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Chapter Text

Mercy Goes on a Date

-Or-

How Mercy learned to stop worry about the nerfs and became a living meme.

Dr. Angela “Mercy” Ziegler sat in her car, hands firmly gripped around the steering wheel as she scoped out the restaurant before her. It seemed normal, a bar with brick walls outside and large glass windows looking in. She couldn’t see much inside due to the evening sun, but it didn’t seem out of the ordinary.

She had hoped that arriving early would help her possibly spot her party beforehand, but then again she supposed that would kind of defeat the purpose of a “blind date”. She took a deep breath. The date was supposed to help keep her mind off the stress at work, but all it seemed to do was create more. Lena, bless her soul, had taken it upon herself to make the match and set it all up, but Angela didn’t feel the gravity of it all until the morning of the day.

When it came to going on a date she thought she was supposed to be in euphoric bliss. Why hadn’t she danced around her apartment with a smile on her face as she got dressed, spend her entire day getting herself prepared to meet a stranger who would hopefully be her prince charming and find love at first sight? That’s how she thought she was supposed to feel, but in reality she was a combat surgeon, she had spent the day in bloody scrubs or observing ampules of Nanobiotic medicine on top of the drama that had infected the workplace. She had ignored the date for most of the day and treated it like another event on her calendar.

The drama… the mere thought of it made her stomach upset.

Lena was right, the community she had been around was so toxic that she needed to just find something else to distract her. Angela exited and locked the vehicle before approaching the bar. Her preparation for the secret meeting had devolved into just wearing a different pair of her work slacks and a blue blouse and adding a tiny bit more makeup. It had been so long that she had gone on a date that it wasn’t till she walked through the door to the bar that she realized that she hadn’t even gone on a date before.

The inside of the bar was much like the outside, red brick with a hard wood floor. Although a bar occupied the length of the main room, several tables and tall chairs dotted the rest of the floor space. A hostess greeted her and directed her to a table at the front window where she took a seat.

Her mind began to wonder if a bar was a good meeting place, the stress at work mixing with alcohol was probably somewhere on the fast track to getting an ulcer. Luckily though she didn’t have to ponder too long on it before she heard someone say her name.

“Yes,” she said, “My name is Angela. It’s nice to-”

What stood before her was less of a man, and more a mass of muscle in human form. The man wore a pair of jeans, a white undershirt, and a black button down shirt with white stripes down the front, but to say he was wearing them was an overstatement. His Biceps completely filled out the arms of his shirt, any sudden movements and the already stressed seams may break and fray. The buttons down the front, although not stress to the point that they were keeping the two halves of the shirt together by a thread, were still very tightly stretched between his pectorals and abdomen. The table shook as he sat down on the bar stool, allowing Angela to take a closer look at the slight wrinkles to his face and silvery white hair. He looked to be around fifty years of age, but just by looking at him Angela somehow knew that he wasn’t old, but experienced. Within her first seconds of laying eyes on him, Angela came to the conclusion that he would not only be able to bench-press her, but her entire extended family as well.

It took a moment for Angela to realize that, in her shock, she was staring, and snapped out of the trance she was in.  Returning to normal decorum, she regrouped and said, “Hello, my name is Angela. It’s nice to meet you, and you are?”

“Alexsandr,” he answered, although his English was quite good, his voice still carried a heavy Russian accent. “Alexsandr Senaviev.”

A young man was sitting at the bar on the other side of the restaurant. Hearing something that piqued his interest, he shot his head up and looked around. He saw the two sitting at the window seat and immediately stood up. Quickly, he dug into his pockets and pulled out a phone and a fifty dollar bill. He threw the bill down at his spot made his way to the exit, speaking into the phone as he exited the bar, “Dude, you won’t believe who I just ran into…”

Shrugging of the strange patron, Angela continued. She asked him what his occupation was, and he admitted that he was a member of a UN taskforce, and Angela replied in kind. They both understood the clandestine nature of each other’s occupation, so the specifics were kept to a minimum. Before the topic could change, Angela’s phone began to ring. Cursing herself for neglecting to silence it, she apologized to her date and immediately tended to it, shutting it down and stowing away once more.

“Sorry,” she smiled to back up her apology, “I’m a doctor. The job follows me home.”

“Hm? A doctor? What’s your field?”

“Medical Science,” she answered, but held on to the topic, feeling her mind hook onto the statement unless it added its own 2 cents. “But, nowadays I feel like I should have gone into psychiatry with all the drama that I’ve been in recently.”

“Really? Please, go on.”

Permission granted, she opened the floodgates and let her mind run free. “Oh, its just a bunch of nonsense. A long time ago my peers spoke out about the means of which I get things done, and for some asinine reason the administrators in the organization listened to them.”

“Really, and what happened after that?” Alexsandr asked.

“Bah” Angela spat, rolling her eyes as she leaned back in her stool, “They listened to the crybabies. I had to bend to the new rules and keep going. Irksome? Yes, But I have a job to do and I want to see it done. So afterwards I went back to doing what I do best, helping people, but this time I worked even harder, I was going to show them that I am here to do my job the best that I can, with or without the approval of my peers.

“So what happened next?”

“Well, it was like that one idiom about giving rats a cookie and they will ask for a glass of milk. Just like before, they ran behind to our administrators and hid behind their apron strings like little children.” The doctor began to feign rubbing her eyes like she was sobbing and spoke in a child’s pouty voice. “Wah, Angela is making us all look bad! Wah, wah!” She returned to her normal voice. “That no good old cyclops and that roller rat wannabe DJ kept nagging about not getting deployed enough because the team sees my work ethic and respects me.” She gave a heavy sigh, noticing that her hands were rolled up into tight fists and unraveling them. “It was the Administrator’s mistake in changing my equipment. I would be fine if they simply admitted that they acted too hastily and things went back to normal, but what’s so infuriating is that they insist that its all just, ‘steps in the right direction.’ Like it would kill them to simply admit that they were wrong.” She went to rub her eyes in frustration, but stopped when she realized she would just smear her makeup. “Now, it feels like I wake up every day and wonder what else I’ve been restricted from doing. I used to be a valued member of the team… now I’m the one being left behind and they’re all avoiding me like I have some kind of plague. It’s like-”

Alexsandr stood up from his stool, stopping the doctor dead in her tracks. The sudden shock made her aware of how long she had been talking. Finally having someone to listen felt good. Not having to bare her teeth and agree to the restrictions forced upon her was liberating, but at the same time it made her feel sour. Like a vegan tasting meat and becoming addicted to its sensation, Angela enjoyed the vitriol that she spoke, but at the same time it felt wrong. She had always been so selfless, and dropping her morals for a moment of weakness made her feel a side of herself that she didn’t like.

In a moment of self-reflection she realized how terrible she must have appeared to her date. A drama queen, complaining to strangers about her own petty grievances at work. She felt a cold sweat break across her skin. Her stomach burned like hot whiskey. She felt dirty, exposed, and embarrassed. Her uncontrolled emotions had dug her own grave in regards to this date, and all she could think of was running away and crying.

“I am sorry, Alexsandr, I… I should leave.” She said, collecting her belongings and pushing her stool away from the table. Her date, who had stood up and was holding the curtains on the bar window, turned around and stopped her. He insisted she stay as he simply closed the curtains to the outside. Angela obliged, but as she watched the Russian block the view to the outside she noticed something rather peculiar.

Although it seemed to be a normal afternoon when she entered the bar, it almost looked as if a parade was happening in the street. A small crowd of people seemed to congregate on the sidewalk right next to their window as a celebration was taking place. Stranger yet, It seemed like they were all wearing woodland camouflage uniforms and wearing homemade helmets made out of soup cans with a single slit in the front for their eyes.

Angela studied the strange phenomena until her date had completely closed the curtains and blocked them off. He was then back on his stool, cupping her hand in his massive mitts. His hand, although rough and coarse, calmed her as he held onto her slender fingers. Although he looked to be a lumberjack with the strength to rip a tree from the ground on his lonesome, Alexsandr held her with the care of a skilled arborist, returning a fallen bird’s nest to the safety of the trees.

“Your emotions are mounting.” He said, rubbing his thumb across hers, “Please, let them come.”

Calmly and steadily, Angela bowed her head and let it all out, she told the tale of the fate she suffered, went over the downward spiral, and explained the death of a thousand cuts that she had suffered. Like an angel having the feathers plucked from its wings, Angela explained what she had gone through until she was stripped bare, discarded and alone. Alexsandr, for what it was worth, listened intently, nodding and giving her all she needed to shed all that was weighing down her mind. Although she doubted that he understood the more intricate details of what everything meant, she could tell that he knew how much it meant to her, or at least he tried to.

When it was all said and done, Angela sat on her stool quietly, exhausted from the entire ordeal. All of the ice in her water had melted and the server had not taken their order for fear of interrupting. When he was sure that she had nothing else to add, Alexsandr spoke again, “I see your problem. Out of negligence from your superiors, you fear that your use is up, that you’ve become obsolete. Fear not Angela, for your time is not up. I can tell you that although you feel as if you have been betrayed, you still have your allies and followers that are still willing to fight for you. You must not give up hope, if you keep your chin up and stay strong, in time good fortune will return to you.”

“But how do you know that, Alexsandr?” She asked.

“I can’t be certain, but I do believe you, Angela. If what you speak is true, you will return to favor someday. But one thing that you do need to understand is that even if the worst is to come, you must remember the better times and be thankful that you had them. That is something that I had to learn the hard way, and what I think our mutual friend Lena wants you to understand.”

Angela thought on that for a moment, and even if she did not want to accept that outcome she did understand it, and for what it was worth, it put her mind at ease.  “I… suppose I understand. Thank you, Alexsandr.”

“There’s no need to thank me.” He replied. He was about to continue when the door opened, allowing two more patrons to enter the bar, but followed by a barrage of loud and distorted music that made less of a melody and more of a vicious assault on the ear drum.

“What the hell is going on out there?” Angela asked, finally become more than curious as to what was going on past the curtain.

She stood and pulled it aside, and was greeted by the shocking sight of an entire cult worshiping at an altar right outside of window. Banners of the USSR and flags of the Russian Federation lined the streets. Heading the proceedings was a man dressed in full military armor, preaching to the congregation off of a tablet. The Battle Priest raised his arms and called out, “And on the Final Round, The Lord decided it was time to pack it up; for his work here was done.”

Completely baffled, Angela turned to her date once more and was about to ask what was going on once more, but the rather annoyed look on his face spoke volumes. He stood, grabbing her by the hand once more and saying, “What I want you to understand is that you shouldn’t dwell over what you can or can’t do for your team, but instead think of what you represent to your team, for even if they move on, to the ones who it meant the most will always appreciate you.”

Alexsandr then reached behind his back, and seemingly from nowhere he pulled out a man portable machine gun with a top mounted circular magazine. Not sure what exactly was going on, Angela stood in shock as he posed with his weapon. “Now,” he said, “The Lord must address his flock…”

Alexsandr then exited the bar with his machine gun in hand. Angela watched as he closed the door behind him and the crowd outside erupted in amazement with a combined call of, “Lord Tachanka!”

From her port in the window, Angela watched in amazement as the awestruck crowd bowed before her date as he stood at the head of the crowd and set down a bipod mount for his weapon and shouted, “LMG; MOUNTED AND LOADED!”

Chapter Text

Game Winning Kill

A team of five elite counterterrorism specialists were hand selected from the best military units in the world. Their mission:  to seize and occupy a replica pagoda castle built atop a Japanese high-rise and, at any and all costs, protect a container holding top secret and highly classified biological materials (better known as orange Kool-Aide).

The band readied themselves for the oncoming assault of five other equally skilled operatives, but their defense was not to be.  

Although a genius in the Lab, Jack “Pulse” Estrada was, unfortunately, a klutz. When Opfor drones began to probe their perimeter, he tripped, hitting the speed dial on his phone and promptly detonating his IED. And thus, the merry band of five was cut down to three.

They put up a valiant defense, but sadly the numbers were not on their side. Three quickly became two, and although they fought as hard as they could, two became one.  But even though the assaulters had the numbers, the defenders had a god.

When the match of 2vs2 changed to 1vs2, Alexsandr hardly felt a drop of sweat on his brow. He stood fast at the objective, armored panels up, and trusty DP28 mounted and loaded. He aimed his light machine gun at the only unprotected door and waited, listening to the sporadic gunfire and footsteps circling around him. All was tranquil in the room, him, his gun, the shattered bits of wall decorations thrown aside to barricade the walls, were all as if they were frozen in time. It was as still as the eye of a hurricane.

A head poked around the door and he fired. The large caliber rounds pulverizing anything in their path, but sadly that was the problem. Although high quality Soviet munitions could do almost anything, and the rounds would have been more than sufficient, their target had the ability to distort reality around her.

Ash sprinted from her peeking position and rushed forward, bullets seemingly changing trajectory and defying physics to avoid her. She dove to the ground, squeezing the trigger and supplying a burst of flying lead of her own, and when all was said and done she stood over the body of a fallen god.

Lord Tachanka bowed his head for he knew that he had been beat, but took the punishment with dignity as Ash danced victoriously in the glow of the defeated god. She spun, firing indiscriminately into the air as she performed Victory Squats around the corpses of the defending team. She walked in circles around the container that her team was tasked to apprehend and took her time sadistically aiming her gun at Alexsandr’s head, but intentionally missing each shot of his near execution. Finally, she turned around and, still performing Victory Squats, exited the room in a one woman Conga line to enter back in a few seconds later.

Alexsandr waited, holding a tight compress against his gunshot wounds and waited for Ash to turn her back once more, for that was the opportunity that he needed. He may have been bested fair and square, but he still hand one trick left up his sleeve. With what little strength he had left, he pulled out his phone and typed in the letters N, O, W, and hit send.

Suddenly, Angela Ziegler poked her head in from the outside window. In a cheery voice she asked, “Was that my signal?” She glided through the open window, but stopped when she saw the carnage, corpses littering the floor, and her significant other lying in corner and only clinging to life. “Oh my.” She said, “Better get to work!” She raised her left hand, and in a loud clear voice declared, “Heroes never die!”

Ass first, Ash reentered the room hopping backwards with each thrust of her buttocks. Although the overseer announced that they had less than ten seconds to capture the mysterious biological compound, she gave no heed for she knew that all she had to do was be within the room before the timer reached zero. She was about half way into the room and mid twerk when a stranger clearing their throat caught her attention. She turned, seeing the entire defending team standing right next to her with weapons at the ready.

“LMG, mounted and loaded.” Sayeth the Lord. A chorus of gunfire sang out and did not stop until there was nothing left of the attacker besides a blood-soaked military hat and a bloodstained pair of aviators on the floor.

With that nuisance taken care of Angela unplugged her ears and smiled as she turned to address Alexsandr and his four other cohorts. “Hello, my name is Angela. Its good finally meet you. Alexsandr has told me so many wonderful stories about you all.”

A large Frenchman jabbed his elbow into his nearby team member and, through gritted teeth and not breaking eye contact with their new addition’s chest, asked “Holy shit. How do I get one of those?!”

Without hesitation, his cohort pulled out a plastic bag full of rohypnol and answered, “Drugs.”

Alexsandr rested his hands atop his weapon and said, “Angela, great timing. I must say I am surprised. Did they allow you to use your old equipment once more?”

The doctor gave a sly grin, “No, but the way I see it the administrators don’t have authority over me here.”

The doctor was about to continue when an explosion ripped the nearby wall apart. Soon after, an equally loud voice with a tone that exceeded human vocal levels screamed, “R.E.D. ACTIVE! IF IT RUNS ON BATTERIES I. WILL. SEE. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT-.” The battlecry ended as the attacker entered the room and had a run in with a sparkling golden staff.

Holding her staff like a baseball bat, Angela stood over the disoriented body of the GSG9 attacker and watched as she lie face up with her eyes spinning in circles within her balaclava’s oval view hole. Angela lowered it to a more relaxed position, but still investigated the woman at her feet before turning to the defending team. In an accusatory but albeit playful voice, she asked, “Alexsandr, is this the friend that you say I remind you of?”

Lord Tachanka shrugged his shoulders and looked away. The rest of the defenders joined Mercy’s gaze as they stood in amazement, for all it took was a single question to prove that even a god can blush.

From the ground, a weak whimper came again, and although disoriented, the final attacker mumbled out, “I’ve… spotted a bio- biohazard container….”

Returning to the disoriented woman, Mercy went behind the attacker and grabbed her by the shoulders and began dragging her back to the hole that she had made in the wall. “That’s nice sveetie, but why don’t I just drag you out of here and let Mercy take a look at that bump on your head, ja?”

Still reeling from her concussion, Monika “IQ” Weiss mumbled, “Okay, mommy.”

Chapter Text

How do you buff a god?

PLAY OF THE GAME:

Dancewithknives

As

Mercy

The Dusty streets of Anubis were filled with the sounds of gunfire. A team of six attackers had pushed the defenders back to the inner sanctum of the town’s ancient temple. There, the defenders held their ground behind the old pillars and stacks of ancient brick while the attackers beckoned at the ancient doorway.

The time was ticking down, every push by the attackers was resisted by the defense, but only barely and with the liberal use of their ultimate abilities to keep the game alive. By luck, the attackers had captured 33% of the point already, and it would only take a mere 17% more and victory would be theirs.

Less than twenty seconds left, the attackers pushed forward. A large Russian woman with pink hair led the charge, her personal shield actively absorbed the incoming fire by the defending team and charged her heavy ion canon. The laser rifle opened up to full bore as she charged forward, punishing anyone careless enough to stay out of cover for too long. As the Enemy took cover, the attacking D. Va launched her mech into the defender’s flank on a suicide run, engine and core of the machine going critical as it prepared for a miniature explosion.

Ana, an aging sniper backing up the attacker’s lines, took aim at her charging tank with her wrist mounted nano launcher. She aimed for the giant woman’s even larger posterior and fired. Like an injection of horse steroids, the nano boost entered straight up her rectum and supercharged the woman’s cellular structure. The bladed spear-point of their charge, Zarya called out “Fire at will!” and launched a surge of artificial gravity into the center of the Defender’s stronghold, ripping them out of cover and leaving them exposed in the center of the old temple.

The Defending team’s tank raised his shield, but could only absorb so much damage as the attacking team summoned a sickly cat lady to the forefront. The wretch of a woman laughed as she flared out her long pointed fingernails and extended her hand, causing a massive blast of energy to burst forth from her hands and completely shred through what remained of the defenses.

With nothing else left, famed climate scientist and noted psychopath Mei summoned forth her last resort. She pulled her personal data assistant and drone from her climate controlled cryogenic tank on her back and threw him forward with the hope of halting the attacking team and weathering the storm for time to either run out or to save herself.

But, for as valiant as the deed was, it was in vain. Cybornetic Ninja Genji Shimada, who had spent the majority of the match jumping between the pillars of the temple like an autistic baboon on a sugar rush, dove to the ground and landed right before Mei. With a flick of his wrist, he deflected the drone back at the defending team, reversing its effect and adding insult to injury as the trapped defenders were frozen solid inside of the gravity well.

In the end, none were left standing. The Attackers advanced to the point, but when victory seemed all but guaranteed, the worst possible thing happened, and sent shivers down the attacker’s spines.

The player log in the side of their Heads Up Display came alive, and either from the glorious anal pounding being so great that it completely destroyed the wifi connection at the Burger King that the defenders were stealing internet connection from, or the party leader causing the Five-Stack to disconnect after he threw his controller at the TV and accidentally quit the game, the defending team’s roster shrank as player after player dropped out.

Praying to the gods of gaming, the attacking team begged for the game to continue for only a few seconds more so they could secure the victory before the match ended by default and their victorious spoils plundered from them.

Their prayers were answered, and when all was said and done, one player remained on the enemy team, the shadow of her former self, Doctor Angela (Mercy) Ziegler.

The attackers rejoiced, knowing that victory was now theirs as they took the exposed objective. Dancing, calling out catch phrases, victory squats, and one liners were said as they partied on the point and watched as the capture progress ticked up to victory.

34%

38%

40%

45%

In a vain objection to their victory, the final defender called forth her ultimate ability with a cry of “I will watch over you!”

The attackers burst out in a fit of laughter as the progress inched ever closer to victory.

46%

47%

48%

CONTESTED! 1v5!

The attackers were celebrating so hard that they didn’t hear the crescendo of music growing ever closer until it was in the objective with them.

Zarya was the first to know that something was wrong. It was like a tune from her distant past, something from long ago that she only remembered in part, but something was off with it. It had been taken, violated, twisted into an amalgamation of what she had recalled it once being. Something that was supposed to bring her comfort was now akin to a serial killer humming a lullaby. She didn’t like it.

She turned, and all she could do was stare in awe at the being that had graced their presence. She dropped her particle canon to the dirt and fell to her knees, only saying a single word, “Лорд.”

Angela Ziegler, with one foot inside the objective, stood with a look of utter contempt and frustration on her face. She held the look of a woman who had been tolerating nonsense for far too long, and finally getting fed up with it she had decided that it was time to take the gloves off.  Her halo was gone, and instead what adorned the angel’s head was a yellow hard hat with a mount on the top. Attached to said mount was a DP-28 man portable machine gun, and sitting at the helm of said machine gun and riding on Mercy’s back was the one and only Tachanka.

https://dancewithknives.deviantart.com/art/How-do-you-buff-a-god-743114748?ga_submit_new=10%3A1525267638

“Time to get serious!” he called. He racked the first round into his gun, and with that the first shot was fired . The rounds did not make a “Rck tak tak tak tak”, like one would assume, but instead the weapon sang the National Anthem of the Soviet Union. The bass and balance levels were so high and volume set to maximum that it felt as if Vladimir Putin himself had taken musical form and was violating eardrums.

The last thing that went through Zarya’s head -besides a bullet, that is- was a feeling of rage. Not at the prospect of defeat, but instead out of intense envy and greed. Jealousy of how lucky the woman was to be straddled between her idol’s thighs.

Sneaky Spanish speaking cyber sleuth and Great Wall of Trump subverter Sombra ran in to join her team, but upon seeing what was contesting the objective turned around and immediately “Nope!”’d out of sight using her translocator.

The enemy team took evasive action to return fire, and Mercy took to the air, making strafing runs on the attackers, but never leaving the confines of the capture point.

D.Va took to the forefront to replace their fallen tank, but was left vulnerable as the mighty 7.62x54R rounds ripped through her defensive countermeasures and began ripping her mech apart. She turned, shouted for healing but was dumbstruck at the chaos that ensued.

Dr. Moira was on the ground, no large bullet holes mortally wounding her, but instead 10 well placed rounds and blown all of her elongated fingernails off. She was left sitting in the dirt, furiously filing the broken nails down and blowing the pieces away. Genji was hopping around like a madman once more, repeatedly demanding heals for his motion sickness. Ana, who normally couldn’t hit a target standing still, had such sour luck trying to hit the bouncing ninja that she had somehow twisted the gun around a full 180’ and shot herself in her only remaining eye.

No hope left, D.Va ejected from failing mech, just reaching safe distance as it exploded into tiny pieces. She raised her sidearm up and took aim at the Valkyrie circling their strike team, but instead of taking a shot , shethrew the gun into the air and ran away with her hands flailing over her head. She didn’t get far, for around the corner that she fled was a claymore.

Their only chance left, Genji fought against his hypochondriac nature and lunged in front of his enemy. He pulled out his knife and began waving it around to hopefully deflect the heavy fire back to its sender. Unfortunately for him it was all for naught; because roses are red, violets are blue, and in Soviet Russia bullets deflect you.

The heavy anti infantry rounds first shattered his blade to pieces, and then took to him, shattering his armored chasis and blowing away all of his robot limbs, all until he was left leaning up against a wall with a single arm connected to the remains on his body.

He looked up at the angry Valkyrie and begged for his life, pleaded for mercy and cried to be spared by the person who had once saved him by using the only way he knew how.

“I need healing.”

His suffering was ended with another 7.62 round to the head.

Angela set back down on the ground and surveyed the carnage that she had caused with a grin. The clock reached zero and overtime began slowly ticking down. From the ground, she saw Moira glaring up at her with a hatred that couldn’t simply be described with normal human words.

Moira spat on the ground at Mercy’s feet and, with her only slightly manicured nail, pointed at her and wretched out the word, “Ner-”

A glowing orange projectile met her stupid ginger face and caused her brain to evacuate. She sat with cross-eyes before slowly slouching to the ground. “Nerf this.” Angela responded, blowing the smoke out from the barrel of her handgun.

There was a moment of silence as if  the announcer Athena herself was dumbfounded by the glorious comeback that had just happened. Remembering that she had a job to do, the automated observer began to call out, “Double kill. Triple Kill, Quadruple kill, Only 90’s kids will remember that kill, quin-tuple kill!  ”

Alexsandr detached his machine gun from the mount on Angela’s helmet and stowed it behind his back. She released him and he slid down to the ground.

“My work here is done.” He said, surveying the carnage before him.

Angela turned to him and gave him a tight hug, leaning up and giving him a kiss on the side of his helmet and leaving a dark red stain on the underside of the visor, a mystery for his other comrades to wonder and guess what had happened to earn the mark.

A cloaked head popped out from behind one of the pillars, and although invisible to the naked eye, Sombra popped herself back behind her cover and took a breath. That was insane, but it looked like it was all going to be up to her to snatch victory right from the jaws of defeat. She looked down at her gear and saw that her EMP was charged. She checked her magazine and racked an extra round into her gun just to be safe before she took a deep breath to prepare herself.

She began to sprint around the corner, beginning to say her trademark line, “¡Apagando las luc-!”but stopped when she ran face first into someone. She halted, not moving an inch. She was invisible, so there was no way they knew she was there, right?

The woman wore a balaclava and riot helmet. She had a large pistol in one hand and a looked to have her phone strapped to her wrist. Her clothes seemed to all be extremely casual, a sweatshirt, purple sneakers, and a pair of jeans that were far too tight, but at the same time had a large automatic rifle across her back and full ballistics vest on her torso.

“Guten Tag!” she said. She pulled her eyes away from the phone screen and looked right where Sombra was standing. She spoke like she was talking to someone who was standing before her and twirled the pistol in her hand like a maestro would direct his orchestra. In a soft and sing-song esque voice, she said, “If it runs on batteries, I vill see it~~~~~~~.”

It was in that moment that Sombra realized that she was talking about her invisibility cloak.

“Ah shi-.”

“TEAM KILL!”

Another man, this one likewise wearing unusually casual clothes along with his military gear and a helicopter pilot’s helmet, ran out from the inside of the temple. He ran up to the woman’s side and was about to apologize for being late until he saw the corpse of the decapitated cyberpunk cosplayer on the ground. He repulsed, like a woman who saw a rat just run by her side, and said, “Ew! I guess we won’t have to worry about grenades now!”

https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=grenade

Tune in next week kids! Next on the docket is the super hot extra sexy spicy 18+ NSFW XXX rated porno between bastion and a twitch drone…

Chapter Text

Hack and Backslash

Disclaimer: The following segment features excessive crass and crude humor. You have been warned.

Also, I love the nation of Israel.

There is a base Herefordshire, England. During the Second Great War, the base had been used by the English Commonwealth forces as a staging and training camp for their special commando units against the overwhelming Nazi threat. Although it held no airfield or means of quick transportation, the base had been used to train for and plan operations that would eventually lead to the end of the war and dispel the dark shadow that loomed over Europe.

In the heart of the base was a multiple story red brick building. At the time, it had been the command central of the base, filled with officers, secretaries and top secret documents that could change the fate of the world. Yet, as time went on, the old building would be left behind as a relic of an age gone by. Pen and paper would be replaced by keyboards and monitors, canvas maps would eventually be turned into electronic images on floppy discs, and in turn, they would turn to CD’s and eventually electrons on server spaces. Yet all the while, the old brick building would sit vacant.

But then, a new use was discovered for the structure: close quarters combat, live fire range simulator. Today was no different, live rounds were being used, but it was not for training. That is for sure.

Defending a compressed air container full of noxious fart gas, Sataya Vaswani, or better known by her preferred name, “Symnainini” was busy laughing incoherently as she waddled in circles around the room. Wearing an adult sized Spongebob themed diaper, a full-sized bathtub helmet, and a blue shirt that read, “Please be patient, I have autism.” Symmetra stumbled her way to the entrances of the room with her hands up by her shoulders with her elbows locked shut. While not breaking the seal of her locked elbows, she reached her hands down into her diaper and pulled out an automated turret, before using tard-strength to fling it and plant the device into the wall. The action of throwing the expensive piece of equipment at the wall caused her to laugh in a way that make the common man think that it was the punchline to the funniest joke in the world.

Finished with first doorway, Symmetra was about to move on to the next opening when a shot rang out. The savant looked up at her work and saw that her turret had been destroyed. Taking a deep breath, the Indian woman’s face became as red as a freshly cooked sugar beet as she let out a Short-Bus-Battle cry.

She turned, ready to unleash all trisomy 21 kinds of hell after whoever destroyed her toy, but then another shot went out, smearing her extra chromosomes against the opposite wall.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the complex, a rather obese Italian man was lying on his back, phone in one hand and salami in the other while a big toothy grin was spread across his face. He tapped the corner of his smudged phone with his minestrone covered thumb, and on the other side of the connection, a young Japanese woman who was attempting to lay a breaching charge on a wall was immediately shocked in the ass, forcing her to turn around in search of the perpetrator.

His current chorus of chuckles caused his bread rolls to jostle as the woman fired repeatedly at his bulletproof camera, but to no avail. He was about to continue the game once more when his phone went dead and the only thing on the image was a purple skull.

He started shouting at his phone in Italian, saying, “Beepityboppitybeededeybloppodybloppedy boo!” causing such a commotion that he couldn’t get away from the wall in time before the woman he tormented earlier detonated her charge, turning him into one spicy meatball.

Bombsite clear, Grace “Dokkaebi” Nam pressed the mag release on her DMR, pulling the magazine up out of the action and then releasing it, letting gravity take it to the ground. Reloading, she inserted another one before sliding the rifle over her back on its sling and pulled her suppressed SMG from its enlarged leg holster. Like she had trained to do countless times, she spun around on the rappel line on the outside of the building and felt a wave of relief as the blood flowed away from her head. Without hesitation, she jumped away from the window and swung into the opening, landing squarely into the room with the freshly iced autist at her feet.

She checked her corners, making sure one final time that the area was clear before crouching down. From behind her back, she pulled out a military briefcase and popped the case open. Using one hand, she adjust her hipster shades and combed her black and white stripped hair across her forehead while preparing the defuser for the bomb.

 “Easy…” the Korean woman thought, “Almost too easy…”

By the power of convenience, the display on the large computer went dead, and in its place was a bouncing Calavera skull.

Immediately, Dokkaebi stood with her gun at the ready, and standing before her was another aggressor, but for as in-the-zone as she was, she paused at the sight of the intruder. She had never met the person standing before her in person, but she had heard of her through the internet. It was Sombra, supposedly the best hacker in the plannet.

The black clad Korean Commando and hot pink and purple popping Mexican stared each other down and came to a silent conclusion that- while probably the fastest way to solve the problem- guns were not the proper tool to deal with this issue.

The two mirrored each other, slowly lowering the business ends of their guns and inspecting the tools of their trade.

Obnoxious hairstyle: Check

Stupid eyewear: Check

Computer on hand at all times: Check

Undeniable scent of Dorito dust: Check

Sub Machine Gun: Check

Diversity Hire: Check

Repressed Daddy Issues: Undoubtedly

Oh, it was on.

At the speed of a vapid White Knight coming to M’lady’s aid, both shot to their virtual devices. Sombra spread out her hands and created a virtual desktop made of light while Dokkaebi pulled her tablet from the insert on the front of her breastplate. Without any prompt, “Running in the 90’s” began playing from both of their devices as their fingers shot across the keyboard at speeds uncharted by mere man.

They both dashed at each other virtual throats with a direct hack and failed, after that, they attempted to compromise each other’s VPN, to find each other’s armor impenetrable. They sent fake bomb threats to each other’s workplace, doxed each other’s mother, and even tried to use free Hotpocket ads as Trojan Horses.

But it was at that moment that both came to the understanding that neither was just a normal Script Kiddie. The only way to take their opponent down was the same way God killed the dinosaurs. To cause the greatest fucking Scorched Earth shitshow the World Wide Web had ever seen. The Chinese bridge troll and the 1337 Illegal were going to have to pull out all of the stops for this one.

They dug into their computers and rallied their armies across all of the chans and somethingawfuls and prepared their troops for the Gay Ops to end all Gay Ops. Consequences would never be the same.

Like Archduke Ferdinand getting capped by a damn peasant, Pornhub was the first victim of the war, not being struck down by a 9mm, but a DDos strike causing the biggest case of blueballs since the end of The Fappening.

Next was Reddit, its pseudointellectual debates by neckbeards about incest and the age of consent being completely purged from the internet forever.

Then, every video on Youtube, from the disguised Cheese Pizza channels, to nude “Art” livestreams, and every dog and cat video were deleted and replaced with Never gonna Give you Up by Rick Astley.

DarksydePhil was swatted, and every other Thot on Twitch was arrested by the IRS.

Every single auction across EBay, Craigslist, and Gunbroker was bought, finalized, and sent to George Soros’ residence.

The homepage of Tumblr was brought down and replaced with a blank screen with the words, “There are only two genders”.

Every Resident Evil forum was spammed with the topic, “Ashley is Best Waifu.”

The logo for the Federal Bureau of Investigation was photoshopped and replaced with the words, “Female Body Inspectors”.

Trojan horses were simultaneously sent to Microsoft and Sony which immediately bricked every console hooked up to their respective online services.

President Donald Trump’s Twitter account was mass flagged and deleted.

All of Nigeria was taken offline. Nobody noticed until 16 months later when spam filters were unusually vacant.

Every LGBTQ support group was hacked and their logo was replaced by the name, “Let God Burn Them Quickly.”

Minecraft servers were taken offline and a false developer update was made instructing users to delete System32 to fix compatibility issues.

The search algorithms for every major search engine on the internet was corrupted and answered every query with the response, “Are traps gay?”

All of Anonymous was revealed, arrested, and brought before a United Nations Human Rights tribunal for their crimes of dramatic faggotry.

Your (yes, you.) Fanfiction account was hacked and all of your shitty shipfics were purged for degeneracy.

Messages were spread amongst all white nationalist and identity related websites calling for funding in order to “Send the sandniggers back where they came”, and all proceeds went directly to funding the Military Industrial Complex of Israel

Furaffinity, Deviantart and inkbunny were taken down and their web domains were purchased and replaced with a gif of FilthyFrank saying, “Its Time to Stop!”

An announcement was made on Steam revealing the long awaited demo for Half Life 2 Episode 3, but when booted up, the file was revealed to be an unmodded version of The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.

Back in Herefordshire, England, both Dokkaebi and Sombra prepared their last resort for each other. Booting up “HolyHandGrenade.exe” both wizkidz activated the program and hit enter at the same time, causing the processors of both of their units to go into overdrive and causing both to explode in stunning showers of sparks simultaneously. But they didn’t even notice that their weapon of choice had been disarmed, for as sure of their victory they were that as soon as they slapped enter, they discarded their portable computers, stood up and pointed at each other and shouted, “HA!”

Perfect mirrors of their other, both Sombra and Dokkaebi were frozen in their places as they both claimed victory over each other. Sweat was rolling down their brows and chests were heaving over the display of Aspergery that the world had never seen before, but regardless, their pointed fingers remained transfixed on each other, for giving up an inch at this point would make all their effort be for waste.

The world outside of the lonely brick building in Hereford was in complete shambles. /pol/ Nazis were marching in the streets, /b/tards were raiding their local electronics shops and uploading farm animal porn onto the demo computers. Red Pilled MRA’s and blue haired feminists were engaging in mortal Kombat at their respective slam poetry bars. Dogs were fucking cats, and news anchors all over the world were giving interviews to individuals claiming to be “The Infamous Hacker known as 4 Chan”.  Incels were rising up all over the globe on a crusade in the name of Saint Elliot of Isla Vista. Pools all around the world were closed due to aids in the water, and Internet Talkshow hosts were upset that the Government was found to be putting chemicals in the water that caused frogs to become homosexual. Without provocation, Vladimir Putin had authorized Tactical Nuke strikes against the server farms in India in order to “Purge the gay off the Internet.”

But none of that mattered to our two superhackers. No, all casualties in their internet war were justified at this point as long as they were the one to win in this final game of Chicken.

Then, with the same synchronization that their retarded internet war had been waged with, two shots rang out, bullets colliding with both of their heads in unison and making their internet greymatter collide in their air as both combatants fell to the ground in a draw.

From around opposite entrances to the room, two men entered and looked down upon the bodies of the tech wizards at their feet. One wore black cargo pants and a white sports jacket with the number “76” on the back. The other had a shield attached to his rifle, wore desert camouflage and a big bushy beard on his chin.

The two gave the dead bodies of their respective tech specialists a kick before looking at each other with a look that could only be described as casual ignorance as to what was going on. The masked man in the sports jacket lowered his rifle and reached into his coat, pulling out a pressurized can filled with a highly caffeinated beverage and cracked it open, saying, “Ghost in the Shell was a pretty cool cartoon.” Before taking a long sip of his even longer beverage.

Joining in, the man with the big black beard opened his own silvery can and added, “Yep, and Deus Ex was a pretty good game, too.” Before taking his own sip.

Cast your votes for next week’s story; BoomerBeard and Boomer:76 go on a race war with John Deeres or Sledge and Reinhardt compare hammers in the Sauna.

Be sure to leave your comments below.

I am so going to hell for writing this…

Chapter Text

Here is some art from ch 3

Here is the cover: