ursprung und schluss

x

Angela Ziegler remembered a time when she was fifteen years old and on the road.

That was the year that she graduated high school. A mere child standing next to the tens of adults and teenagers. An anomaly, a prodigy, someone to be envious of. Honor roll every single year of her life. Considering her smarts, her unfortunate background and her personality, it was natural that the next step was medical school. Many schools welcomed her with open arms. Many schools wanted her, Angela Ziegler, to attend their extensive medical program. Benefits and scholarships were a given. So of course, Angela chose the school that wanted her the least.

"Take a year off," they said. Angela knew that the fake voice of concern was not for her, but for themselves. They did not want to teach a child, to put the lives of others in her hands. She felt similarly; she did not want to have such responsibility pushed into her life. Not yet, not when she wasn't ready.

So there she was. Watching the scenery change and evolve before her eyes, taking a five hour trip down to another country. Someone her age might have been excited. Having lived in Zürich for all her life, the wonder and charm was readily wearing off. And with the constant stream of soldiers pouring in and out, Angela should have been at least glad.

She wasn't. It wasn't as though she was unhappy either; she just felt numb. Numbness was a common theme with her, and a blessing it was. Numbness gave her stability in times of hardship, it was a thing for her to focus on and to ground herself with. Numbness was what got her through high school, when her parents were killed. She'd only been thirteen. Two years, two years wasn't enough. A lifetime couldn't be enough.

Violently, unbidden, Angela remembered a distinct excerpt from her father's final letter. "Don't worry about us, engel. You know what they say in the army, right? Heroes never die. Kisses, love and hugs from papa and mama. :)"

The sting reached for her throat, it wrenched wetness from her eyes. There was a pit in her stomach and it was only growing. Angela feared that if she let it, the pit would swallow her whole and then the numbness wouldn't be able to save her because she was falling too fast and her heart was pounding in her ears because her parents lied to her and said that heroes never die and yet she saw their faces in their coffins and

"Angela?"

Aunt Gitta. Her voice was something that Angela could use to hold on to. Slowly but steadily, her breathing slowed, her composure was regained. She inhaled, she exhaled. "I'm good. Don't worry about it." It was unlike her to get this upset this easily. She figured that it was because the car, the low signal. All this time and nothing but silence gave her too much to think about. "I'm fine," she repeated, quieter.

"Mm? Well, if you say so. We're almost here," Gitta announced. Angela didn't quite know where 'here' was, besides the fact that 'here' was in France. She nodded anyways. She settled back into her seat, and closed her eyes. "How are you feeling? Hungry? Need to use the bathroom?"

Angela thought about it. "Food would be nice," she decides. She's tired and wants to cry, but Aunt Gitta was already burdened by the same sense of loss that Angela felt and twice over. It's childish, but she reasoned that it was fine to be. She was only fifteen. And if she's punishing herself with the intent of someone else's well being, it should be fine. Right?

(She didn't know how much she'd be using that line as a crutch for her self-destructive behaviour later in life. Angela muses that if she did, she still wouldn't have stopped using it as an excuse. She knows herself too well.)

"Welcome to Annecy, France!"

Angela stared at the world around her. The architecture in Annecy was interesting. Similar to Zürich, but not entirely the same. The homey-looking buildings filled her with a sense of dull wonder. Annecy hadn't been hit as hard by the omnics, by civil war and whatever else happened in Switzerland. Full of life, a beautiful place. Gleaming blue waters and crisp air that she might have found herself enjoying if she wasn't trying to drown out the feeling of loss.

"Where do you feel like eating?" Gitta asked, giving Angela a look through the mirror. She shrugged in response.

"I don't know where anything is. You've been here before, right?" Angela knew that her aunt used to live in Romandy before her parents died and Gitta moved up to Zürich. She used to travel all over France, bringing Angela small trinkets and toys from wherever she went. And now, well. She supposed that she wouldn't mind travelling with Gitta for a year before she lost herself in medical textbooks for the next eight years of her life.

Gitta smiled. "Indeed, that I have. I know a few good spots, the amount of which depends on just how hungry you are."

"Hungry enough," Angela shrugged again. "Just take me to one of your favourite places, maybe?"

She drove them to a dinner theatre. "Apparently they're having a bunch of kids from a local dance studio perform," she explained. Angela thought it was random, but Gitta was such an 'out-there' kind of person that really, her surprise was unwarranted. "I remembered that you used to gush to me about those movies… The one about Swan Lake. So I figured that you might like to see the original dance."

Of course Aunt Gitta was the only one who remembered her enamourment with her extensive collection of Barbie movies. She'd only been five years old at the time, but she felt embarrassed all the same. Still, she offered up a sheepish smile. It was nice of Gitta to think of her.

The food was good, but it could barely hold a candle to the performance.

Normally, Angela would have snorted and turned her eyes away. The performers were young, young enough for her to dismiss them as snotfaced gremlin children who didn't deserve the better part of the day. Or her attention, for that matter. But her attention had been grabbed by the way they carried themselves up on stage.

The actress who played Odette in particular was stunning. Surely, she couldn't have been any older than ten years old, but the way she danced was calculated and passionate. Angela watched, and she thought. The way she played Odile was just as fitting, and she wondered how someone could perfectly fit into both the roles of a damsel in distress and a mischievous witch as if they were mere extensions of their personality.

Every move, every twist. Jump, facial expression. It was done with the intent of letting the world know that this was a tragedy centered around her. Which wasn't to say the other performers did terribly either; they were fantastic in their own ways. Angela loved the entire production, from the music, to the dancing, to the costume design and everything else in between.

Naturally, this rendition of Swan Lake was shorter than the original, lasting half an hour. Enough time for Angela to finish her meal, and enough time for the performers to come off stage and address the crowd of adoring fans. A moment of hesitation, and she looked to Gitta. "I'll be a second," she said, and Gitta simply gave her a toothy smile, ushering her forward.

Odette's actress (Amélie Blanchard, the studio's star performer, a title rightly deserved) was surrounded by adults cooing over her, asking questions about the studio, complimenting her performance. Angela waited patiently for the crowd to dissolve (and threw multiple quick glances Gitta's way, in order to make sure that she wasn't holding her up) before she got in a few lines with Amélie.

"Hey," Angela offered awkwardly. She briefly tried to recall any part of her French from back when she'd taken core French. She was unsure of whether Amélie spoke English or not, and she felt stupid for not considering it until she was actually in front of the girl. Hopefully her rusty French was not so bad that it was unintelligible. "Votre performance… ç'était magnifique."

Amélie grinned up at her. "Thanks!" she chirped. Angela felt herself relax, gain confidence. Just not enough of it.

"How long have you been dancing for?" She hoped that her tone didn't come off as patronizing. Angela found it hard not to sound patronizing when she was grasping for conversation topics. There's only like, what. Four, five years between the two of you? You're literally heading to med school at sixteen, don't freeze up because you're a little starstruck.

"Three years! Though it'll be four next month." Amélie cocked her head at Angela. "So what school do you go to? Haven't seen you at mine."

"Oh, uh. I don't live in Annecy, and even if I did, I don't go to school anymore."

Amélie let out a dramatic sigh. "Lucky. Where do you live?"

"Being out of school isn't as cool as you think it is," Angela laughed. "Also, I live in Zürich. Uh, that's like. Upper Switzerland."

"I've never been to Switzerland," Amélie said. "What's it like up there?"

Angela thought on this. "Ah, well… I've only been in Annecy for two hours, I wouldn't know how to compare it to here. Zürich is much bigger than Annecy. Or, er… At the very least it used to be." Would a ten year old care to know about the horrors of war? Angela certainly hadn't, but there she was anyways. Her parents dead, her spirit cold and a maturity that was unreasonable for a child her age.

She found herself suddenly praying that Amélie wouldn't have to experience the horrors of war. She hoped that the Omnic Crisis didn't reach this part of France. For Amélie's sake, for the sake of the other performers and for the children whose names she didn't know. For their parents. For... Angela exhaled. "What I've seen of Annecy is much nicer," she finally decided on.

The ballerina nodded, though she didn't seem fully invested in the conversation. Angela noticed the tirade of tiny children gesturing at Amélie to join them. "Uhhhhhh huh. Welp! I gotta go, these slippers are starting to hurt," Amélie giggled. Angela smiled in understanding. "Oh! It was nice talking to you though. What's your name?"

She didn't think that Amélie would remember it, but she gave it for politeness' sake. "Angela Ziegler. It's been a pleasure talking with you."

"Okay, gotcha! You probably already know my name, right? Amélie? Oh, they're waiting for me. Seeya later then, Angela!" Amélie tossed a wave and a flashy grin to her before scampering backstage with the other actors. Angela waved back, and stared after Amélie before she went to go sit back down with Gitta.

"So, you liked the performance?" Gitta asked hopefully.

She smiled. "Loved it." And she had.

They left the dinner theatre to go look around for a hotel, and Angela thought back to her previous interaction with Amélie. It had been short, sweet, and she figured that she'd never see Amélie again. Regardless, it felt as though she had made a friend. It was kind of a ridiculous thought, childish and desperate for want, but she let herself indulge.

"Hey, Aunt Gitta?" Angela had been sitting in the back on the way down to Annecy, but she decided to ride shotgun this time, next to Gitta. She thought it might have made her feel better, and she was starting to feel more receptive to the idea of social interaction anyways. "Thank you for doing this." She wasn't just referring to the dinner theatre, although that was a nice treat.

It was everything. The times that Gitta let Angela sleep in her arms, the times that Gitta let her babble and babble about how upset she was. When Gitta did silly things to try to cheer her up, and now as well. Though Gitta didn't know that, and Angela didn't say anything.

Aunt Gitta just laughed and shook her head. "Don't mention it, angel. I need this trip just as much as you do."

Amélie Lacroix remembered a time when she was twenty-three and unsure of herself.

It was a Tuesday night. 9:25 PM, but it was still bright and light outside. Amélie was having a crisis. Internal, calculated, something that nobody but herself could know about, but a crisis nonetheless. Really, considering the circumstance that she was in, she was pretty damn proud of herself for not letting the whole world know that she was two seconds away from losing her shit.

After all, it's certainly not a common occurrence for terrorists to ransack your home in the dead of night and drop their business number in your lap.

"I should report this to the police," she remembered saying. Amélie always had a tongue that ran itself off like an athlete, but just this once she couldn't will herself to shut up. It was the only thing keeping her from freaking out right then and there.

"You should," the woman had agreed with a haughty laugh. "But you won't, 'cause then all this dirt I have on you goes straight to Gérard. And I know lots of things about you, chica. There's very little reason for me to believe that you don't want to keep these dirty secrets away from his eyes."

Amélie sucked in a breath, and downed another sip of wine. She was far from perfect, but Gérard hadn't known that. How could he? He was a man who only saw what was in front of him, choosing to believe what he believed. He didn't know about criminal past, he wasn't supposed to. Amélie had changed, she'd never been caught (not by the authorities anyways, she thought bitterly), so it should've been fine.

"Just give me your answer by Wednesday morning!" The woman winked and grinned. "I mean, don't fool yourself too hard here. It's either you join up with me, or Gérard spends the better part of his life hating you. I've got the divorce papers ready, if it helps." It did not.

Amélie already knew she was going to say yes, but she wasn't going to give the stranger another reason to look full of herself. She wanted nothing more than to reach over and slap that self-satisfied expression off her face, but if someone could dig up her drug records within a second… She didn't want to know what other kinds of things those hot pink claws could do. "I'll let you know."

Two days later and she was still plagued with worry. Time was running out, and Amélie had spent too much time mulling over the situation to even begin contemplating leaving the country. Gérard would still wonder where she was, and God be damned if he couldn't rouse the entire French Army to go looking for her. She let out another drawn out sigh, and put the emptied glass down. She craved something harder, but she refused to let herself spend the money.

She shouldn't have been peddling drugs back then. That was a no-brainer, but having actually done it the desire was only more powerful. Amélie had been an ambitious teenager who saw the destruction caused by the Omnic Crisis and used it as an opportunity to make good for herself. And with the police force being so focused on other things… It'd been too easy.

The Omnic Crisis itself hadn't been easy to deal with. Fortunately, very fortunately, France hadn't received the worst of it. From what she knew, the crisis started in Russia and spread westward from there. It'd been held up by the Russians, then the Germans, and naturally Overwatch being situated in Switzerland did nothing but good when the Omnics started appearing there too. Didn't mean that Amélie's father hadn't been killed, but she truly did appreciate every effort that went into stopping them. Even if it hadn't been enough.

"You look pretty down."

Amélie whipped her head around to see the very same woman from that night pulling the chair out next to her. Her eyes narrowed. "Ouais. I can only wonder why that is the case."

Snicker. "Ah man, Amélie… You're a riot. Ooh, hey, this song's pretty good." Her head perked up before she rested her cheek in her propped up hand. Amélie knew this one; Tango Square. It was a favourite of hers, but knowing that mystery woman over here also liked the song made Amélie more inclined to hate it than anything else. "The accordion is nice, but I like nylon strings better. They're much less grating to the ears."

What was she supposed to do? Agree? Disagree? Amélie settled for nothing but swirling around the backwash in her wine glass disinterestedly. Trying to pretend that this woman doesn't scare her. But she does, and Amélie wonders if that's what this woman wants. To scare her in every way possible.

"Oh, don't give me the cold shoulder. You'll see that Talon's ideals line fairly well with your own. Just figured that you needed a little push." She leaned in to whisper, "Humanity is made stronger by conflict. You've lived through this and you know."

If the circumstances had been different, Amélie might have willingly gone to Talon at some point in her life. But with the rude intrusion in her life's private affairs, there was a petty desire to stay away. She closed her eyes. "And you figured you couldn't have asked?"

"Maybe, but you love him too much."

It was true. And she hated this woman for knowing that. She hated this woman for a lot of things, actually, but this was pretty far up there. "Was there a reason as to why you needed me in specific?"

"Nah, not really. We just picked you 'cause someone was a big fan of your shows. That same someone also happens to be a huge fan of taking people's lives and fucking them over royally."

Amélie rolled her eyes. She had felt like her being chosen was like a draw from a twisted lottery, and she had been right. There was an inkling that the woman next to her was the one who had chosen her, but she doubted that her suspicions would be confirmed just yet. "You are a sick woman."

"Ouch. I mean, fair, but also ouch." That smirk was annoying. Amélie found herself closer and closer to giving a well-deserved smack to the cheek with every passing second. But to lose herself in anger was a sign that she'd lost. "Say, I think you've stalled for long enough. And yeah, I know I said Wednesday morning, but to hell with that, y'know?"

She sighed. "I don't think that you'd have come for me for any other reason. Take me where you need to." It's not like I have a choice anyways, she wanted to add.

"Sweet! By the way, since we'll be working pretty closely together, I thought it'd be nice to mention. My name's Sombra." Sombra jumped off the barstool and turned to face Amélie in a manner that she could only describe as surdimensionné. "That's not my actual name, of course. Wouldn't want you to think that you can start unravelling my secrets before I let you know all of yours. ¿No es cierto? Anyways, follow me, cisniña."

What choice did Amélie have but to follow? So she did, suddenly aware of Sombra's appearance. She didn't dress in a way meant to stand out; a simple black dress to a bar was standard. But her appearance itself was meant to attract attention. Or perhaps it wasn't. Regardless, hair that faded from brown to bright purple to silver, styled in an undercut? That was a rare look for someone in Annecy. A rare look for anyone, Amélie guessed, but then again, she'd never been to anywhere but her quaint hometown. What did she know? The makeup and the hot pink nails did nothing to help Sombra's situation.

If nothing else, it was a good look.

Sombra pointed to Amélie's vehicle, a sleek black Citroën C3. Before she could even think to ask how she knew that she drove this specific Citroën, amongst the other tens of vehicles surrounding it, Sombra let out a laugh. "Pass me the keys and I'll drive. You don't know where we're going, right? By the way, you take extremely good care of your cars. Though this ain't the most glamorous one out there, no? Pfft." She leaned over to fish for Amélie's keys in her purse. Amélie let her. "Y'see, they sent me in for one specific reason. I'm good with information, very good with information. I know how to get it and I know what it does to people. If you think that me knowing your plate number is a surprise, then boy do I have the string of surprises for you."

Amélie chose not to ask, and instead climbed in the passenger's seat. "How long will the trip be?"

"Talon has a base that's somewhere close to Lyon. Two hours. An hour and a half if I push it." Sombra turned her head to crack a grin at Amélie, who closed her eyes and shook her head. "Damn, alright, so that's out of the question."

The ride had been uncomfortable for the most part. Sombra tried to get in some bits of conversation, but the questions she asked served no purpose other than to make Amélie feel worse about her situation. "Did you tell Gérard?"

"No," Amélie muttered. That question sent a bout of queasiness straight into her stomach. "Not about, well. You. That's a given, I'd probably be dead where I stand."

Sombra interrupted her with a cackle. "Nah, I'd do just as I said I would. Leak your records to Gérard. Subtlety is the most fun way to break people, dontcha think?"

"Continuing on," she started, making a point of showing her annoyance by throwing a glare at Sombra. She was too focused on the road to catch it, but it was the principle of the thing that counted, right? "I didn't tell him that I was leaving Annecy. Didn't even pull up the topic of divorce."

"Let me guess. Not because you didn't want to say it over the phone, though that might have played into it as well, huh? You just didn't want to hurt his feelings for as long as possible, so you think that disappearing without a trace will make it easier on him." Sombra snorted. "You've got a skewed sense of what easy means, buuuut it's nothing we can't work on."

Hearing no response from Amélie, Sombra continued to ramble on. "Chico's gonna be worried about you, dude. It's probably a good thing I got you just after he left for military business, yeah? Too bad he's gonna come home to an empty house."

(Amélie couldn't have known that only two years later, the only thing coming back to their quiet home in Annecy was the letter that signaled Gérard's death. But even if she'd known that then, she didn't think that she'd feel any better for it.)

"I mean, unless Talon decides that you've served your time well enough. You've gotta be right above 'good enough', but just under 'absolutely necessary'. I don't know what kind of skills you have other than the fact that you dance, but I mean. Surely you can't be better than me."

Amélie quirked an eyebrow instinctively. "And how good are you? Good enough that Talon doesn't want to be rid of you?"

"Yeah, something like that. That, and the fact that they know I can't change my identity again. So it's either work for Talon or rot in a penitentiary. Shit sucks. Like, workin' for Talon ain't the worst thing in the world, sure beats the shitshow that was Los Muertos. Just takes too much time away from what I really wanna do."

Amélie guessed that Sombra wasn't really talking to her so much as she was letting off steam in the form of complaining. It was nice to get to know anything about her, so Amélie listened in. "And that is?"

"Finding out all the world's secrets," Sombra replied, barely missing a beat.

"That's a very steep goal."

She laughed. "Ah man, you don't already know? You've seen what I can dig up when I'm only barely trying. Don't suppose you want a reminder? There's something' going on, and I want to be the first one to figure out what.

"I tried before, and I sorta fucked up. Esa mierda chupada. You know what a talented AI does these days? If programmed by someone who's got any sort of skill, it can detect glitches in it's system, build itself better. Like, I don't know, the omnic shit that's happening down in South Korea." Sombra corkscrewed one hand in the air as she spoke. "So that's what I did. Or it's what I tried to do. Changed my identity, became Sombra. Talon knew who I was before. I mean, they can't hold a torch to what I can do, but they've got some talented people there. I'm sure you can infer the rest."

Thinking about Sombra's situation was enough for Amélie to keep her mind off of hers. Even if it was only for an hour. Those few fleeting moments were bliss.