terrorists, anyway – for years; there was no reason to think that had changed. Angela cursed her pride. She had become complacent, thinking she knew best. Now, she would pay the price for her hubris. “Well, well,” the man growled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, clawed fingers steepled before him, “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come home, Mercy.” Angela grimaced. She hadn’t answered to that name for years; it was a callsign that was as dead as the organization that had coined it. “That is not my name anymore.” Angela corrected automatically; it was a habit so ingrained she couldn’t stop the words from falling from her lips. She kept herself from wincing at the foolish declaration and instead donned an air of cool detachment. Her pride demanded that she keep her fear hidden from him, that she could show no weakness before her obvious predator. And he was a predator. The Reaper was well known for his violence; terrible, mutilated bodies were left in his wake wherever he went. More than one ex-Overwatch member had been his victim. That he would appear here, before Overwatch’s guardian angel – their Mercy – meant she was in his sights now. She wondered what it was he wanted from her – and if she would give it. The doctor was fairly sure that he wasn’t here for her blood. After all, why speak to her if all he wanted was to kill her? “That’s too bad.” He rose, grabbed the shotgun, and aimed it at her in one singular, fluid motion. “It’s Mercy I am looking for.” It had been a long time since she had stared down a barrel of a gun; she had forgotten just how terrifying it was. Angela forced herself to stiffen her spine and raise her chin slightly in defiance. If she were going to die, it would not be cowering. “What do you want from me?” She demanded, somehow managing to keep the words steady. That he hadn’t pulled the trigger meant that he was willing to overlook her verbal misstep earlier. It meant that whatever he wanted was more important than spilling her blood – right now. “Information, of course.” The gun remained trained on her, but Angela forced her eyes to move past it to his body. Hopefully, should he decide to pull the trigger, she would see it telegraphed in his body language and escape. It was a dubious hope, considering his kill sheet, but it was all she had to hold on to now. “I haven’t been active in years,” the doctor deflected. “I could not possibly have any information you need.” Angela knew it was a lie even as the words fell from her lips. She had information that would be valuable to the wrong organizations. Locations of prominent members – such as Genji, who had, for all appearances, fallen off the map – was only the tip of the iceberg. While she had been removed from research by the UN and WHO, she still was one of the greatest medical minds of their time. Under her guidance, medicine had improved by leaps and bounds; it was a pity she no longer could continue such works. They had relegated her to the sidelines, only contacted for advice or ideas. Reaper clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “And here I heard you were a genius.” Nothing could have kept her still when he started stalking across the room towards her. She backed away, keys dropping to the floor, until there was nowhere left to go – and then he was barely an arm’s length away from her. “You expect me to believe that Overwatch is on the rise, and no one told you?” “Overwatch is dead and gone.” The words did not tug at her heart, did not cause any emotional response at all. She had long since come to terms with the closure of that chapter of her life. Angela would not acknowledge the call that had been put out, would not confirm or deny that Overwatch was trying to reform. While she had not decided if she would return, she would not risk the safety of those who answered. “That’s not what I’ve heard.” Resolution filled her. This man, monster, wanted information on her friends; she would not – could not – give it to him. Even if it killed her, she would protect them. They were still hers to shield, whether she was with them or apart. That was her last, final burden from her days with her Overwatch, and it would be hers to carry until she died. “Then you clearly know more than I do.” Angela lied easily. It surprised her that Talon already knew of the recall. They must have intercepted the transmission; the idea of any prior member of Overwatch turning to Talon was a hard pill to swallow, even considering how the organization had fallen. “Lying will only make this worse for you, Mercy.” Her callsign was a taunt, bait that she refused to take a second time. Pure terror had flooded her veins; it was only an act of sheer willpower that had kept her knees from giving out underneath her. This was the worst she had faced yet, but she would face it standing. “It is not a lie,” Angela insisted. “Overwatch is dead.” Even if she rejoined under Winston’s banner, she was certain that she would always consider Overwatch – or at least, her Overwatch – dead. How could it exist in a place that her friends, her family, did not? “Last chance.” He warned; it surprised her that he gave her one at all. Even so, Angela did not consider, not even for one moment, to provide him with the information he wanted to protect herself. In defense of others, she was at her most stubborn and determined. That cost had come to her in the form of bullet wounds and nightmares when she was with Overwatch; here, that cost would – hopefully – be her demise. She was all too aware that there were many things worse than death. Angela remained silent, her eyes staring a challenge at the slits where she knew the Reaper’s eyes peered from. If he would not accept her lie the first two times, it would be pointless to voice it again. After a long moment, the man let the gun drop so he could crowd her against the door. One clawed hand rose to grip her throat, tilting her chin to look up towards the mask that hovered above her. “Just remember, you brought this on yourself.” He growled, rebuke and glee twisted around the words. He increased the pressure, cutting off the blood flow to her brain; despite the futility of the action, Angela’s hands raised to try to pry his fingers away. Her vision swam as she desperately clung to consciousness. It was a useless effort; within moments, she was unconscious.

The Reaper watched as Angela regained consciousness through the single window into the concrete room that was now her home. She looked insubstantial, almost ethereal, under the lights meant to keep her blind to her surroundings. The woman was hanging from chains in the precise center of the room. She barely had enough slack to rest her weight on her feet properly. While she had been unconscious, her wrists and shoulders had held that weight entirely in a way that was designed to be painful. Gabriel watched through the Reapers’ eyes as she pulled against the chains that held her. Saw the confusion play across her face as she heard the faint clanking, which turned to pain as she realized the stress her wrists and shoulders had been placed under. Then, her eyes fluttered open, blinking painfully in the too-bright light, before futilely trying to look up at the chains. He saw the curious detachment turn to stark panic before smoothing away into a neutral façade. He was unsurprised that she didn’t test the bonds further, that she didn’t call out, and kept her noise to a minimum. While Angela hadn’t had any special training in this aspect of their lives – they had never expected anyone to actually succeed in capturing her, not with the number of people willing to lay down their own lives for hers – she was a smart woman. Angela knew the grim reality she now faced. She had to know that the chains were the least of what she would meet in that room of gray and white. The Reaper supposed he should alert someone that she was, finally, conscious. Still, he lingered for a few minutes longer, relishing in her helplessness. After so long, he was going to see her pay for what she had done. The Reaper had fantasized about this day for years. Slowly, agonizingly, they would exact his revenge upon her flesh. He would drink down her pain and agony until, finally, the angel before him was no more. He had been tempted to be the one to break her – to split her flesh and flay her heart. It would be the least that she – that he – deserved after the pain she had inflicted. The council had even offered it to him, knowing the history that lay between the two. It surprised Gabriel that they hadn’t ordered him to do it, to prove his loyalties yet again to the terrorist organization that he had once fought against. He wasn’t sure if he felt rage or relief that they had not taken that choice away from him. Instead, Gabriel had found the strength to decline. The Reaper, usually the stronger of the two after so long, had been forced to accept his decision. They would observe, either from this little room or through the security feeds, whenever their other duties allowed. The Reaper, the dark, violent portion of his soul given life, would like nothing more than to tear apart, piece by piece, the woman who had turned him – them – into this. He would revel in the blood and agony, far more than any other member of Talon would. It was only fair, after all. Knowingly or not, she had condemned Gabriel to an existence that was the antithesis of everything he had once stood for. Everything she stood for. Gabriel wanted her to hurt, to feel what she had done to him – but he couldn’t be the one to do it. He knew that, should he go in there and break her, he would also break himself. The last, tenuous grasp he had on his humanity, on Gabriel and not the Reaper, lay within the blonde doctor trapped in the room before him. She had grounded him, had reminded him of his purpose, even while she was completely unaware of the shadow that stalked her. Even now, after everything, there was a part of Gabriel that loved her. There was a part that still remembered the promises he had made her – that they had made each other. He had given his heart to her, long ago in a place that he had destroyed, and she had never returned it. Instead, she had ripped her own from his grasp and left him with nothing but darkness and pain. All that remained was a monster that consumed the living with a terrible hunger that was never sated. On that dark day in Zürich over five years ago, Gabriel had destroyed her world. On that same day, Angela had forced the shadows upon him and shattered his psyche. He wondered if it had been a purposeful act, a punishment for the pain he had wrought, or a mere accident of science. That she hadn’t sought him out, had said nothing about the Reaper and who he might be, made him believe it was the latter. That Moira, a geneticist who – within her specialized field of study – could outsmart even Overwatch’s miracle worker, could not replicate it only reaffirmed that belief. That did not slake his anger in the slightest. The Reaper turned and stalked out of the small observation room, eager for them to begin his revenge. He was ready to drown in her blood and pain. The Reaper’s only hope was that she put on a good show before she eventually broke.

Angela wondered, vaguely, how long it would take for people to realize she was gone. Then, once her absence was noted, how long would it take before they realized it was by force rather than by choice? How long would it take for someone – anyone – to come looking for her? And, when they did, would they even be able to find her before it was too late? She tried to recall the last time she had spoken to any of her friends. There was no set schedule – sometimes she could go months without hearing from one or more of them, leaving her to worry that perhaps this time they had actually died and she would never hear from them again. Had she spoken to anyone recently? Stressed as she was, Angela couldn’t remember. She knew these thoughts were just a byproduct of her fear, but that did nothing to stop them – or to keep them from affecting her. There was nothing but pain and terror for her now. Either she could imagine the horrors that would be inflicted upon her in this room, or she could worry about the rescue that would never come. Angela was a firm optimist when it came to everyone but herself. She could hold on to hope that she could save others, but she did not believe anyone would save her. How could they? Angela was going to die in agony in their defense – and they would, probably, never know it. Or, perhaps, Talon would take pity on them. Maybe they would dump her mangled body for some poor soul to stumble upon. The media would go crazy – the last of the old guard, Overwatch’s angel, had perished – and her friends would mourn, but there would be closure. It wouldn’t be a mystery, whose answer had only been assumed after so many years of silence, like the deaths of their Commanders. Her friends. Her family. Despite her determination to show no fear for as long as she was capable, the door slamming open made her jump. The motion made her sway unsteadily on her feet, her shoulders complaining at the movement. Angela would welcome the distraction from her thoughts if it weren’t for the fact that it heralded far worse than what her mind could conjure. The blinding lights, shining hot and bright from the ceiling somewhere above, kept her from seeing her captors as they entered the room. There were at least two – perhaps three – sets of footsteps before the door slammed shut again. Suitably warned of her audience, though she was confident that someone was watching her even when she was alone, she kept her chin up and her face schooled in a calm veneer. It was a well-used expression that came easily to her after so many years of practice. Silence. Angela wondered if they expected her to break it, to demand answers that she would never receive. Perhaps, were she standing on her own ground, she would challenge them, but here? She was positive that she had never been more aware of her fragility. Of her mortality. She didn’t know what game they were playing, what tactics they were using. It didn’t particularly matter; Angela had plenty of patience. While she wasn’t certain her silence would bring a better or worse outcome – she wasn’t versed in interrogation (her mind skittered away from the more horrible word that applied to her situation) techniques – she would remain silent, regardless. Angela wasn’t under any illusions that she would escape this unscathed. She didn’t even believe she would escape at all. Still, her pride demanded that she make whatever stand she could. She was Dr. Angela Ziegler. She was the last bastion of Overwatch, their Mercy. Angela could – would – rise to the challenge and don the mantle of a hero one last time. A hand yanked her head back by her hair suddenly, turning her vision a blinding white before she could screw her eyes shut against the light and pain. That was when the demands began. Where were the prior members of Overwatch? Who would answer the call of reformation? Where would they make their home base? They enumerated names – Cole Cassidy, Howard Remington, Wilhelm Reinhardt – throughout, asking for specific information on every person she might still be in communication with. There were questions about her medical research, words awkwardly shaped by mouths that didn’t understand what they were asking. Angela refused to answer. Every time a question was met with silence, they would strike a blow. On her chest, just below her collarbone; her back, mere inches above her kidneys; her stomach, choking her as she gasped for air and swallowed back bile. She had never experienced violence, not personally, without her Valkyrie suit. She lamented its absence, wishing for the pain relief it brought. Instead, she had to grit her teeth and bear it. She reminded herself firmly that she had suffered before. Angela had been shot multiple times on varying occasions, had a building collapse on her, had darted through flames – but she’d had the Valkyrie suit to support her through it. Without it, those experiences were minimal compared to all that would come in this room. Her head bowed, hairs that had come loose from the bun she had tied just this morning – was it still the same day? She didn’t know – fanning around her face, and her eyes closed as she forced herself to do nothing more than grunt in pain. As they methodically dealt blows to her, she could feel the nanites within her body, putting her back together. They were her miracle, her salvation, her devastation. Angela’s body would heal much quicker than any human could naturally heal – though not anywhere near instantaneous – and prolong her agony in this terrible place. If they waited long enough, her body would be just as whole as it was when they brought her here; they wouldn’t have to lift a finger in her care. Angela didn’t know how long they stayed in the room with her. With her medical prowess and combat experience, she knew that they had done no lasting harm in this opening act. There were bruises, but they had broken nothing. They had taken care to avoid her kidneys and spine when they struck her back – and they hadn’t once touched her head at all after they released her hair at the very beginning. They were only warming up. The men – she assumed they were all men, as the lights had been far too bright for her to make out any of their features – had filed out as quietly as they had come. Angela did not hear it lock, but why would it? She wasn’t a flight risk; she couldn’t even protect herself, much less stage an escape from these chains. The lights remained on as she stood, swaying slightly on her feet, in her cage. Her head remained bowed, and her breathing was coming in ragged gasps through bruised ribs. Angela had told herself to be brave, to protect her friends and family unto death itself – but that was a simple decision when it was calm and still. It was so much harder when the pain was real, not imagined, and death was approaching one slow, agonizing inch at a time. Each blow that struck her body had also struck her resolution, battering against the walls she had erected around her heart and soul so she could be this last, final defense. She could only hope that she could hold her conviction close in the coming days when things would be even more desolate. Somehow, despite it all, she must survive.

The Reaper had watched, arms crossed and face impassive behind his mask, as the doctor was beaten. Gabriel wasn’t sure what he had expected to feel, watching her bite back sounds of pain and struggle to keep herself hidden away behind her aloof mask. The Reaper had no such qualms. He held a vicious glee, born from the sight of her dangling helplessly from her chains. It wasn’t quite the same as the euphoria he had felt when he had held her helpless form in his hands, but it had a terrible similarity. Her invisible flesh, hidden behind the scrubs she had been wearing when he had captured her, tempered the emotion. Though he was familiar enough with her body to imagine the mottled purple-black that would decorate her skin, it wasn’t quite the same. Indeed, he felt rage and resentment, ever-present whenever the Reaper looked upon the woman that had cursed them. It had grown, bottled up inside his dark heart, and was now finding some release as he took in her battered form. The relief was minor; without her blood, her bruised flesh, her screams, it was barely worth the effort of watching this first session. Angela had taken many painfully calculated blows, but it had been gentle compared to the misery he knew those men were capable of. He wasn’t sure if they had underestimated the doctor, as he had, or if they were just testing the waters. Gabriel had known that she would take blows – she was far too stubborn for her own good, just like another specter from his past. What he hadn’t expected was that she would remain silent the entire time. The Reaper felt robbed, somehow. Cheated. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to break, to scream, cry, beg, do something other than hang there in near-perfect silence. Angela had never had the highest pain tolerance, relying heavily on the Valkyrie suit to ignore injuries, and yet she had endured with barely a sound. Even now, she was collecting herself, her labored pants turning to soft breaths as she hung there with her head bowed. But maybe he was the fool. It had been years since he had experienced the power that was Dr. Angela Ziegler. He had forgotten how fiercely protective she was. Had forgotten that she forced her way onto battlefields to defend what was hers, because that was her duty. Had forgotten the iron steel that surrounded her heart, that she had to have to carry the burdens she so willingly shouldered. Had forgotten that she never showed weakness before anyone, that she always hid it away to deal with in private. Gabriel had only forgotten because, at one time, he had been the only exception to her rule. He had been the one she had turned to when everything – the research, missions, surgeries, nightmares, deaths – became too hard to carry alone. While Gabriel had never succeeded in taking the weight from her shoulders, it had been his honor to support her while she recovered. He had been the only one to see how terribly affected she was by everything. When she graced everyone else with steely eyes and gentle smiles, she had allowed him to see her nagging self-doubt and endless guilt. He had seen her, all of her. From grief-stricken after Ana’s death to worry when Jack had been airlifted back to Zürich. Her incandescent rage when Gabriel had demanded she stay out of the field to pure terror after he had taken a bullet for her. The stark relief when he returned home after a dangerous mission to mindless bliss within the safety of their bed. Everything that she was, he had seen – and could still see, even now. Gabriel could read her better than anyone in the world. He knew the little signs, the tells that gave her away to him; even after all this time, she was still the same. Angela had a tight grip on her emotions – always had – but Gabriel could see the terror that she had masked behind the stone wall of her face. Others might miss it, think she was just as unfeeling as her reputation had claimed, but he knew better. She felt more intensely and more purely than any other person he’d ever known. But, to survive as a child prodigy, as a medical genius ten years younger than her peers, she had to become more. As a girl and then a woman, Angela learned that the world would use her emotions as a weapon against her – so she had hidden them from sight. Even among friends – even alone with him – she’d had a hard time dropping those walls. Here, those walls would be put to the ultimate test. The Reaper intended to see them fall, brick by brick, until there was nothing left but a quivering human in the place of the angel. And then, once she had been brought back to Earth, he would kill her like the mortal she was.

Cole frowned down at the communicator in his hand. He had called to check in on Angela the afternoon before, but he hadn’t heard from her. That was unlike her; since the fall of Overwatch, she had always answered – or called back if she truly was incapable of answering – when they called. He knew she worried about them, the family that she had been the heart of, even now – perhaps especially now – when they were no longer her responsibility. Angela would drop nearly everything to go to one of them if they called, no matter how far the distance. Cole knew that he – and many, if not all – of the others would do the same for her. She was theirs just as much as they were hers. The cowboy wondered if it was Winston’s message, sent four nights ago, that was keeping her silent. Perhaps she thought one of them would try to talk her into – or out of – recreating the organization that had brought them together. That didn’t sound like the Angela he knew, though. Cole thought she might be more likely to receive a call right now. She wasn’t one to avoid a conversation just because it might be uncomfortable. It was that knowledge that had him dialing another number. “Hi there, Cassidy,” Winston’s voice filled his ear. At least he knew it wasn’t technical difficulties keeping him from hearing from their doctor. “I wasn’t sure I would hear from you.” If Angela hadn’t gone dark, Cole wouldn’t have called in at all – not yet, at least. He hadn’t decided if he wanted to go back, to try again after everything that had happened. “Hey there, big guy.” He and Winston weren’t close – their paths hadn’t crossed much during their time with Overwatch, given that Winston wasn’t exactly stealthy – but they were amicable enough. “I’m not callin’ ‘bout Overwatch, not right now, anyway.” He admitted, quickly changing the subject. “Have ya heard from Ange in the last coupla days? I can’t seem t’get ahold’a her.” “Dr. Ziegler?” Cole rolled his eyes. Angela had been Winston’s first friend and champion – had gotten into quite a bit of trouble over the gorilla, in fact, if he recalled correctly – and Winston still didn’t call her by name. “I haven’t heard from her since I sent the recall out. Athena,” Winston turned his attention away from Cole for a moment, “did Dr. Ziegler view the recall?” “My files indicate that she viewed your message one hour and thirty-seven minutes after you sent it.” A digitized feminine voice replied after a moment. It had been a long time since he’d heard Athena’s voice. She was an AI that his friend, Dr. Liao, had created, and now served as Winston’s assistant and advisor after Overwatch had disbanded. She was amazingly smart and had been a great asset for all of them – just as Dr. Liao had once been. “So, she got th’ message,” Cole mused. “Wonder why she ain’t answerin’ then.” Clearly, it wasn’t a problem of technology. She simply wasn’t answering or returning calls – at least, not his calls. Just because Winston hadn’t heard from her didn’t mean she wasn’t calling people. “Can Athena tell if she’s talked t’anyone?” Winston relayed the question. “I do not show that Dr. Ziegler has made any calls since Winston sent out the recall. I show that she has received three calls – two from Cole Cassidy and one from Lena Oxton. None were accepted.” The amount of information Athena could access was terrifying. All their electrical equipment – communicators, comm systems, probably Angela’s staff for all he knew – were connected to Athena since before Overwatch fell. Most had left those systems alone, though he was pretty sure some people had disabled it. “That ain’ like her.” Now Cole was even more worried. He had hoped it was just him – either she was avoiding talking to him for some reason, or their communicators were just busted – but she wasn’t talking to anyone. Before the fall, he could maybe see Angela getting distracted enough to forget to return a call or two, but now? Since the fall – since they’d lost so much – she had always answered and made time for them. “No, it isn’t.” Winston agreed gravely. There wasn’t much either of them could do about it, though. Cole was hunkered down in an abandoned house in the middle of Arkansas, trying to let the heat die down. His bounty, somewhere in the ballpark of seventy million the last time he’d checked, made it hard for him to get around sometimes. Likewise, Winston was stuck in Watchpoint: Gibraltar – though he might be moving since Talon was aware of his location and he was trying to raise Overwatch back from the dead. “Her communicator is still at her last known address. The Valkyrie and Caduceus systems are down.” Athena added helpfully as the two tried to figure out what to do. “Last known location is also her last known address.” That wasn’t like her. Angela didn’t go off the grid – she was the goddamned grid. Everywhere she went, she made waves, whether she wanted to or not. “Lemme make a call, see if I can’t get someone to go look in on her.” Cole only knew of one person in that part of the world. Hopefully, she’d be willing and able to get away long enough to help them out. He disconnected and dialed a second number. “C’mon, pick up already.” He grumbled under his breath as it rang and rang. “You have reached Captain Fareeha Amari of Helix Security International.” Of course he’d be sent to voicemail; that was just his luck. “Please leave your number and a detailed message, and I will get back to you as soon as I can.” There was a brief pause, and then a beep indicated that it was his turn to speak. “Hey there, Fareeha, it’s Cole.” He worried about leaving his name on her voicemail – he didn’t want her to get in trouble for associating with a criminal. “Y’might not remember me, but I used t’work with your mom. Couldja call me back, soon as ya get this? It’s real important.” He left his number and hung up, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake. Now came the waiting.

---

“‘lo?” He answered groggily, shoving his hat back into place and rubbing at his face with his free hand. It had been hours since he had left the voicemail; he wasn’t sure if he would even get a response today – or ever. “Cole?” Fareeha’s voice was quiet, like she was trying not to be overheard. That was fair – he was a criminal with an enormous bounty on his head. Someone like her – a Captain, taking after her mother – shouldn’t be seen interacting with someone like him. If it hadn’t been for Angela, he never would have called at all. “Yeah – yeah, it’s me.” He sat up, more alert now. Cole had forgotten what a pain time zones were; he’d probably called her in the middle of the night, just like she had. At least he had woken up. “Sorry for callin’ outta th’ blue like this. Doubt ya even remember me.” He’d spoken to her a few times before everything came crashing down, but Ana had tried to keep Fareeha separate from Overwatch as much as possible. “You let me wear your hat, once.” Her voice was wistful, reminiscent of her younger days. “My mother took a picture; I have it somewhere.” Huh. So she remembered him, after all. Now he felt a little guilty, not calling and checking on the younger Amari. Ana would have wanted him to do that. Angela had, he knew – but she checked on everyone. “What’s happened?” God, she sounded so much like her mother. Ana always cut to the heart of the matter, too, rarely tolerating idle chit-chat when there were things to be done. “It’s Ange. Uh,” she probably didn’t know Angela by that name, “I mean, Angela. Dr. Ziegler – Mercy.” The names tumbled over each other awkwardly; it had been a long time since he had used any of them. “We can’t seem t’get ahold’a her. I was wonderin’ if you could maybe go check in on her?” It was a long shot, but it was the only shot he had. If he had to go, it would be days before he reached Cairo. “I don’t know if I can get away,” Fareeha said after a moment of consideration. Cole relaxed a little; she wasn’t going to blow him off. “Where is she? If it’s close, maybe I won’t have to ask.” Cole pulled up the address and read it off to her. “Hmm, too far.” Fareeha sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.” It wasn’t much, but it was better than ‘no’ at least. “I really appreciate it, Fareeha. Really.” He tried to pump as much sincerity into the words. Fareeha didn’t have to do this for a stranger from her mothers’ past, but she was willing to try, anyway. “She’s my friend, too.” She hung up before he could respond. That blade of guilt twisted in his heart again. He was an ass. If they were both alive at the end of this, Cole would make up for it. Do what Ana would have done for them, what Angela did for them. He looked at his silent communicator, blinking the time – it was just a little past three in the morning. With a sigh, he set it back onto the floor next to him. Cole leaned back against the wall and pulled his hat down over his face once more. Maybe they were all overreacting. Maybe something had kept Angela busy these past days, so busy she came home too exhausted to do more than crawl into bed. That was something he could see her doing – she was notorious for it – but wouldn’t she call back in the morning? It just didn’t sit right with him. Cole closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable on the hard floor so he could get some rest. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

Here you are down on your knees again, Trying to find air to breathe again; And only surrender will help you now. - Again [Flyleaf]

Act One | Act Two | Act Three | Act Four | Act Five | Act Six

An Angel’s Ransom

You just refuse to bend So I keep bending ‘til I break - Right Here [Staind] Febuwhump Day 21: “Torture” | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel

AO3 | FF.net | Works

They had blindfolded her and half–carried her along; she wasn’t sure, but she thought that they had taken her underground. A door opened, the sound echoing hollowly. Before she could consider her location too much, Angela was shoved unceremoniously to her knees; if it weren’t for the Valkyrie suit they hadn’t stripped from her, she knew it would have been painful. “What are you doing?” Angela demanded breathlessly, as if she were in any kind of position to demand anything. She was ignored as they yanked roughly at her arms. Her wrists were handcuffed, the metal biting deep enough into her wrists that – even through the Valkyrie suit – she could feel it, above her head on either side of her. They were pulled back slightly, just enough to strain at her shoulders no matter how she shifted. Angela didn’t particularly want to be cooperative in her capture, but she didn’t struggle – she didn’t think anything good could come of her resistance. Then again, nothing good had come from her capitulation, either. Brusquely, they moved to chain her ankles together, pressing them so tightly together that Angela doubted even a hair could fit between them. It left her kneeling uncomfortably on the ground, forced to hold her weight either in her thighs or to rest awkwardly on her ankles as she was pulled ever so slightly backwards. It was then that they removed the blindfold. Blinking, Angela took in her surroundings. The floor was hard–packed dirt that was nearly as unyielding as concrete. Tarp and plastic covered the walls; what wasn’t covered looked to be the same material as the floor beneath her. The space was lit by two bare bulbs, hanging loose on their wires that drooped haphazardly from the ceiling. The man left the room, slamming the door – metal instead of wood, surprisingly – behind him. Before the echo could fade away, Angela was pulling against the chains that bound her. It was a fruitless venture that didn’t last very long – the chains were too strong to pull away from the wall or apart from itself, and they were too tight against her flesh to allow her to do anything more than flay her skin. Angela worried at her lip briefly, considering her situation – which was rather grim, all–in–all. She had no idea where she was. They hadn’t used an aircraft to take her away – probably because Overwatch would have noticed such a thing – so Angela knew she couldn’t be too far away from where she had been captured. Still, that left a lot of places to hide. Based on the room she was in – and the stairs she was pretty sure they’d carried her down – it could be an unfinished construction site or even the beginnings of a basement addition to an existing building. She didn’t know who had captured her. She did know they were vicious and ruthless – there had been no reason to kill those civilians, except for the fact that that room had seen the three men who had taken Angela. They also had left her staff behind; that was a marvel of medical engineering that many would kill to get their hands on. Briefly, Angela hoped that the staff made it back to Overwatch instead of enemy hands. She didn’t even know what they wanted from her. No one had spoken to her after that man’s declaration: ‘I lied.’ That Angela was chained away in this room told her that she wasn’t wanted for her medical expertise – if they had, wouldn’t they have just taken her to whatever room or ward their injured or sick were within? But, she did know some things. There was no end to the knowledge they might want to pull from her, whether it was Overwatch or medical in nature. She was a valuable asset, even if she weren’t a soldier or military leader. She knew her position as Chief of Medicine was a dangerous one – though, of course, not nearly as dangerous as the roles Jack or Gabriel held. That she went into the field as a combat medic only added to that fact. She was the innovative, ground–breaking medical researcher that had developed nanotechnology that had revolutionized the world. Based on limited conversations and stupid movies that Gabriel had picked for them to watch, Angela also knew that her chances for survival were low. They hadn’t hidden their faces from her, and they had killed all witnesses to her capture, after all. She shifted again, doing her best to find a comfortable position even as she knew it was impossible, and tried to stave off her terror and grief.

---

Angela hated sitting idle, alone with nothing but her thoughts to occupy her. She had already exhausted her worry for what might happen to her here at the hands of these men. From the absolute best–case scenario – where the chains were all she faced – to the worst–case scenario – where she was brutalized and left to bleed out slowly: Angela had tormented herself through them all. Considering her medical expertise and history with traumatic injuries, it wasn’t hard to imagine all sorts of horrors happening to her here. Now she was stewing in guilt. Angela had caused the deaths of – at least – twenty men, women, and children. While she may not have pulled the trigger herself, they had only died because Angela had come to them. They may not have survived – probably would not have survived – without medical attention; where typically her presence guaranteed survival, this time it had guaranteed nothing but death. It was agony, despair eating at her from the inside. Angela was no stranger to death and the guilt that it brought – but this? The screams still echoed in her ears, hours later. Angela knew they would haunt her nightmares for years to come, just as surely as whatever she would face in this room would – assuming she ever left it. Her cool, calm facade – the outward face of Dr. Ziegler that everyone saw, that caused people to whisper that she was ‘cold’ and ‘unfeeling’ – was normally summoned and held with barely a thought. Here in this room, where the fear of the unknown and her hopeless thoughts ran free, she found herself struggling to hold onto it. But her pride demanded that she not give these men – these monsters – anything that they did not drag out of her.

---

She was exhausted. Angela, per her usual, had only slept a fitful six–or–so hours before waking up on this horrible day. It had been only a handful of hours later that she had left Zürich in her Valkyrie suit. Angela had no way of telling how long she had been held here in this room of dirt, but she knew it had been hours. The adrenaline had worn off long ago, leaving only nervous anxiety and nauseating terror. Fear was exhausting. The chains, forcing her to hold the uncomfortable positioning, were exhausting. Her whole body tensed when the door opened again, head jerking up to watch three men enter the room; none were familiar to her, though one, surprisingly, had his face covered. One busied himself against the wall directly across from her; she ignored him in favor of the two approaching her. “I trust you have found your accommodations acceptable, Dr. Ziegler.” The one directly before her remarked cheerfully as the third man – the one whose face she couldn’t see – peeled away to stand somewhere behind her. It was an act of will to not crane her neck to see where he went; instead, she fixed her eyes on the speaker. “Your bedside manner is lacking,” Angela responded acerbically. She knew she shouldn’t push – this wasn’t her home, where it was safe to say such things – but fear made her tongue looser than it should be. “I would be more than happy to give you some lessons.” Surprisingly, the man threw his head back and laughed – and then struck her face, hard and fast. Angela’s teeth caught the inside of her cheek, and she could taste blood as her head turned with the force of the blow. The pain was sharp but brief as the Valkyrie suit wicked it away. The surprise – and the visceral fear – was, unfortunately, left behind. “You will watch how you speak to me, doctor,” he growled. As her tongue probed the inside of her mouth, assessing the damage, the man stepped back. “Now,” his voice was bright again, showing none of the malice from his previous words, “we have much to do.” His eyes moved past her form towards the man behind her. “Proceed.” Rough hands landed upon her suit, wrenching at her right–wing in a manner that was wholly ineffective at removing it from her back. Instead, they cracked it and ripped some of the ‘feathers’ away to scatter around her before leaving it to droop limply. It brushed against her leg, though she wasn’t exactly how bad the damage was. “Perfect,” the speaker announced eventually. The hands pulled away. “It’s all about appearances,” the speaker explained as if imparting some great life advice while the man behind her moved into her line of sight. “I’m sure you, of all people, understand that, Dr. Ziegler.” While Angela was definitely one for keeping up the appearance of professionalism, she had no idea what the man meant in this context. “Now, for the doctor herself.” Before Angela could realize what his words meant, the breath was knocked from her as she was punched in the stomach. The Valkyrie suit may be able to remove pain, but it couldn’t fix her retching and desperate gasps as she tried to regain her breath. Before she fully recovered, Angela took another blow to the chest and a third to the back. “Wait.” The speaker demanded after the fourth blow – a kick to her bound legs. Hard fingers gripped her chin and tipped her head back, the man staring down at her contemplatively. “How interesting,” he remarked after a moment. “I had heard you were emotionless – and that was clearly an exaggeration.” Angela had tried to wall away her terror and mounting horror, but, clearly, her aloof facade was breaking down. “But I didn’t hear that you couldn’t feel pain.” The speaker must have signaled the masked man, because another blow landed heavily against her shoulder blades. “How disappointing,” he sighed. “I hate settling, but we have a timetable to follow.” He released her, stepping back once more. “Rough her face up a bit; at least she can look beaten even if she doesn’t feel it.” He ordered over one shoulder as he went to speak quietly to the third – mostly forgotten – man against the far wall.

It had taken Gabriel almost no time at all to reach the war room. He had only remained in Rome long enough to bark orders and delegate his duties, then he had made his way to Zürich. He had just landed when a grim–faced Jack had met him, urging Gabriel to follow the blonde. It was only the two of them, standing because neither could bear to handle this sitting down, when they watched the recording. It started with proof of life. A device showing four clocks bearing different time–zones was held before the screen in an attempt to prove that this video had been taken less than an hour ago. Gabriel knew there were ways to fake such things, but he held on to the hope that it was true regardless. Then, the device fell away to reveal Angela. She was still in her Valkyrie suit and Overwatch blues. One wing had been damaged and was dangling behind her; Gabriel doubted the damage was done during Angela’s capture, considering the ‘feathers’ scattered around her. No, that had been done deliberately to make her appear more fragile and broken – though Gabriel hoped, prayed, that they would recover her before that truly occurred. Her head was bowed, hair hanging limply to block her face as her shoulders rose and fell in short, panicked breaths. He ground his teeth as he took in the chains that bound her. Gabriel recognized the stress position for what it was; he had too much experience with Blackwatch interrogation not to. He couldn’t tell from the camera’s position how tight they were, but he doubted it was anything comfortable. Then, a man strode into the frame then. In one smooth motion that told Gabriel that this wasn’t the first time that man had done something like this, the man in the video grabbed Angela’s hair and yanked her head back. Gabriel shifted uncomfortably, hands bunching into fists, as he took in Angela’s face. Her eyes were bright and watering. Gabriel wasn’t sure if it was from terror, pain, or just an uncontrollable physical reaction – but it didn’t matter. Already, her face was swelling with the beginnings of bruises and there was blood on her lips. They had gagged her; with what, he wasn’t exactly sure, but it was held in place by a black cord. It was far too tight – he could see where it bit into her cheeks. After a long pause, the man released her hair. Angela allowed her head to drop forward, hiding her face from the camera once more. Gabriel wasn’t sure if it was from exhaustion or some attempt to protect them – him, Jack, anyone else that saw this video – from the sight of her battered face. The man began speaking, listing his demands. First, he wanted the release of five men and two women. Gabriel recognized the names as some of the captives within Blackwatch interrogation cells – and from the way Jack stiffened, Gabriel assumed some of those people were being held by Overwatch. Second, he wanted the Watchpoints in Tashkent, Uzbekistan and Karagandy, Kazakhstan to be dismantled. Finally, he wanted Strike Commander Morrison to be stripped of his position and removed from Overwatch entirely. Were the situation less horrific – if it weren't Angela being held hostage – Gabriel might have made a quip about that last demand. Gabriel's eyes bounced between the speaker and Angela as he spoke. He noticed Angela tense before slumping in resignation at the demands they all knew could never be fulfilled. Not even for the prodigal doctor, their Mercy, could even one of those terms be fulfilled. Once the demands were laid out, the man turned slightly to regard Angela with cold eyes before looking back to the camera. “You have one day to comply with these demands. If, by tomorrow at this time, you have not complied – well.” He looked at Angela again. “Your angel here will bear the weight of your failure.” The video cut out then. “Play it again,” Gabriel demanded; he had to figure out where she was – now that he had heard the message, perhaps there was something in the video that could help find her. After a second viewing, Gabriel sank down into one of the many chairs within the war room to think. “You know we can’t give them what they want.” Jack choked out. Gabriel tensed at the reminder; his people had nothing to go on and hadn’t had luck in finding her yet – there was no way to save her from whatever they had in mind for her tomorrow. “Send the footage to my analyst; maybe he can figure out where it came from,” Gabriel ordered, completely ignoring the blonde's words – as if that were enough to protect Angela. “Cassidy and Genji are out in the field now, searching. I’ll—” “We need you here, Gabe,” Jack interrupted. Gabriel knew, rationally, that he had a responsibility to Blackwatch – and Overwatch. He knew that he couldn't just go off into the field – but it was Angela. “I need to be out there,” he snapped back, even though he knew it was wrong. He knew Angela wouldn’t want him to abandon his duty – his responsibilities – for her sake, but that didn’t matter either. “It could be a trap, Gabe.” Jack reasoned. “They could be using her as bait for either one of us.” While the relationship between Angela and Gabriel was a tightly held secret, the friendship between the three was well known. Jack’s shoulders dropped. “You know she wouldn’t – doesn’t – want us to go after her without a plan.” No, she wouldn’t want them to go after her at all if it meant one of them – one of those she did her best to protect and put back together – would be hurt. “They will break her, Jack.” He whispered finally, one hand over his face as he slumped back in his seat. “Angela is strong,” Jack replied, though Gabriel wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. They both knew that she was strong – but this required a different kind of strength, a type that Gabriel wasn’t sure Angela had. “We have to find her, Jack.” Gabriel rose; there was far too little time, and there was too much to do – too much to say. God, how he hated Jack at this moment. They had been at odds for the last year, but he hadn’t hated the blonde man until now. Gabriel knew it was irrational – knew Jack wouldn’t risk Angela unnecessarily or without care – but it didn’t matter. “Meet back here in a few hours?” He ground out; there would be time for arguing – time for laying the blame and vengeance – once Angela was recovered. Jack nodded his understanding as Gabriel turned away. Gabriel strode away, heading for the room that had once been his office – and still was, for all intents and purposes.

“It really is too bad that the suit was in the way,” the speaker remarked, one hand running along the Valkyrie suit. They had torn it from her body, destroying some of the buckles and further damaging the wings with their rough handling, before tossing it onto a table they had dragged in – apparently for that express purpose. “A chained angel? What a perfect visual,” the man sighed. “But, I must uphold my end of the bargain since your friends,” he dragged the word out mockingly, “have decided to not to uphold theirs.” Angela had known, even before the terms had been laid out, that Jack – Gabriel – would not have given in. Not even for her could Overwatch capitulate – not without setting a far too dangerous precedent. “Shall we begin, then?” He asked, as if it were really up to her. They struck her from behind this time, eliciting a cry from her; without the Valkyrie suit, Angela was vulnerable to the pain. The blows rained down, battering and bruising her. Mostly she grunted and groaned, though some left her gasping, and once or twice she let out a sharp cry. “That's enough for now.” The speaker announced finally in a bored voice. As she gasped and shook, tears streaking her cheeks, the man continued speaking. “You know my demands. For each day you do not comply, her,” Angela assumed he gestured towards her, “punishment shall only get worse.” Before Angela could get the breath to say anything, to try to yell out something to her friends that would surely see this video, it was too late. What would she say, even if she could? She couldn't tell them it was okay, that she would be fine – not with the bruises peppering her skin and the blood in her mouth. But could she really beg them not to give in, knowing how bad she already hurt and, as the speaker said, that it would only get worse? Angela knew she couldn't beg them to find her, to end this before it went too far. She couldn’t lay that burden on them, not when it was her stubbornness and insistence that had led her to this room. Not when this had always been a possibility every time she went into the field. Not when she knew they were probably half–killing themselves as they searched and drowned in guilt and rage. No, there was nothing – nothing – she could say. One would be a lie, and one would hurt them even more than they already were.

---

The next day, they removed her chains and forced Angela to her feet. Her muscles protested and rebelled, but her captors didn't particularly care about her body’s limitations. They pressed her, chest first, against the wall and chained her arms above her head. She could taste the dirt of the wall with every breath, but that was the least of her problems. It wasn’t long before she discovered her newest punishment: whipping. There was something sharp at the tip that sheared through her thin catsuit and into her back. Angela couldn’t see it, but she knew that there were trails of blood slicking down her back with every stroke. Angela swallowed some of her screams, trying to hold to the knowledge that her friends – that Gabriel – would be seeing this. Still, some burst free along with the tears she tried to keep hidden. Once it was over, they pulled her down from the wall. Instead of chaining her back to the floor, they threw a hood over her head before carrying her bodily out of the room. She didn’t know where they were taking her – or why. Angela briefly entertained the hope that her friends were closing in, so they had to move before they were caught – but she wasn’t convinced. No, the more likely reason was that it was safer now to move her than it had been when they’d initially captured her. Hours later – this time they flew somewhere – she was chained back into the awful, familiar position. This time, the room was drywall and stained concrete; Angela didn’t look too closely at the stains. She tried to force back the despair, but it was hard. Even if her friends had been closing in on her location, she was long gone now – how would they ever find her? Angela knew they couldn’t give in to the demands, wouldn’t give up searching for her – but she didn’t know how long she could hold out.

---

On the fourth day of her capture, they whipped her again. Angela wasn’t sure if she should be grateful that they hadn’t escalated as much as they had promised or not – and then felt disgusted at the very thought. Before they began on the fifth day, the speaker approached her again. The last two days – videos – he had simply been a silent herald of her pain. “It seems you aren’t as valuable as the world has been made to believe, doctor.” He twisted the title into an insult. “It’s terribly disappointing – for you, most of all, I'm sure.” His voice was full of false sympathy – as if he weren’t the one that was orchestrating it all. The man paused, giving her time to reply – but what was there to say? Her pride would not allow her to beg – not yet, anyway – and Angela would not engage him in conversation as if she weren’t his prisoner. “Nothing to say?” He shrugged, a loose, uncaring motion that didn’t match his hard gaze. “That’s alright. You’ll speak soon enough.” With that cryptic remark, he waved at one of his men. They hadn't moved her to the wall – she was still in her uncomfortable, bordering painful, position on the ground – so Angela knew that this had to be an escalation of some sort. They pressed something to the open flesh on her back, just below Angela’s right shoulder blade. Then, her whole body was seizing; her back arched as her legs locked up, her mouth opened in a silent scream as her vision went white. What felt like an eternity later, her vision cleared and she panted, slumping heavily against the chains that held her arms up. “Again.” The speaker ordered; it was all the warning Angela got – but how do you prepare yourself for an electric shock? Her trembling body seized again, and this time a scream – sharp and shrill – managed to burst past her lips before her throat locked up as well. They repeated the cycle – blinding, screaming pain into shaking, gasping recovery – five times before the speaker was satisfied. As they filed out, despair truly overwhelmed her. Knowing there was nothing she could do – nothing anyone could do – to free her. In theory, Angela knew that Overwatch could capitulate, but she knew better. Her only escape would be rescue – or death.

---

Angela counted the days based on their visits; once a day, as the speaker promised, they punished her for the inaction of Overwatch. Sometimes the speaker would taunt her, but she bit her tongue and bowed her head; begging would get her nothing and nowhere. It had been two weeks of absolute hell. On the fifth day, when they fed her, they had tended to her wounds. They wouldn't want her to die too quickly, after all – though by now it should be obvious that her pain wasn’t going to break Overwatch, even if it was eventually going to break her. The seventh day had been mock–drowning; a rag was thrown over her face as her head was yanked back by her hair and held there roughly. Then, the water came down; rounds and rounds they went, agonizing and terrifying, before they’d left her there, soaked and shivering. They mixed it up the next few days; sometimes, she would be whipped and drowned; other times, she was electrocuted and beaten. And still, Overwatch refused to bend to the will of her captors – whoever they were. On that fourteenth day of her capture, they dragged in a table; it was placed with exceeding care before the camera. Dimly, Angela wondered what new horror they were going to inflict upon her.

It had been two weeks since Angela had been captured. They’d almost caught the bastards; they’d found the building they’d been holed up in, but by then, it had been two days too late. His analysts couldn’t pinpoint where the videos were originating, and the man in the videos was an unfamiliar enemy. The people he had demanded had been from three different groups – which narrowed it down slightly, but not enough. The Watchpoints affected two of those groups, which narrowed it down farther: so, they focused their gaze on them. It was all they had, and it was nowhere near enough. He and Jack were in the war room again; another video had been delivered. Gabriel was pacing, restless and terrified of what they were going to see this time. Gabriel could barely stand to be in the same room as Jack anymore – and when he did, he spoke in short, clipped sentences. Each day Angela was missing drove a wedge further and further between them. Every video, every wound, every scream was etched into his mind and soul – and Gabriel blamed Jack for each and every one. He was pretty sure Jack blamed himself, too. As always, they were alone for the first viewing. This was an unspoken agreement between the two; they would leave their animosity at the door for those horrific minutes that the video was playing. The emotions were too heavy, too raw, to watch the videos with anyone else, despite their growing rift. The videos were too horrible to watch with an enemy. Instead, they leaned on each other as they hadn’t since he had taken up the mantle of Blackwatch Commander. They suffered together through Angela’s torture. Jack’s grief and horror were equal to Gabriels’, his shame and guilt surpassing anything Gabriel could feel. These were laid bare, uncensored and unashamed, as they forced themselves to shoulder the weight of Angela’s pain. “You don’t have to watch this,” Jack said, as he had before every video. Gabriel shook his head; Jack was wrong. Gabriel had to watch them, had to see exactly what their failure was costing the one person he’d sworn to protect over all others. With a resigned sigh, Jack turned it on. A table came into view. The camera was angled so that it looked down slightly so that they would have a perfect view of whatever they were going to do to Angela this time. On the far side of it was Angela, still chained and bloody. “We’re going to try something different today,” the speaker announced cheerfully as he entered the room. Angela tensed but didn’t look up from the ground – not even when they began to unchain her. Gabriel wondered if she had struggled before – where they couldn’t see, when they were positioning her off–camera. Had they beaten it out of her, or had she realized the futility and, therefore, didn’t waste the energy? They half–carried, half–dragged her to the table; it was only once they forced her to bend over it, her hands chained to the far side, that he realized the nature of this particular horror. “Stop it,” he whispered hoarsely; Jack was quick to oblige. They might be at each other’s throats most days, but Gabriel knew that Jack didn’t want him to hurt – even though this whole thing, the loss of Angela, hurt. Gabriel took several deep breaths, one hand running over his head. “Do you know what they’re about to do?” He asked, low and solemn as he stared at Angela’s face. He could see it there – a new fear – but she hadn’t yet figured out what was coming. Jack let out a heavy breath. “Yes.” The answer was so quick that Gabriel wondered if Jack watched it before him – but if Jack had, Gabriel knew the blonde would have been far more desperate in his request for Gabriel not to watch. “You don’t—” “Yes, I do,” Gabriel growled, cutting him off. “You shouldn’t—” “It’s my burden, too.” This time it was Jack’s turn to cut him off, his quiet voice resigned but firm. Gabriel didn’t want Jack to see Angela like this – but, selfishly, he didn’t want to be alone to watch Angela suffer in this way – as if Angela wasn’t sitting somewhere, right now, suffering in the aftermath. He ran his hand over his head again before nodding sharply. “Start it.” It was once they started ripping and cutting away her catsuit that Angela realized what was happening – but, by then, it was far too late. Angela was bound, wrist and ankle, to the table. She thrashed and writhed then, trying to stave off what Gabriel knew was inevitable, to no avail. “Please,” she begged – and she never begged, not for anything or anyone, “please, don’t do this!” The words fell on deaf ears as they continued to restrain her. They forced her to look towards the camera with one heavy hand; her eyes were squeezed tight, but Gabriel didn’t have to see them to see her despair. “No!” She screamed when he entered her, eyes flying open to stare blankly as she struggled to escape again. The man pushed her head down harder with one hand, the other holding her hips in place. “Stop,” the word was a broken sound as the man pushed into her again with a groan. “Please.” Gabriel could barely hear the word for how soft it was. “Please.” The man ignored her pleas and continued thrusting. Slowly, her struggles became weaker and more feeble – and then she wasn’t struggling at all; Gabriel wasn’t sure if it was from pain or resignation. Instead, her hands were balled into tight fists and she trembled as the man continued to use and abuse her body. Around the same time, Angela had stopped begging; now, she was crying soundlessly in a way that tore at Gabriel’s heart. The minutes he spent watching that video were the longest and hardest minutes he’d ever endured – and he knew it had been infinitely worse for Angela. When her rapist finished, he was buried deep inside her. Angela sobbed then, a heartbreaking sound, as the man pulled away. “You know how to stop this,” the speaker said over Angela’s heavy, desperate breathing and pitiful cries. “Until tomorrow.” The video cut out, and for a moment, neither man could move. “No one else sees this,” Gabriel growled. It was bad enough that Jack had seen her in such a position; no one else has to see it. “I mean it, Jack – no one.” Numbly, Jack nodded. Before Gabriel could say – or do – something he would regret, he stormed out of the room.

---

Gabriel splashed cold water over his face with shaking hands. He was seething, absolutely enraged at what he had just watched – at what had happened to Angela. She never should have been in a position to be taken; she should have been protected, she should be safe. Jack should never have allowed her to be in the field without backup – no matter how much experience she had, she wasn’t a soldier and never would be. He wanted to tear into Jack, rip him apart for how he had failed Angela – but now wasn’t the time. Angela needed them, both of them, no matter how angry he was at Jack; until she was recovered, his rage would simmer until he could finally make it known. What parts of Gabriel that wasn’t enraged was sickened with guilt, with shame, with the terrible knowledge of what had happened to Angela. It had taken them too long; they hadn’t done enough – and she was the one paying for it. He wanted to be out there, searching and tearing the world apart until they found her – but instead, he was forced to remain here, in Zürich, trying to coordinate everyone. It felt like he was doing nothing – nothing except bear witness to the horrors that Angela was forced to carry on their behalf. When they found Angela – and they would, because they had to, because no other outcome was acceptable – he would kill every last one of them. Even if they hadn’t touched her, they had been a part of that, and he would not stand for her captors – her rapist – to continue breathing. But right now, he needed to find some semblance of balance. His rage was not helping Angela – this inactivity, here in her rooms that he had taken over during the search, was not helping her. His guilt, his shame, was not helping Angela – but that didn’t stop him from rounding her – their – bed to sit on her side of it. It had been so long that Angela’s pillow barely smelled of her anymore, but that didn’t stop Gabriel from pressing it to his face anyway. He sat there, simply breathing, as he tried to pull himself back together. He would put aside his rage, his shame, his everything, because Angela deserved nothing less. She deserved to be here, in their bed and safe – and he would make it so.

“I told you that you’d speak eventually,” the speaker whispered tauntingly as they stripped her bare. They chained her limp, naked body to the floor again and left her there, shaking and dripping. In that moment, she hated it – hated Overwatch – hated her position that had led to this room. Hated what these men were doing to her body, hated that she was being used as a – ineffective – weapon against everyone she loved. Hated everyone – these men for hurting her and her friends, even Gabriel, for not finding her and releasing her from this hell. All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry – but she couldn’t even do that. Instead, she slumped heavily against the chains and let her head droop. Distantly, she felt the bite in her wrists and the ache in her arms, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

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