Help me
It's like the walls are caving in
Sometimes I feel like giving up
But I just can't
It isn't in my blood

You're Tracer now.

With all senses deprived except for pain, it was becoming harder and harder to remember who she had been before. She knew she needed to remember, she had to keep them from taking her identity away; it was the only thing she had left.

Another strong surge of pain coursed through her, and she let out a muffled yell, biting down harshly on whatever was between her teeth and keeping her silent. She struggled against her restraints, feeling them dig into her flesh. She was being kept in darkness, so she had no idea who, if anyone, was watching her, or why.

Just accept what they want; the sooner you give in, the sooner this will end.

That seemed like the most logical thing to do; she had no concept of time, so she had no idea how long she'd been kept like this, though it felt like forever. Only feeling pain, never knowing what was going on around her… it was her own personal Hell.

No… don't give in.

There it was; the small part of her that willed her to keep going. Despite the pain and overwhelming want to give in, there was always a tiny part of her that still fought. It was becoming harder and harder to hear, but it was still there.

You're not an assassin; you don't have to be what they want.

Another surge of pain, and she let out another yell, her struggling resuming.

You're Lena… Lena Oxton… don't forget.

Amélie woke with a start, sitting upright in bed with a gasp. The images from her dream (more like a nightmare) still lingered; a dark room, the feeling of needles in her arms, silhouetted figures standing over her—

It's not real; you're back with Overwatch now.

That was truly, but only partially. Because at some point, it had been real; she had been spirited away in the night to some unknown location, where she had been subjected to… Amélie didn't even know what the right word was. Experiments, maybe? That sounded too horrible, as if she had only been some specimen for them to study, instead of a terrified woman.

Amélie paused a few moments longer, trying to collect herself before she got to her feet and headed over to her closet. After dressing for the day, Amélie returned to stand in front of her mirror, beginning to pull her long hair back into a ponytail. She caught sight of her blue-tinged fingers in the mirror as she did so; the physical reminders that her nightmares had, at one point, been true. Amélie finished with her hair and looked down at her hands, the unnatural blue staring back at her. Angela hadn't been able to tell her decisively if it was permanent or not, and Amélie tricked herself into believing that every day, it was a little less blue.

Sometimes it almost worked.

The French woman paused a few moments longer, closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing. She was no longer in Talon's clutches; Overwatch had rescued her and she was safe now.

Safe. That was a concept that seemed so foreign now. She had thought Overwatch would keep her safe in the first place, and that had turned out to be less than true. They claimed that they had bolstered their defenses since then, but Amélie was still hesitant. Noises in the darkness still made her jump, and she always slept with her sniper rifle within arm's reach.

Amélie opened her eyes and took one last look in the mirror before she left the room, heading down the hallway and down the main staircase. Upon reaching the kitchen, she found Angela and Fareeha already present, though they both looked as though they had just rolled out of bed. Angela was dressed in her usual Capri leggings and shirt that looked suspiciously like it belonged to a certain Amari; Fareeha meanwhile looked much less put together. Dressed in boxers, a tank top, and two socks that were bunched up and didn't quite seem the same shade of blue.

Amélie became aware of the fact that she was internally judging, and she realized that she had been staring without giving any sort of greeting. "Salut."

The two looked up, and Fareeha's brow furrowed slightly. "You're already dressed? It's 8 A.M."

Amélie shrugged. "I did not realize there was a certain time for dressing."

"You could learn something from Amélie's dressing habits," Ana said, coming onto the kitchen and giving her daughter a look.

Fareeha scowled at that. "Once again, it's eight in the morning; most people have their coffee and breakfast before they get dressed."

"Oh I didn't mean the time; I meant not dressing like your closet threw up on you," Ana amended as she prepared her tea.

"Mom!"

Ana chuckled before she turned her attention to the French woman. "How are you feeling this morning, Amélie?"

Amélie's eyes flashed towards present company for a brief moment before she replied, "As expected." Angela was the only person who knew the full extent of how she truly was, and she intended to keep it that way. There was no reason anyone else needed to know her business.

She could tell by their looks that they didn't entirely believe her, and in order to avoid discussing the matter further, the French woman moved to the coffeemaker, pulling her mug down from the cupboard ("Pardon my French") and pouring coffee into it. Upon taking the first sip however, she soon realized her mistake. The "coffee", if it could be called that, was the instant type Jack insisted on buying; not the type she usually drank. Amélie paused, holding the coffee in her mouth, not entirely wanting to swallow, but knowing that it would be considered "socially unacceptable" to spit it out.

Amélie finally forced herself to swallow it, though the expression on her face must have betrayed her true emotions.

"I suppose I should have warned you before you poured," Angela said, while Fareeha hid her amusement in her mug.

Amélie made a noise of agreement, setting her mug on the counter as she considered how wasteful they would think her if she dumped it down the sink.

"Do you feel ready to return to training?" Ana asked.

That caused Amélie to pause. Training as Ana's apprentice seemed a lifetime ago; she had certainly shown a knack for the craft, but after everything that had happened… her hands shook just holding her rifle. Firing it and actually hitting a target seemed impossible.

Angela seemed to sense Amélie's hesitation and said, "Perhaps this is something we should discuss later?"

"It is a simple question—"

"Later," Angela said, a bit more insistently.

Ana didn't look entirely ready to drop the subject, but she didn't press further.

"He's starting to ask questions; he want results."

Moira didn't look up from the tablet in her hands. "You can tell him that he will have answers very soon."

Reaper crossed his arms, looking at the subject in the tank. Whatever she was experiencing was obviously less than pleasant, as she was currently struggling against her restraints, her yells muffled. "Antonio is not a patient man, and when he finds out that all his funding went to one girl—"

"He is in no position to judge, and neither are you." Moira finally looked up, giving Reaper an annoyed look. "I cannot rush the natural progression of science."

"I am merely relaying a message, and as long as he supplies us with funds, he is in the position to do anything he wants," Reaper said.

Moira didn't reply to that, instead turning her attention back to the tank. "Well, he won't have to wait much longer; this phase of her reprogramming is almost complete."

Reaper paused, and if he was wearing any irritated or otherwise expression, it couldn't be seen behind his mask. "Let me know when it is," he said before he left the lab.

Moira paused for a few moments before she said, "I know you're here Sombra." The redhead looked back down at her tablet, even as she heard footsteps behind her.

"You are very suspicious; you always think I am spying on you," Sombra said, sitting on the table beside Moira.

"You are always spying on me; you're a pest that gets into everything, and the only difference is that I am not allowed to exterminate you. Now off." Moira shooed Sombra off the table, and the hacker muttered some choice Spanish before she turned to face the tank.

"So how much longer is 'almost complete' for you?" Sombra asked. "Because for me it's about five minutes—"

"Do you have anything useful to say, or are you just here to annoy me?" Moira interrupted; she was used to putting up with Sombra, but was never entirely in the mood for it.

"I just want to check up on my investment; that technology I stole could have been put to a much better use."

Moira set her jaw; she was getting a little fed up with everyone casting doubt on her project. "Rest assured, I am putting it to good use, which will be seen very soon."

"You know, you're just using varied phrases without giving an actual timeline—"

"Tomorrow, Sombra. Are you happy now?"

The hacker grinned slightly. "Now was that so difficult?"

"Extremely. Now, if there is nothing else, leave me. I am still busy, and every distraction delays my work."

"All right, hurtful message received," Sombra said, putting her hands up defensively. "I look forward to seeing the big reveal tomorrow." The hacker finally left, and Moira let out a sigh, turning her attention to the tank. She approached and watched the subject inside, who had finally stopped struggling and was currently still.

"Tomorrow we show them the result of my hard work. Don't disappoint me."

Angela's office was comfortable enough, but despite everything the doctor had done to make it hospitable, it was still a doctor's office. Amélie was never fully relaxed during her sessions with Angela; then again, she supposed she had never been fully relaxed since her rescue from Talon. She was always slightly on edge, always ready to run or fight if her life depended on it.

"Amélie?"

The French woman was pulled back to the present by Angela's voice, and she realized that the doctor was looking at her expectantly. "Hmm?"

"I asked if you were ready to begin."

"Oh… yes."

Angela had to keep from frowning externally; therapy was not her area of expertise. She was a combat medic primarily, but what Amélie was suffering from… it was not something she could simply bandage and allow to heal. Amélie's wound was a mental one; it was the equivalent of attempting to heal a bullet wound by periodically shoving a knife into it.

She could still remember when Amélie had been brought back to the HQ after being kidnapped. She could remember working late in her office when she heard the call of "We found Amélie!" She remembered running into the main room with the others and watching as they brought Amélie in; from her hands to her elbows, Amélie's skin was an unnatural blue. Her arms seemed locked at the elbows, and she was shaking violently. Gerard had run to his wife to embrace her, though Amélie barely seemed to register he was there. But the thing Angela remembered the most was the fact that the French woman's eyes looked haunted, as though she had borne witness to something too horrible to describe.

It had taken them a month, but they had managed to rescue her from the grasp of Talon; now Angela feared they had only managed to rescue her physically.

"How would you like to begin today?" Angela asked, turning her attention back to the matter at hand.

Amélie didn't reply, instead looking down at her blue tinged fingers.

Angela paused a moment before she tried again. "Are you still having the nightmares?"

"Unfortunately."

Amélie was a bit more shut off today; Angela had a feeling that the French woman was never entirely open with her, but there were times when Amélie spoke more than others.

"I want to return to training with Ana."

That took Angela by surprise. "You don't need to feel pressured to accept just because Ana asked—"

"Her asking does not influence my decision; I cannot stand being idle any longer. I need to do something to occupy my time, and if I can help Overwatch, then I want to."

Angela worried her bottom lip, choosing her next words carefully. "Amélie, I understand you wanting to do something to keep from feeling helpless, but it has only been six months since Gerard's death—"

"I am aware of how long it has been." Amélie didn't want to talk about Gerard; she had opened that wound too many times before, had cried enough over his murder. "I am tired of being afraid; I am tired of jumping at every noise in the night, thinking Talon has returned for me. I need to do this."

Angela sighed, but what more could she say? If this was what Amélie felt she needed to help her recover, then how could Angela object? "All right, I suppose if you pass your physical, I can approve your return to training."

Pain. Still so much pain.

They had moved her, she knew that much. When she first felt hands on her, she had struggled, but that did little to ward off whoever had grabbed her. She could feel something being put on her, almost like a body suit, and suddenly the darkness ended.

She had been kept in the darkness for so long and hadn't been prepared for the sudden change. She let out a hiss and growl, throwing herself to the floor and covering her face with her hands in order to shield her eyes from the painfully blinding light. Whatever had been used to keep her quiet had been removed as well, but she seemed to have forgotten how to use her voice.

"Easy; it will take you a few moments to adjust," a cool, serrated voice said.

Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the change in light, and she lowered her hands hesitantly as she looked up at the tall figure looming over her.

"Welcome back to the world, Tracer. I suspect you're unsure of what's going on, but all you need to know is that it is in your best interest to follow orders. Disobedience will be met with an increase in pain; do you understand?"

Tracer… was that her name? No, no she had some other name… something she had tried so hard not to forget. She tried to focus, but couldn't through the pain. Whatever this suit was, whatever they had put on her… it felt as though her nerves were on fire. All she wanted to do was get it off, make it stop, anything to make it stop.

"Now, we'll need to run a few tests to evaluate your cognitive and motor skills—"

Tracer lunged for the woman, her actions fueled by her pain and rage.

Moira was quick to react to Tracer's attack, her hand shooting out and catching Tracer with her biotic grasp. The brunette fell to her knees, letting out a yell as she tried to fight through it.

"I understand your instinct to attack; the pain enrages you, and drives you to do something to distract yourself from it. However, you should learn very quickly that attacking me will only make your life more miserable." Moira paused a few moments longer before she released her grasp, and Tracer trembled slightly as the pain level ebbed.

So this woman was in control of her pain. Obey, and it would stay at a manageable (if never comfortable) level. If she didn't… well, she had already learned the repercussions of that.

"This is the result of millions of dollars and months of work? One girl?"

Moira glanced inside the small room, where Tracer was curled up in the corner, hands pressed tightly to her head. She had already tried in vain to pull the suit off herself, and once she realized it was staying put, she had moved into her current position. "Sombra is one girl, and look at all the trouble she gets herself into."

"Are you comparing this girl to me?" Sombra said, sounding slightly offended.

Reaper ignored the hacker as he said, "If she is the weapon you claim she is, I don't understand how you expect a suit to keep her in line. She could easily turn on us."

Moira rolled her eyes; her colleagues' lack of imagination really was disheartening at times. "The suit keeps her nerves perpetually suspended in a low level of pain; if she does as she is told, her mind is directed on something else besides the pain, which motivates her to obey. If she disobeys, we can increase the amount of pain she feels."

"And that will work?"

Moira reached over to pinch Reaper's arm, and he let out a growl.

"There, now, do you still feel like asking moronic questions?"

"No."

"My point is proven. Pain is life's natural motivator. People will go to great lengths to avoid it, and I have used it to break her will, and reshape her the way I wish." Moira looked back at Tracer, a slight smile crossing her face. "The Talon assassin program will be a success."