#atrappedwolfwill

“And... yeah. I’ll readily admit that even if this town were twice the size it probably wouldn’t get any more international than an IHOP. I’m as ready to leave as you are, believe me. Stationing overseas has kind of spoiled me, I’ll admit.” All told, Emily’s doing a shockingly good job keeping it casual considering the state she was in when last they spoke.

It doesn’t even seem like she’s imagining jumping over the table and cracking Sombra’s head open against the floor. She smiles and nods to the waitress, briefly gesturing for her to stick around a moment after Sombra asks for a drink. “French press for me, thank you. And the house reuben as well.” She waits, then turns her eyes back to the hacker. “I would say I’m surprised you’re not more concerned about an operational failure, but if I thought you would have a real interest in keeping him alive I wouldn’t have extended an olive branch.”

The hacker (very delicately, mind you) snorted and covered her mouth. Shit, okay, that was pretty good. Where she not paying attention, the dry tone would have made her miss it. She leans back into her seat away a little bit, averting her gaze as she listens.

It makes it easier for her to focus, sometimes looking at folks was too intense. And her neurodivergency made it easy - there was a fly buzzing over the next table, the young man at the counter looked exhausted due to an upcoming English Literature exam (he had a C, yikes), and there was a chip in one of her nails that wasn't there before. Shit.

She looked up when she was addressed again and she was going to be so happy to bury the weirdness for another four months. Sombra's expression was incredulous. "So you managed to track me in Zacatecas but you didn't catch anything of my earlier work?" The hacker's voice was low, waiting until the waiter was just out of earshot. "Look, I-" A pause, then annoyance with herself, and she averted her gaze again. 30 years old. Grown as hell. "Sometimes I have to do things I don't like doing. But I don't think I could really live with myself if some Nazi was alive because of me."

IT'S NEVER PLEASING TO HAVE someone throw a wrench into his plans. Even less so when it involves moving parts. Moving parts being Emily. Reaper can't deny she's proven to be reliable, he might even say he'd put her forward as loyal. Something Gabriel attests to time and time again, arguing Reaper every step of the way about plans to kill. He's set those aside now, for the most part. If he gets his back stabbed ? Well. There's a plan already set for him to follow. Better to be prepared than sorry. 

His arrival is quiet, though not unnoticeable. Black smoke fills a part of the room, and coalesces into the form of Reaper himself, solid once again. Deconstruct, reconstruct. Something that would normally hurt like hell if he didn't have full control of the nerves. His bootfalls are heavy, further signifying his presence as he pulls a drive out from his jacket, tossing it to her desk, letting it skid to a stop near her. 

" There is an op out for information on you. " He states it bluntly. " I'd look through their files and see about what you need to cover up. " He pauses, before pulling a set of keys and tossing them down. " I'm moving your location as well. They have intel on your general area, they'll find you eventually. Last thing I need is Talon in my personal business. " He nods toward the key. " That is a personal safehouse of mine I will be taking you to. The only one who is aware of it is me. " The only one who ever needed to be aware of it was him. " You have time. I would say a few days at the least. However, I understand urgency if you want things done sooner. I'll take you when you're ready. "

Brigitte had approached the other out of curiosity, having been interested to learn about other former members’ experiences with the old Overwatch after hearing all of Reinhardt’s stories. Emily however had seemed a little caught off-guard by her question, which causes her to slightly recoil. She didn’t want to offend the woman in any way.

She listens to the other’s answer, finding her curiosity growing. What kind of data did she collect? And how did she collect it? The sudden noise of the woman sipping her coffee snaps her out of her thoughts, and upon realising she had been asked for her name, she perks up.

“I’m confused…is the BSAA metaphor for the lame horse or are we the horse?” Ingrid asked as she ate a cookie. Sometimes Emily could be cryptic; most agents were, in their own ways. Sometimes she was referencing something Ingrid had no clue about because she hadn’t really been raised in America or a place that spoke English. “Or maybe the government is the horse?” she mused, more to herself now than to Emily, who she was in conversation with. “Either way, I think I understand. Every man for themselves mentality in stress? Do you think everything will all come crashing down once you and the team expose everything that went down in Romania?”

"You'll forgive me if I appear to be somewhat... vexed... by your statement. While I wholeheartedly agree that Miranda needs to go, your involvement - both its violence and its scope - give me some pause that I don't think is entirely unreasonable, Mr. Heisenberg."

The lord considered what the other had said for a long moment, puffing on his cigar.

“Mr. Heisenberg was my father,” he said finally.  “Or, he would have been, if he spoke English.”

Another puff on the cigar.  “Miranda’s powerful.  It’s going to take more than six people with guns to bring her down.  I have built an army.  I am offering it-- and myself-- to you as allies.”

An engine roared in the depths of the factory, and he cursed.  “God damn it...”  He crossed to a hatch in the floor and flung it open.  “SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU FUCKING FREAK!”

@atrappedwolfwill​ from here.

Wesker’s lips twisted wryly. Always something arrogant to say. Don’t they ever learn? Of course this one would be stubborn and mouthy. Just about everyone who associated with CHRIS caught his arrogance like a fatal disease. “What else am I to do when you fools die so quickly?”

@atrappedwolfwill​ asked:

"I'm not obsessed with death. If anything, I'm obsessed with making sure that when it does happen, it means something."

Piers is quiet for a long moment, taking in the other’s words.  They ring true; truer than he would like them to.

“I think that’s the best we can hope for, isn’t it?  That when we die, it’s for the right reason.  That it means something to someone.”

“I did it...  For the BSAA...”