She hears it. Hears him even over the sound of gunfire. Maybe it's just an illusion— part of the way this place works in transmitting anything to the senses: he could be a mile away and Sombra's certain she'd still hear it, noise digging into the metal of her spine like shrapnel.

But she sticks to her work. Finds the end of the cables and they—

—trail off. Into flesh. Only this time when she sets a hand to them there's the telltale feeling of a pulsebeat, like a heart, or the flow of blood beneath an inorganic surface. Like veins.

She snaps her hand back in disgust, lip curling sharply. Logs the data as she turns on her heel, fading off into non-existence once her thermoptic camo takes hold. It doesn't take her long to flicker back into reality a few feet at his back, careful when she opens fire to keep it to a series of short, well-aimed bursts so he isn't hit in the process.

"We're done here, Reaper - vámonos!"

A call to retreat. Save themselves the ammunition, the energy.