"Are you crazy, vata?" Bristling, Sombra draws up her shoulders like something cornered— it's not the implication that bothers her (because truthfully, yes, the people she partners with are her arsenal, her defenses) but the demand that follows it, made all the more outrageous by the differences in stature, in equipment, in skill sets.

Asking Sombra to take point is asking her to goad an attack from the nightmare itself, and right now? She doesn't trust the woman that'd be at her back to even consider keeping her alive. Punctuated by the fact that her SMG doesn't immediately go back in its holster, finger still hovering defensively near the trigger.

"I'm not the one that's wearing armor!"