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Chapter Text

Gabriel yawned, wide and tired. He and Jack’s small partner mission had not gone without its difficulties. Talon was more irritating than ever in the near year following the defection of its four most prized operatives, although he hadn’t heard anything of Moira O’Deorain’s thoughts on the matter. Truthfully, he hadn’t heard anything of her at all – nothing from the conference she had supposedly been at, nothing from the university she worked for, and nothing in the intel Olivia pulled from Talon’s systems. He pushed it from his mind, however, stumbling into the kitchen in search of pizza rolls.

Instead, he found Amélie, wrapped up in one of Gérard’s old cable knit sweaters that fit her long frame like a crop top, hunched over her laptop, Lúcio and Hanzo hovering over her shoulders. Cold tea and coffee sat on the counter, forgotten in favor of whatever they were looking at. Intrigued, Gabriel joined them.

“Hey,” he greeted, squeezing the DJ’s shoulder as he leaned in for a better view. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“Vishkar’s Rio de Janeiro announcement,” Lúcio answered. He had an odd, conflicted look on his face. “We think something’s wrong with their star architech.”

“Which one?”

Amélie pointed at the young woman standing to the project leader. “Her,” she said. “They introduced her as Satya Vaswani, but Lúcio calls her Symmetra.” She bit her nail lightly, a pre-Talon habit she had recently reacquired. “He said she seems off, less sure. We know that the favela caught fire and it was blamed on the company who was originally given the contract, but Vishkar has been known to manipulate situations to their benefit.”

Gabe studied Vaswani. She stood tall and straight, seemingly proud and confident of her work. However, there was a tension to her that made her stick out to him. He knew that look well. “You think she’s been groomed and is just figuring it out?” The three nodded in unison. “Well then.”

“What worries me more is her handler,” Hanzo said.

“The project leader?”

“Hai.” The ex-yakuza zoomed in on the pair. “She is watching the crowd very closely – something about them makes her uneasy. If you watch, he looks over at her every so often and…” He wrinkled his nose. “It is very odd. Her discomfort pleases him. Reassures him, maybe.”

Gabriel, however, had stopped breathing. “You guys wouldn’t happen to know the handler’s name, would you?”

Lúcio shot him a strange look. “They said it earlier,” he said. “Sanjay somethin’-or-other. Somethin’ wrong, Papai?”

“Yep. He’s a member of Talon’s inner council. Not the only Vishkar leader on the books either, so we’re looking at a serious rot from the inside.”

“They are definitely using Vaswani,” Hanzo said. “There is no doubt about that. According to her website biography, she was ‘rescued’ from the slums in India and taken to their academy. I am concerned what we may find if we look into that history.”

Gently, Gabriel placed his hands on Amélie’s shoulders, knowing well what she was thinking. “You wanna rescue her, mija?"

The young woman slowly shook her head. “No,” she said, “that is not quite right. I want her to rescue herself. However, she may need a push in the right direction.” Amélie turned around, looking past Gabriel to where her wife was perched on the countertop (which had definitely been empty when he walked in, why did she always do that-). “Luckily,” she said, “I know someone who offers such services.”

Olivia grinned, opened her systems, and got to work.

-----

When she was finally released from the press conference and the dinner and the cocktail social and the post-meeting, Satya returned to her hotel room. Vishkar had supplied her with a simple, dark blue evening gown in a sensible European style, adding basic, plain jewelry and heels to match. The shoes went first, settled cleanly in their box. Then went the earrings, then the bracelets, then the necklace, snapped into the cases and laid out by size on the bathroom counter. The dress she removed with great care, sighing with relief as the uncomfortable and clinging material disappeared into the garment bag, which was swiftly shut into the closet. She snatched a simple muslin kurti from her suitcase and slipped it on, freed her hair from its confines, then allowed herself the weakness of flopping dramatically on the bed.

She should really do that more often.

Her trust in Vishkar had been wavering for a while now, she admitted to herself. From larger issues, such as mishandled operations in various cities swept under the rug, to normal conversations where words with double meanings were slung past her as if she was too simple to understand – many aspects of Vishkar were, for her, no longer adding up.

We’re making the world a better place, we’re making the world a better place, we’re making the world a better place-

Rio de Janeiro was a disaster of untold proportions. Their proposal had overreached, the investigation she’d been sent on was pointless, and still the city had burned. Sanjay had been far too pleased with the favela’s destruction, and far too dismissive of her insistence for the inclusion of restored or rebuilt homes in the project plans. For the first time, she found herself wondering just what, in the larger scale, Vishkar was truly trying to accomplish.

We’re making the world a better place, we’re making the world a better place, we’re making the world a-

Ding!

Satya shot up, blinking in confusion as she scanned the room. Her phone and laptop were both off, but the alert had still sounded much closer than –

Ding!

…It was coming from her arm.

Slowly, she turned her hand over to look at the palm. The delicate blue glow of her prosthetic had turned a vibrant purple, pulsing in the dim light of her hotel room. Hesitantly, she pushed, prompting her hand to produce something, anything.

The television turned on.

There was no show or movie displayed on the screen. Instead, it flashed the same purple as her hand, once, twice, then resolved into a small block of text.

We are here to help.

“I do not need help,” Satya said. She did not sound as certain as her words implied.

Yes, you do. We will show you.

“Who are you?”

An interested party. Less business, more genuine concern. When was the last time you had a bubble bath? Those help with stress.

“This does not seem like helping,” Satya said. “Right now you are just interrupting my free time.”

Lo siento. Anyway, we have something for you.

“Hopefully not a bullet.”

No, that would be rude. First meeting and all that.

“How honorable.”

Thank you. I have a great deal of incriminating data on Vishkar, all of which I have downloaded to your arm. However, there is one you should see now.

The text disappeared, replaced with a scan of a paper document. Satya stood and slowly approached the television for a better look, feeling dread pooling in the pit of her stomach. It was written in English, and she stopped dead in her tracks as she finally got close enough to read it.

Contract of Purchase it said at the top. Vishkar was one party, of course, their American departments handling the deal to avoid regional conflict. The other…was an orphanage, address given as Jaipur. The terms were disgusting to her, five hundred rupees for whatever they were purchasing. A pittance. Land, most likely, a cheap payout for one of the hundreds of projects Vishkar had never begun, though she had never heard of one in Jaipur. Perhaps it had slipped through the cracks in her search. She continued reading.

Her dread turned to ice in her belly.

Vishkar will receive Satya Vaswani, daughter of the late Dayaal and Kaishori Vaswani-

It was not land Vishkar had bought from that orphanage in Jaipur. It was a person.

It was her.

Satya sprinted to the bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time to empty the contents of her stomach. Never in her life had she felt so disgusted, so humiliated, so…betrayed. She was a commodity to a company, not an asset. She hadn’t been saved as much as acquired, proved a budding student as much as a lucky investment.

She had been purchased, if she did the conversion to American currency correctly, for six dollars and ninety-seven cents.

Her bathroom mirror flickered, revealing another television hidden behind the glass. Are you okay?

She coughed, grimacing at the taste of acid in her mouth. “I do not do that often.”

It is not fun, amiga. Drink some water. She obeyed. You can do something about this. You do not have to do it alone.

“Where could I go?” she asked. “They own me.”

We would be more than happy to help you. All you have to do is call.

“…Who are you?”

The text faded away. For a moment, she thought her mysterious friend wouldn’t answer, but an image lit up the screen instead, the silver-and-orange circle that had once been emblazoned everywhere.

Overwatch.

Satya stared for a long moment. Overwatch, if it was truly the same people who had made it great before, could do wonders. She could be free, she could help, she could truly make the world a better place. If what her purple friend claimed was true, they could get her out before morning came, rescue her from the organization that had apparently never cared.

Or…she could free herself.

“I think,” she said delicately, “I would like to make my own notice. If I need you…”

Our contact information is in your phone! ;)

“Thank you,” she murmured. The screens went dark and her arm returned to its normal blue.

She did not sleep.

-----

Vishkar had given her three days off for her contributions to the Rio de Janeiro contract. Satya spent all of them on the local library’s computers. She researched employee rights, compared them to the experiences of her and her coworkers, and sent in anonymous tips to various reporting agencies for Vishkar’s worker abuse and human rights abuse. She submitted requests for and received her birth records, as well as her parents’ death records and documentation of her time at the orphanage. A quick phone call to her bank provided her with a small amount of American money. Finally, without an ounce of regret, she booked her own plane ticket back to India.

On the fourth day, she wore a simple sundress, quietly checked out of her hotel, and stashed her things with the understanding omnic at the front desk. The walk to where Sanjay had set up his office was quick. She took the stairs up and soon found herself standing in front of his desk, keeping her face perfectly blank as her gave her his typical salesman’s smile.

“Satya! Did you have a nice break?” he asked.

“It was productive,” she said shortly. “There is one issue I need to discuss with you.”

“Great! How about you take a seat?”

“No,” she said. “This will not take long.” From her bag she pulled a folded document, which she handed to a mildly confused Sanjay. “This is a contract I would like to buy out.”

“A business contract?” he asked, unfolding it and squinting at the words.

“Of a sort.” Satya pulled out an envelope. “It documents Vishkar’s purchase of a child from an orphanage twenty-six years ago. I was that child. I would like to purchase myself back from Vishkar.”

Sanjay stared at her, for once stunned into silence.

“Since I was bought by the American branch for exactly six dollars and ninety-seven cents, I have calculated that, taking my education and work experience into account, I now cost seven dollars.” She pulled the crisp bills out of the envelope and handed them to Sanjay who, almost as if on autopilot, took them. “This is a contract confirming that I have bought my freedom and am no longer employed in any way by Vishkar,” she continued, pulling another document from her bag. She plucked a pen from the cup on the desk and neatly signed, then spun it around for Sanjay to do the same.

He did.

She took the document back, then went to the scanner and put the it into the system herself. Since Sanjay had already signed it, it required no further approval. Satisfied, she offered him a small, insincere smile. “Thank you for the opportunity. Have a nice day.” She turned on her heel and walked out, not hesitating even when the call of wait, Satya! came just as the door shut.

Satya Vaswani, indebted to no one, had a flight to catch.

Chapter Text

Satya spent nearly two months in India avoiding what she had sent out to do in the first place. The distraction was less in avoidance and more within the realization that her entire childhood had been spent within Utopaea’s city limits. For the first time, she explored her home country and learned the things her parents might have taught her had they lived long enough to do so. She toured historic landmarks, wove her way through busy marketplaces, visited the high and the low and everything in-between before finally, finally, stepping foot in the slums of Jaipur.

She didn’t remember much about the orphanage, although being only four when she left it didn’t leave much room for memory. If she concentrated hard enough, she could conjure up images of faded rugs and plain walls, but not much else worthwhile. Somehow, she found it anyway.

It wasn’t an orphanage anymore. Instead, it was a small shop, selling clothes made out of secondhand or salvaged fabric. They were beautiful in an odd way, an eclectic rainbow of color splashed out on an otherwise dull street. Not overwhelming or overstimulating, just…pleasant, cheerful. Hesitantly, she entered.

Everything was ordered by fabrics, then sizes. This helped her very little. Satya reached out and tentatively rubbed a saree between her fingers before jerking back, wincing; the fabric was much rougher than it appeared. She took note of the label and gave the rest of its racks a wide berth, favoring more familiar cotton and silk.

“Good afternoon!” a voice behind her chirped, and she whipped around to see a little girl, no older than ten, sitting neatly on a stool by a dented cashbox. “Are you from around here?”

“I was born here,” Satya said, allowing a small smile, “but I haven’t been back for a long time.”

“I was born here, too! My name is Diti, what’s yours?” the child asked, grinning widely in return.

“Satya. Aapse milke khushee hui, Diti,” she said. Then, she paused. “Are you the shopkeeper?”

“My naanee and I do it together,” Diti said. She hopped down from her perch to take Satya’s hand, leading her to a small rack near the back. “I mostly take the money, but sometimes I get to make clothes, too! These are mine.” They were all relatively simple sarees, bright in color and made of soft fabric. Satya’s eagle eyes could occasionally pick out a crooked or uneven stitch, but overall, they were flawless.

“You do very good work,” she praised, and the little girl glowed.

“Dhanyavaad! Naanee says I’m getting better every day!” Diti dropped Satya’s hand as if remembering something. “Oh! I need to stay at the front. Come find me if you have any questions!” As quick as a wink, she was gone.

Satya blinked, then smiled. The girl was…endearing, full of life. It made her wonder what she could have been like, growing up with family that loved her. She turned to leave, make her way back to the bus and off to who knows where else, when something on Diti’s clothing rack caught her eye.

It was right on the end, the dark purple contrasting neatly with the bright pink and orange, more life than could ever be found in a Vishkar uniform. Closer inspection showed that the fabric was in good condition, if clearly repurposed, and a matching top and skirt hung on the hangar beneath the saree’s folds. There was no price tag.

Satya had never owned a saree, never even worn one. Poor children did not get nice clothes, and Vishkar employees never dressed outside of the allowed range of cool, muted colors. Still, she stepped behind the privacy curtain and did her best, figuring it out after a few messy tries.

It looked nice. Very nice. She had managed to tuck enough in at the waist that the saree itself fell just above the floor. The bright fabric felt comfortable against her skin while the top fit neatly over her mechanical arm. It could be worn on a daily basis or dressed up for an event with the proper jewelry, making it a practical purchase. The longer she looked, however, the more she realized that she just…wanted it. It was a new feeling, an interesting one, and for the first time in the two months since she’d left Vishkar she understood the gap between her and them, between their goals and the real humans their actions affected. It was such a small thing, trying on a saree in the closet of a tiny slum shop, but the disconnect between her entire life and the ground on which she stood suddenly meant the world.

Satya bought the saree.

-----

That night, back in her little hotel room in Jaipur proper, she pulled up the number her Overwatch “friend” had left in her phone, a video-only one with a security code. It was illegal. It was also very tempting. She remembered growing up with the stories of the good Overwatch did, of the hope it represented. Its fall nearly seven years ago had been devastating. How amazing would it be to be involved in the return of an organization that had dragged the world from war into peace, from destruction into prosperousness? She could truly do good, not the two-faced cruelty that Vishkar had instructed her on for so long.

She plugged it into her laptop and pressed call.

It rang once, twice, three times before the screen resolved into an image. Two people sat on a sofa. The first was small, with a half-buzzed head and cybernetics running along her scalp. The second, on the other hand, was much more familiar.

“Good evening,” she whispered.

Lúcio, Vishkar’s nemesis, smiled at her. “Hey there, Vaswani,” he said. “Long time, no see.”

She hesitated. “I’m sorry,” she burst out. “I didn’t know they would-”

“It’s okay, it’s alright!” he said, reaching out as if to hug her. “You don’t need to apologize. I get it.”

“I left them,” she said. “I don’t belong to them anymore.”

“We knew you could do it, chica,” the first woman, most likely her “purple friend” from Rio, assured her. “It’s nice to meet you, by the way. I’m Olivia.”

“It’s nice to see your face instead of just text boxes,” Satya said, allowing a small smile. She took a breath and squared her shoulders. “If your offer is still open…I would like to join you.”

“Absolutely,” Olivia said, not a lick of hesitation in her voice. “We’re currently based in Gibraltar. You can fly yourself to us or we can send a transport now to pick you up.”

Satya ran the math in her head. “There is a discreet location nearby where I could meet you,” she suggested. “It would be difficult for me to reach you on short notice from where I am.”

“Great!” Olivia clapped her hands lightly. “Just send the coordinates to this number and we will be there as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” Satya said sincerely. She paused. “Lúcio? Will you come?”

“You bet,” he said with a grin. “Catch you later!”

“I’ll see you soon,” she said, and ended the call. The coordinates were easy to find, and within a few moments she received an estimated arrival. Twelve hours. Enough to pack and sleep.

A new chapter would soon begin.

-----

Satya stood near the tree line, suitcase clutched in hand. Although it wasn’t terribly cold, she wrapped the extra fabric of her saree close around her shoulders as she scanned the sky. Another message from Olivia had said to be ready for a 6 AM extraction, but at 5:59 she couldn’t hear so much as a bird.

A shadow passed overhead and she startled, slipping behind a tree and out of sight. The quiet hiss of hydraulics, however, made her curious. She poked her head out just enough to see…a transport, Overwatch symbol proudly emblazoned on the side. Silent-flight technology. Interesting.

The ramp lowered and she stepped out to meet it. Suddenly more nervous than she had ever been in her life. She swallowed hard and forced herself to wait and see who had come for her.

“Hey there, Vaswani.” Lúcio strolled down the ramp, stopping about a yard away from her. Satya had never met him in person. The DJ was smaller than her by maybe a head, but he made up for it in presence and a wide grin. “Have a good sleep?”

Satya blinked. “You came,” she said softly. “You actually came.”

Lúcio’s grin turned gentle. “I promised,” he said, “didn’t I?” As if sensing her hesitation, he held out a hand. “No one’s gonna mess with you ever again. They’ll have to take on all of us if they even want a chance. You get me?”

“Yes.” She stepped forward and, before she could rethink it, pulled him into a hug which he immediately returned. Never in her memory had she been held caringly by a human. This, I could get used to. Almost reluctantly, she pulled away. “I have my things right here,” she said, hefting the suitcase. “We can go.”

Lúcio, however, frowned. “That’s all of your things?” he asked.

She nodded, suddenly self-conscious.

“Girl, we have to get you some knick-knacks,” he said, shaking his head. “This weekend, you, me, and Ana are hittin’ up some thrift shops. Maybe bring Hanzo along. Sound good?”

“I suppose.”

“Great!” He swept an arm up the ramp. “After you.”

Resolute, she climbed up and into the ship’s belly. They had a long flight ahead of them.

Chapter Text

By just a few days in, Satya was…confused.

She had assumed Lúcio’s affection at her extraction was a one-time thing, an act of comfort for a frightened recruit before returning to a normal environment. She couldn’t have been more wrong. In fact, physical and verbal affection seemed to be a necessity, even a requirement for her new companions. Observation showed that Shimada, the cyborg one to be specific, was fond of curling up on people’s laps, and no one could leave Captain Amari’s presence without a motherly kiss on the forehead.

It had taken her less than five minutes to locate the lounge nearest to her room. The lighting was soft and the walls were thick enough to mute any outside noise, making it an ideal destination for evenings when her own living quarters grew too boring. Even better, there was a window onto a sweet little greenhouse, as well as a small workbench, perfect for crafting small hard-light objects Vishkar never would have condoned.

On her fifth morning, Satya decided that a change of breakfast scenery was in order. It was still early enough that the kitchen was abandoned, so she gladly tossed out her bland Vishkar-issued protein bar in favor of one of the recipes she’d picked up since her resignation. It was easy enough, and she slipped away just as a yawning Zaryanova stumbled in. She gleefully returned to her little oasis…to find it occupied.

Hovering above the ground near the window was the omnic monk, his glowing orbs chiming faintly as they circled him. Her accidental interruption seemed to wake him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, already backing out of the room, “I will leave you be.”

Zenyatta immediately held out a hand, palm up. “No, please stay. I welcome your presence, Ms. Vaswani.”

Satya paused, then hesitantly sat at the workbench. “I do not wish to bother you.”

“You are not at all a bother,” he said earnestly. “I have been eager to speak with you – it was quite unfortunate that I had to leave so soon after your arrival.”

“Duty called,” she said. “I take no offense.”

“I thank you.”

They lapsed into silence, only interrupted by the clinking of her spoon and chiming orbs. Satya soon found herself lulled into a sense of peace and safety by the omnic’s presence, and was mildly startled when he spoke again.

“Would you like some tea?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I was going to make tea,” he said. “Would you like a cup?”

“No, thank you,” she said after a moment’s pause. “I should be going, but perhaps another time.”

“Very well,” Zenyatta hummed. “Have a good day, Ms. Vaswani.”

“You as well, Master Zenyatta.”

-----

The pattern, to her surprise, continued for weeks. She would wake, prepare a non-Vishkar-approved breakfast, and retreat to the small lounge where Zenyatta was inevitably waiting. Greetings would be exchanged before the two performed their morning rituals, which finished with a declined offer for tea. One morning, however, things shifted.

“Ms. Vaswani?”

Satya set down her spoon, mildly startled by the deviation. “Yes, Master Zenyatta?”

“When did you receive your arm?”

The question was unusual, but she understood what he was truly asking. “I was born without my left arm. Vishkar provided this one, but as it is considered a life necessity, I was not required to return it upon my resignation.”

“Does that mean you can create hard-light objects?” he asked a touch of childlike curiosity in his voice.

In lieu of an answer, Satya raised her hands and, in a few swift movements, presented the monk with an orb identical to his own.

“Marvelous,” he whispered.

“It is a comfort, to create,” she said. “It allows me to get out of my own head. Unfortunately, it also means my dresser is becoming very cluttered.”

“No one would complain if you left your creations around base, Ms. Vaswani,” Zenyatta said. “In fact, they will likely welcome it as an alternative to Jesse McCree’s unfortunate headwear.”

Satya giggled. “I take it that everyone is displeased by the hat?”

“All except for his fiancé, I’m afraid,” the monk said. “Hanzo has replaced it several times now in spite of all attempted meddling.”

“I see.”

Silence took over the room once more as the two simply observed one another. Satya took in the scars on her companion’s plated face and chest, the worn trousers, the gently glowing lights across his forehead, and found herself…comforted. It was an odd feeling, a new one, and she decided it was nice.

“Ms. Vaswani,” Zenyatta asked, “would you care for some tea?”

“Yes, please.” His head tilted in happy surprise, and she smiled in return. “Also, Master Zenyatta, ‘Satya’ is just fine.”

“Feel welcome to drop the ‘master’ as well, my friend,” Zenyatta said, taking her hands in his own. “I am glad to consider you as one.”

Satya smiled and gave his hands a gentle squeeze before standing. “I happen to make excellent tea,” she said, “if I may share?”

“Certainly!”

-----

One by one, Zenyatta introduced her to the rest of the base. There wasn’t a single one without struggles of some kind, she discovered, and none of them looked down on her for her own.

Slowly, she realized it was not merely a team, but a family.

-----

Birthdays were strange. Vishkar had barely acknowledged her birthday with the exception of her eighteenth, when she received an email with a PowerPoint presentation on responsible drinking and safe sex. Twenty-six years’ experience left her expecting nothing different. In retrospect, she should have.

As usual, she slipped out of her room at seven o’clock sharp. The hallways were abandoned, and as she approached the kitchen, she assumed it would be the same. She pushed open the door-

“Ah! Satya!” Lena whipped around, trying and failing to hide the lopsided cake on the counter. “I didn’t think you’d be up this early!”

“I am always up this early,” Satya said, bemused. “What on earth are you trying to do?”

The Brit offered a sheepish grin. “Well,” she said, running an icing-covered hand through her hair, “it’s your birthday!”

Satya blinked. “And?”

“And – what do you mean ‘and’?” Lena asked. “It’s your birthday! That means cake, presents, maybe a wicked party hat – Satya?”

“I…” she found herself completely lost for words. “I don’t…know.”

Lena’s eyebrows shot up as she connected the dots. “You’ve never celebrated your birthday?”

“Never.”

“Well, we’re changing that!” She plonked a plastic bowl over the crime against baking and shot Satya a winning grin. “Go about your business, luv, nothing to worry about!”

Now I definitely have something to worry about, Satya thought, but nonetheless made her breakfast and excused herself to the lounge.

When she arrived, there were more people than normal. Zenyatta was expected, of course, sitting by the window with Hanzo’s cat in his lap, but the elder Shimada brother himself was a surprise, as were Amélie, Mei, and Aleksandra.

The climatologist noticed her first. “Happy birthday!” she chirped from her spot in Aleks’s lap, a greeting that was echoed by the rest of the room.

“Thank you,” Satya said, mildly confused. She took her usual spot at the workbench. “You are all up rather early.”

“We wanted to wish you happy birthday first!” Mei said.

Zenyatta nodded. “It is said that the earlier one hears a ‘happy birthday,’ the luckier your next year will be,” he explained.

“Interesting.” Satya thought for a moment, then smiled. “I certainly cannot be any less lucky now, considering I am no longer a Talon puppet.” Amélie pumped a fist in the air in agreement. “I do believe Lena is planning something, however. Should I be concerned?”

“Absolutely,” Hanzo said. “In fact, I would locate the nearest fire extinguisher if I were you.”

“Come now, Hanzo,” Zenyatta said, “she is not that bad.”

On cue, the fire alarm went off.

“Well, maybe she is.”

-----

Nothing else strange happened for the rest of the day. It was far too suspicious, and Satya found herself peeking around every corner as she walked the base, nervous as to what exactly Lena had in mind for birthday celebrations. She quickly decided that it wasn’t worth it and retreated to her quarters to finish writing the brief from the short mission she, Sojourn, and Amélie had completed the day before.

Several hours and many distractions later, her stomach rudely reminded her that it was dinnertime. Satya left her room, ever cautious of what may be waiting outside, and started making her way to the break room rather than the dining hall. Before she got very far, she was interrupted by a flash of green and blue light.

“Children,” she said with a sigh, “must we do this now?”

Soba materialized on her shoulder, purring as she played nice. Udon and Somen, on the other hand, began running in circles around her legs in an apparent attempt to make her turn around.

“Is there something waiting for me in the dining hall?” she asked. Udon offered a happy-sounding chirp. “Will I like it?” Another chirp. “You won’t leave me alone until I go, will you?” This time, an amused trill. “Very well. Lead on, you little hellions.”

The three dragons danced scurried on and around her as she reluctantly went where she was bid. She had no idea what would be waiting for her. Knowing Lena, it was likely loud and bright, neither of which were things Satya could comfortably deal with. Still, she wasn’t given much choice, and the thought of Lena’s trademark puppy eyes pushed her forward.

When she reached the doors, however, she gasped in delight. The two huge doors were wrapped up in shiny, light blue wrapping paper with tiny white doves and broad white ribbons sealing then with perfectly tied bows. Her dragon escorts chirped at her happily and slipped through the cracks underneath, and she cautiously pressed on the handle and entered.

The hall itself was decorated simply, yet beautifully. There were cute little centerpieces on the three tables they actually used, and she noticed that each contained one of her hard-light creations. Even better, the similarly-decorated kitchen door was open, and she could catch the distinct scent of laal maas wafting out.

She was startled out of her thoughts by a broad hand on her back. “Happy birthday!” Reinhardt said, grinning down at her. “What do you think?”

“It’s lovely!” she marveled. “How long did it take you to finish?”

“We’ve been working on it since the moment you left the kitchen this morning,” Fareeha said, coming up to join them. “Lena sent out a mass text. Honestly, we thought we’d have to distract you more.”

“I was nervous Lena would try and throw a surprise party,” Satya admitted. “I’ve been hiding all day.”

Reinhardt snorted. “She knows better,” he said. “She tried to throw Jack and Gabriel a surprise anniversary party back in the day and barely avoided a black eye!”

“I would not have punched her,” she said, “but there definitely would have been ice in her bed tonight.”

“This is why we like you,” Fareeha said, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “Mom and Uncle Gabe took over dinner after Genji managed to set it on fire, so we have a few minutes. Angela also repaired the cake.”

“She must be a miracle worker,” Satya said. “It looked like a lost cause.”

“I am not a miracle worker!” Angela called from the kitchen. “I just know how icing works!”

“Come! Sit!” Reinhardt said, waving her to a high-backed chair with her name pinned on it. “The birthday chair is yours today!”

The food was wonderful, just as she remembered it being, but the company was better. They swapped stories, told jokes, and introduced her to games she’d only ever heard of. The team had even gotten her gifts, a mixture of useful items and little trinkets (“Gotta spruce up that room of yours!” Lúcio had said as he handed over the record player he’d built for her). She went to bed exhausted, but happy.

She could get used to this.