Sombra's eyes scrawled along the dark lit screen of the monitor in front of her, the spine of her back bent as she leaned forward to peer at the window there that played so vividly the images and scenes that once only inhabited the mind of Amélie Lacroix, now converted to a video that Sombra had viewed freely for months now, trying more and more to understand the woman now disassociated from her own life.

She swirled the blob of rotund titanium in her hand as she watch, these scenes only possible for her to see through the very same Cerebral Projector she'd traveled all the way to Australia to retrieve. While it could not manufacture new insights into the mind of Amélie, it's work had payed dividends, testified by Sombra's continued interest within its product, bordering on obsession by now.

She knew she'd missed something during her processes of stealing Amélie Lacroix's mind, despite being so freakishly meticulous. Widow wasn't supposed to miss anything, yet her words so shook Sombra to the core. She missed something. How? And at that, she missed lips. But she shouldn't have a single recollection of that man, Sombra knew, though that fact now waned thin within the mind of the hacker.

Her eyes focused on the video playing before her, obviously taken from the point of view of Amélie; for being nothing but the memories of the woman, the images seldom included sightings of the woman behind the eyes. For all the emphasis placed upon Amélie's body, the woman rarely peered down or out toward her own body; rarely did she even peer into mirrors. Just how ashamed of her skin was she?

She had remembered lips. Only two points in time included such sultry glimpses, and with the meticulous quickness of a librarian, Sombra had jumped ahead to those scenes of Amélie escorting that man, Michael Hale, back to her apartment. Something was off, she now knew; something about that man lingered. But how? Sombra hated the idea that she hadn't been perfect, yet here she was, isolating such a trivial matter for fear that Widow's tugging at it would unravel the entire thread she'd created into mighty cloth.

Her eyes constricted in focus, watching so fervently, her body beginning to pulsate in sudden longing, knowing what all was about to transpire, having seen this scene before, rather on occasion by this point, having it nearly memorized as the camera fixed on Michael, the dark apartment of Amélie's fading away as he gave a boyish smile, scratching the back of his head as his eyes turned to avoid her stare.

The video was muted, though Sombra's own voice spoke up, ever so quietly, like a whisper, emulating Amélie's own speech, reciting as if in incantation, "You've seen more sides of me than anybody else…"

Her throat constricted dryly, forcing her a quick swallow though her eyes failed to leave the monitor, watching Michael zoom in, ostensibly by Amelie leaning into his chest, pressing against him while, herself, never breaking eye contact with that man.

Sombra whispered again, "Why not see another side-"

Her toes grew alight as they tingled, a hesitant breath escaping her lips as her eyes began to quiver, staying fixated on the sultry images before her, unable to look away. She watched as Amélie began to twist and turn with the man opposite her within the screen, a quiet whimper bursting from Sombra's lips, forcing her to throw a hand up to cover her mouth with her hand continued trailing along the space between her legs, a luscious mix of steam and saliva growing between her fingers as her eyes lost focus, desperately trying to remain coherent as her mind slowly began to waver in that space between reality and the pleasure within the pit of her stomach.

Another gasping breath escaped her as her hand vanished within her tight jeans, pleasure forcing its way along the entirety of her body until tears began to emerge from the rampant waves of euphoria searing her insides. Her eyes narrowed, watching the two people on the screen engaging in the love making that proved to be the first, and last, moments of Amélie Guillard.

Sombra's finger wormed its way into her mouth as her lips allowed it entry, whimpering silently onto her skin, her heart racing a mile a minute as she worked her way further along, her legs tightening as they unconsciously squeezed together after another whetted moan left the already worked up throat of-


In a split second, Sombra whipped around in her chair, staring with wide eyes at the closed door behind her, her hand yanked from her mouth to grab hold of the armrest at her side. Slowly, she slid her opposite hand from between her jeans and body, smoothly reaching for the pistol that lay atop her desk, though a sudden shift in the room's shadows tipped her off to her intruder.

"You fucker," she muttered angrily, slamming a fist into her desk as she spun back toward her monitor, swiftly closing the video player's window, "I swear to fuck, pendejo; how many time's do I fuckin' have to ask you to knock?!"

A darkly deep voice emerged, that of Reaper, "I'm a ghost…"

"The fuck you are," Sombra complained, her tone still laced with venom, "I've seen you touch- You fuckin' lug around two stupid, big guns, capullo."

She shook her head with a dismissing air as Reaper replied, "The fact that you know you'll have to ask that, yet you dirty yourself up so freely-"

"Come mierda y muere," Sombra interrupted with a scornful curse.

Reaper retorted evenly, "I'm already dead, chica."

Sombra's face turned in fury, though she remained at her desk, groaning angrily to herself as she pulled her phone over to scroll through it, "Fuck off."

"When we partnered up, I made it clear," Reaper explained, "No going behind each other's back. That shit happens enough around Talon."

He took a measured pause, as if to make Sombra sweat, before continuing, "What were you doing?"

"I said fuck off," Sombra cursed again, kicked her desk for emphasis.

Reaper went on, "If you're too embarrassed, I already know the pleasuring yourself part; this isn't the first time, so cut the crap and tell me why you were watching that video."

Sombra didn't reply. She kept her head low, frowning to herself with an upset of allowing herself to get into this situation. She simply went on with her phone, scrolling through her menu screens aimlessly, unable to focus enough to enter anything. Suddenly, a subtle clicking rang through the darkness, a sudden chill slithering through the cool air to encompass her skin.

"Sombra," Reaper spoke, not having aimed his gun toward her, but simply readied it to fire, "Only one of us is able to die. Why were you watching-"

"It was about Widow, alright? Fuck off already; it doesn't concern you," Sombra shouted, spinning in her chair and swinging her arm toward the apparition behind her, throwing her cell phone at him.

Reaper didn't move, not that he needed to. The phone simply coursed through his form, leaving a swirling shadow in the pit of his stomach, before slamming into the wall and collapsing to the floor with a clacking sound. The phantom merely cocked his head before releasing his large fun which disappeared into the ether, satisfied with his partner's admittance.

"It does concern me," he muttered with a tone so thick with coarseness, "What do you think being partners means? I know what you're up to, and you know what I'm up to. That's what avoids… misunderstandings."

Sombra's lips tugged to the side as she listened further, "I couldn't care less if you're locked in here screwing yourself every single night. I just need to know you are not, under any circumstance, doing anything to jeopardize what we've got going on in this professional setting."

He shrugged, "Of course, I make sure to extend the very same courtesy to you."

Sombra's ears perked up as Reaper's boots clambered closer to her back, slowly tilting away unsurely in her chair before a massive BANG forced her to jump in her seat as Reaper slammed a giant golden gauntlet onto her desk, nearly breaking the wooden mass free from its feet from sheer force. Sombra's eyes went wide in surprise before her head whipped up to meet Reaper's pale white mask with a start.

"W-What did you do?!"

He turned to her with a shrug, "Votes came back. Nobody wanted Doomfist going to our squad. Nobody but Maximilien, that is; and his word is gospel. We got him."

Sombra jumped up to her feet, immediately examining the massive golden gauntlet atop her desk with wide eyes, "Wh- H- Wait, how?!"

"The fact that I freed that monster's ass in the first place probably carried some weight," Reaper explained, "On the whole, however, Max understands our potential to bring results that please him. Don't forget how much that man hates Overwatch; a trait carried by both you and myself. So many Talon operatives would use this Doomfist to rob some banks or some shit, but Max probably knows you and I have far more grandiose plans to put into practice."

Sombra ran a hand over the gauntlet admiringly, "Boy, you haven't a clue. When do we get him?"

"Whenever we get a plan together. He'll be at the briefing," Reaper concluded, crossing his arms, "Which leads us to the first big question. What to do first."

With a shrug of her own, Sombra advanced, "How we usually do it. You say what you want, I say what I want, then we argue until a conclusion arises."

Reaper didn't waste a second before speaking up in answer, speaking only two words, "Moira O'Deorain."

Sombra watched him without a start, though Reaper failed to speak on the matter further, leaving a rather thick, awkward air hanging over the two until Sombra threw her shoulders up into the air in inquiry, "…okay? Who's that and why do they matter?"

"Moira made me who I am," Reaper admitted, rather openly, "That makes them more dangerous to me than anybody else standing on the face of this earth. They disappeared years ago, but I would rather they remain on my side regardless."

Sill immensely confused, Sombra asked further, "Any reason this hasn't come up before..?"

Reaper answered with a knowing anger, "Because Overwatch has been disbanded- I didn't have to worry about Moira. You get those screwheads together long enough, one of 'em's bound to figure to find them."

"Besides," Reaper continued, "I can think of eleven good reasons why we could use somebody who knows how to play god."

Eyeing her feet, Sombra considered his argument quietly as the ghostly man asked freely, "You had any thoughts?"

"Not really, no," Sombra answered incredulously, "I hadn't much hope on us actually getting this far."

Reaper spoke up, almost scornfully, "Well get used to it. I'm not one to settle for less, and we just jumped to the top of the world's most dangerous crime syndicate. Talon might be second."

"Hmm, pachuco; you have quite a way with words sometimes," Sombra mused with a grin, resting her chin against her hand in thought, her face suddenly growing serious, "Michael Hale."

Reaper sighed, "Okay. Now your turn to-"

"He was just taken into Overwatch custody a few weeks ago," Sombra explained, "Remember that trouble they gave us years ago on Gibraltar? We go get him, we repeat that little endeavor, just with the deadliest woman in the world behind us and the fucking Doomfist in front."

Sombra shrugged, "Besides, we know where he is. Max will adore us. How could we lose?"

His face dipping distastefully, Reaper argued, "Why do you need this person..?"

Sighing with regret, Sombra turned her lips, "Because Widow- Look, hear me out!"

Reaper had turned to walk off, leaving Sombra to rush after him, "Hey! Just listen to stupid- Hey!"

She instinctively reached out to grab his shoulder and spin him around, though as she clutched at him, instead of her hand greeting nothingness, she actually grabbed hold of something tangible, like the man's actual shoulder. She immediately recoiled in surprise, clutching onto her wrist as she stared at the man with wide eyes. Reaper stopped walking, taking a deliberate turn back toward his partner until his pale white mask appeared at the edge of his dark cloak.

"Don't do that…" he ordered in a dark voice, "Ever…"

Unable to figure what it was she'd actually done, Sombra merely nodded her head in her breathless reverie, shaking off those nerves as Reaper turned to leave, his voice catching the wind, "We're not wasting this opportunity on your little sex doll."

Sombra angrily turned her face, "She's not-! Get back here!"

With a chilly air emanating from his cloak whipping through the air, Reaper turned back around, "We are not discussing this."

"We sure as fuck are, calaca! I heard you out, so sit your fuckin' ass and hear me out," Sombra demanded.

She must have earned his time and attention, as Reaper failed to move, simply remaining still as he watched Sombra collect her thoughts, raising her hands for emphasis, "I don't give two shits whether or not you respect that woman outside of her skills with a rifle. but if I don't get that man back, you can kiss your sniper goodbye."

Despite being devoid of eyes, she could tell he was doing something like the equivalent of focusing upon her face with confusion, his voice letting out a soft, "…what?"

"Mental locks; the reason she's how she is?" Sombra began, "If her mind wanders long enough and finagles enough with a memory, no matter how locked it is- it's like a bit of barbacoa lodged in your tooth. You can tongue it for hours and get nowhere, but at some point, you will pry it loose. Same thing here; she could potentially unravel the whole thing."

She groaned at the difficulty of explaining it, "She remembered something- that's why I had the video on. I need to find that man to keep her in check."

"You want your sniper?" Sombra argued brusquely, "We go to Gibraltar."

Reaper stared her down severely, though Sombra didn't allow him to encroach an inch, her brow furrowing with her own sense of determination. The two partook in this silent standoff for a handful of moments, Sombra gritting her teeth with a progressive anger, more so by her frustration at being totally unable to read anything about the dead man before her, given his lack of a face.

"You want to pander to that doll of yours, go ahead," Reaper challenged, "But if you want to stay my partner, you'll take my suggestion."

His voiced deepened, "Remember, chica, you came to me, not the other way around."

Sombra didn't back down, although her confidence was lessened by his words, knowing them to be true. Her gritting teeth lessened as well, her face simply turning into a frown as Reaper turned to leave, not bothering to collect the gauntlet atop the desk, speaking up before exiting through the closed door.

"We'll get a location on Moira," he explained, "Knowing Moira, wherever they are, Doomfist will help out tremendously."

The phantom left, leaving Sombra to groan to herself in exasperation, massaging her face with both hands as she spun back around toward her desk, shaking her head. Her pride bruised, she returned to her chair, grabbing her phone and sorting through it with scowling eyes that flickered upward to eye the gauntlet before her on more than one instance, always returning to her phone.

Knowing her points were all entirely moot, she figured she might as well get a head start on researching this Moira person.