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private log - sombra / reaper au
[He's had a number of dreams in the extremely short moments of sleep his body allows him since he'd been taken from his home on Earth. Due to the constant regeneration and degeneration of the cells in his body, in his bones and in his head, settling enough to let his mind fall asleep is hard. But when he manages to drift off, the constant chemical changes in his head loves to evolve into vivid pictures, memories he'd rather not remember or images that aren't real.
When his eyes adjust to the muted light of the alleyway he finds himself now, his first thought is exactly that: another dream. A dream of home, of the dirty alleyways of whatever city Talon had set up base this particular month. He doesn't feel any real need to get up and let the dream trick him into thinking he was finally home again. So he doesn't. Not until he feels something buzz against his hip.
Even he would have to admit that that sensation was too real to be a dream. He blinks, and he lifts his head up from where it's resting on the side of the dumpster. A familiar, white-hot pain crawls down his back, only to fade away into its usual dull ache, and that's what solidifies it for him. This isn't a bad dream being had behind his eyelids during a twenty-minute power nap. The buzzing sensation redoubles itself, and a familiar ping lights up on his communicator. It won't stop, for nearly a full thirty seconds before he can articulate enough to pull it out of his pocket.
Even while in space and in 'quarantine', he'd kept up the pointless task of keeping his personal devices fully charged. He always quietly hoped he'd go home one day, and having his phone and communicator dead when he did would be stupid. McCree had called it 'paranoia.' Genji had called it 'understandably nostalgic.' Gabe had called it logic, and as he sits, watching the literal dozens of texts make the screen scroll--he feels somewhat smug that he'd been right.
The feeling doesn't last long. Not when he finally starts to read the texts that are making his communicator freak out. Some of them are repetitive, some of them single words, but most all of them ask something along the same lines at the end.
Where Are You?
Talon is an organization that loses agents all the time. They hold no love for tired, paid mercenaries--no matter how good you are. A month after Gabriel had gone MIA, Talon would have taken measures to make sure he hadn't gone turncoat and then after two months of dead air, they would have considered him Missing or KIA. They'd write him off as finally having died after ten years of cheating life, and they would have moved on. Widowmaker wouldn't have cared.
Sombra...
Where Are You?
She was safe. She hadn't left Bajikan to go where he had. She'd gone home before him. And she hadn't stopped looking for him since she'd gotten back.
He can feel teeth biting against the cool, marred flesh of his lips, and he rises from where he's sitting on the ground. The sun has already set and the low light was coming from a flickering streetlamp just overhead. He doesn't know where he is. If Talon is set up in this city, or if he's stuck in some dead-end town in the middle of no-where.
Whichever it is...
Sombra would know.]
When his eyes adjust to the muted light of the alleyway he finds himself now, his first thought is exactly that: another dream. A dream of home, of the dirty alleyways of whatever city Talon had set up base this particular month. He doesn't feel any real need to get up and let the dream trick him into thinking he was finally home again. So he doesn't. Not until he feels something buzz against his hip.
Even he would have to admit that that sensation was too real to be a dream. He blinks, and he lifts his head up from where it's resting on the side of the dumpster. A familiar, white-hot pain crawls down his back, only to fade away into its usual dull ache, and that's what solidifies it for him. This isn't a bad dream being had behind his eyelids during a twenty-minute power nap. The buzzing sensation redoubles itself, and a familiar ping lights up on his communicator. It won't stop, for nearly a full thirty seconds before he can articulate enough to pull it out of his pocket.
Even while in space and in 'quarantine', he'd kept up the pointless task of keeping his personal devices fully charged. He always quietly hoped he'd go home one day, and having his phone and communicator dead when he did would be stupid. McCree had called it 'paranoia.' Genji had called it 'understandably nostalgic.' Gabe had called it logic, and as he sits, watching the literal dozens of texts make the screen scroll--he feels somewhat smug that he'd been right.
The feeling doesn't last long. Not when he finally starts to read the texts that are making his communicator freak out. Some of them are repetitive, some of them single words, but most all of them ask something along the same lines at the end.
Where Are You?
Talon is an organization that loses agents all the time. They hold no love for tired, paid mercenaries--no matter how good you are. A month after Gabriel had gone MIA, Talon would have taken measures to make sure he hadn't gone turncoat and then after two months of dead air, they would have considered him Missing or KIA. They'd write him off as finally having died after ten years of cheating life, and they would have moved on. Widowmaker wouldn't have cared.
Sombra...
Where Are You?
She was safe. She hadn't left Bajikan to go where he had. She'd gone home before him. And she hadn't stopped looking for him since she'd gotten back.
He can feel teeth biting against the cool, marred flesh of his lips, and he rises from where he's sitting on the ground. The sun has already set and the low light was coming from a flickering streetlamp just overhead. He doesn't know where he is. If Talon is set up in this city, or if he's stuck in some dead-end town in the middle of no-where.
Whichever it is...
Sombra would know.]
Text: May 1st 2081: 4:32AM:
Gabriel Reyes:
- I don't know. But I'm sure you can fix that.