This? This is what she saved her ammunition for. Her anger for. The last few depleted pools of energy left in burned-out circuitry and her muscles alike: no pretense, no innocuous habits played up to make her seem like less of a threat. Sombra hardly glows as she flits around the battlefield, translocator teleporting her to safety each time her digital camouflage fails. It works to her advantage, that lack of brightness— even the fluorescent streaks of white in her hair are so matted with blood and dull from lacking energy— that she can make for the shadows any time something (or someone) wanders too close.
Her primary target? The hearts. Only the hearts.
Her still-living teammates can fend for themselves, as far as she's concerned. A neglible loss, an appropriate distraction, she's already spent every bought resource in her arsenal except for one— Cortana— who's housed inside her own cybernetics. If someone else falls in the process of taking this thing down, it's not her problem anymore.
She came here to finish this.
And with a burst of fired rounds from her SMG, puncturing another heart with a wet, agonizing burst of blood, she likes to think she is. Even as the distressed shouting of her peers echoes not-so-distantly in the background.
Sombra — not a spooky
This? This is what she saved her ammunition for. Her anger for. The last few depleted pools of energy left in burned-out circuitry and her muscles alike: no pretense, no innocuous habits played up to make her seem like less of a threat. Sombra hardly glows as she flits around the battlefield, translocator teleporting her to safety each time her digital camouflage fails. It works to her advantage, that lack of brightness— even the fluorescent streaks of white in her hair are so matted with blood and dull from lacking energy— that she can make for the shadows any time something (or someone) wanders too close.
Her primary target? The hearts. Only the hearts.
Her still-living teammates can fend for themselves, as far as she's concerned. A neglible loss, an appropriate distraction, she's already spent every bought resource in her arsenal except for one— Cortana— who's housed inside her own cybernetics. If someone else falls in the process of taking this thing down, it's not her problem anymore.
She came here to finish this.
And with a burst of fired rounds from her SMG, puncturing another heart with a wet, agonizing burst of blood, she likes to think she is. Even as the distressed shouting of her peers echoes not-so-distantly in the background.