legionmissions | Out With the Old [modplot]

It's...tempting, actually. Against the iron-clad safety of her advantage, Sombra considers it for a beat, scoffing out a satisfied little breath at his compliment.

You're right, Felix. She is hilarious

But she's also got a bone to pick with him. One that involves quickly locking down the other doors at his back— at the far end of the hall. If he's sharp (if he bothers to look up instead) it's not too much to track the course of running wiring towards maintenance paneling on high: given that this part of the building is more for function than show, the connections have been left exposed.

Of course, that's before the door in front of him unlocks again. Turning green and eager and oh so welcoming if he wants to just try and get through, putting this all behind him.

Yeah, no. He smells a trap here. Someone's fucking with him, and this has all the signs of Lucy holding up the football for Charlie Brown to take a running start at. Hand shifting to his pistol, Felix continues to scan the room before his eyes flicker upwards.

"Don't be like that. I just want to talk. Hard to believe, I know."

It should be. But then again, someone's playing with a loaded deck.

The camera feed's already shut down, all it takes is a quick adjustment to the security timers before she disconnects entirely. Two bodies, one exit, and one failsafe: seems like a good enough setup to her.

"I don't really have anything to say to you, Felix." There's a heavily accented emphasis on his name when she reappears through a flicker of digital code, chin in her hand where she's braced against the railing of the catwalk, hand tucked behind its edge curled casually around her SMG. "All I need to do is keep you busy for a little while."

Until his friends get tired, that is.

"Seems like I've already got a reputation around here."

And some people are taking it awfully personal, he notes, eyes on the SMG. She could be a problem, but he doesn't flinch. If anything, he sounds amused. "Freelancer said Locus had another bestie wandering around the place. That'd be you?"

It's a stab in the dark, but it's better than nothing. Find a way these pieces connect before trying to break them apart, that's generally the first step.

Her pokerface is solid; she doesn't betray even the slightest hint of concern when he brings up the topic, or the idea that York or Wash might be injured if Felix is still wandering around entirely intact with that information— though internal thoughts are a different story.

"¿Y a ti que te importa? That information's not getting you out of here in one piece, vato."

There's a hardness to it, her voice. A kind of cutting promise that wouldn't belong where any of her companions could either see or hear it when she pulls back to stand upright, eyes fixed on him like a predator waiting to pounce.

No denial. That'd be a 'yes', then. Good to know.

It takes a half a second to take her in, standing there like a pretty shard of broken glass, glinting in self-made light, before he chuckles.

"You're not gonna kill me. That's not the way the Legion works...and if you're here pointing a gun at me? You're working by their guidelines. Their rules." Felix shakes his head. "That has got to suck, doesn't it? I mean, look at you. You're clearly not Legion material. I can see even from where I'm standing."

Armor. Knives. Shield.

It's like a mantra, remembering the arsenal he'd used on the Silent Horizon. If not for that— and with Locus out of her eyeline— she might forget why she's here entirely under the weight of his words. Instead her expression tightens by degrees, chewing through the disconnect in what he's saying and what she aims to do.

"You don't know what you're looking at."

And, as if on cue, the lights drop around them (because what else is a timer good for) leaving him bathed in red light from locked doors and her nothing more than a series of blue strips and stripes in the dark— before she disappears again.

Better watch your back, Felix.

He's not worried. The HUD will pick up movement if she decides to make herself known again, but in the meanwhile? She can still hear him. That's all he needs.

"You think I don't? Wasn't born yesterday, can't kid a kidder...the cliches go on and on." His tongue darts over his lips as he moves back into the room, listening. Waiting for her to make a move, all the while poised to retaliate.

"So the real question here is, how'd a fox like you end up in the henhouse?"

It's a short ping— his warning as she closes in, careful about her movements as to keep from crossing his direct line of sight even with the advantage of stealth. A quick snap of translocation to his left shoulder, typically the weaker side for most: darting in to latch a hand onto his armor sans flourish, violet lines bleeding outwards to try and find purchase, hoping to shut him down in part or in whole.

"Didn't have much of a choice, a decir verdad." The strangeness of dislocation when she'd been torn from her world was enough to have her at least considering the idea, but it was Gabriel that solidified her decision in an instant. "My part— "

Sombra, what are you doing??

She's not this careless. Knows it intrinsically and well enough that when she hears herself talking she cinches her own teeth shut with effort. It's like too much wine and too little thought, but there's no real reason for it.

No real reason aside from the man in front of her, at least, and it's easier then for the start of suspicion to take hold alongside the set of her claws.

Ah. But luck has its part to play in all this. And she's just a fraction of a second too slow, just enough for him to dip his shoulder downward, to spin and strike at her back with a rake of his blade.

But he doesn't pursue, not yet. Not when he sees an opportunity. If she were anyone of Washington or York's cut, he wouldn't bother, but there's just enough there for him to deliberate getting himself another foothold, if he can help it.

"You're just trying to survive around the hero-types, that it? What a fine line to walk. Been there, you know. Locus too. He ever tell you about Chorus?"

Just chatting away, casual as you please.

She cut her teeth on sparring matches with a super soldier— at the end of the day, reflexes are her arsenal: when he lashes out, Sombra just barely clears it with only the quickest catch of metal on metal where the plating at her back is nicked. Her gun's snapped up to compensate for it, putting distance between them—

But she doesn't fire. Not with curiosity (that digging itch at her spine) sparked so effectively at his unsubtle segue.

"Chorus." Sombra repeats, watching him keenly behind the barrel of her weapon, a clear invitation for him to elaborate.

"Chorus," he echoes, glad to have her attention where it ought to be. And sure, a little information for a little information seems fair, doesn't it? "Me and him, we got a job to head to this backwater planet where the population was busily decimating itself in a civil war. Just to make sure they didn't find a reason to stop. And you know how many noble hero types wars like that tend to inspire."

He snorts softly. "Washington, for example. Real pain in the ass, that guy. But such a fascinating backstory. You ever wonder how they churned out that many broken people in one go? Locus used to idolize the guy, never could shut up about 'Agent Washington'."

Here, his voice drops to a mocking imitation of Locus's low pitched rumble, before shaking his head. "Big idiot doesn't realize the bullet he dodged. As per fucking usual."

There's a sharp spark of interest to be found there, even in the dark— low light hitting the set of an illuminated brow.

"Dígame más."

Wash, after all, has been a target of hers for a while. Would it kill her to seize an opportunity this rare to find out more without having to feign innocent curiosity? Probing past wariness and trauma with kindness and patience. No matter how satisfying the challenge is, sometimes instant gratification is so much more of a rush. "Washington is adored, even here. Locus isn't alone in that."

"See, and that's so funny to me. Not in the 'haha' sort of funny, but the 'Jesus, you guys really don't have a clue' kind of way. Y'know. Considering what Freelancer was, and the shit they got up to. Wash included."

Think of all the things he could offer you, Sombra. Think of the opportunity to dig up unlimited amounts of dirt on one of the Legion's most beloved. That's got to be ten kinds of tempting right there.

"He wasn't exactly on the side of the angels here. Hell, that's half the reason Locus got so twitterpainted in the first place."

Oh, it is tempting. There isn't a second of doubt about that, not from where she's standing.

"You know you could do something about it, right?" It's a tepid question, maybe a means to alleviate the pressure of mulling over how easy it'd be to notify Gabriel of a change of plans. To double back, and—

"The media would kill for a chance to ruin any Legionnaire's reputation."

"Yeah they would. That's a hell of a bargaining chip to carry around, isn't it?"

He saunters a little closer, lifting his blade to the stocky barrel of her gun before nudging it aside. You're not gonna shoot him, not yet anyway. Dispense with the pretense.

"You want to stick this out, play the long game? A little insider information couldn't hurt."

Where he nudges her gun to the side, her wrist turns along with it - slack and easy and as permissive as a predator sheathing claws, her attention still fully fixed on the contours of his helmet as if trying to read him through its visor.

Her lips purse, she says nothing for a beat before adding, carefully: "And Locus...?"

"Locus doesn't belong here any more than you do." Felix cocks his head, as though that should have be obvious to anyone. "The Freelancers want to turn him into a pet project, right? Redeem him or some bullshit, pat themselves on the back about how fucking noble they are. But you've seen what he can do, right? A place like this is just gonna limit him."

He drifts, by this point, shifting to walk around her -- and hey, look how he could be stabbing her right now and isn't -- before closing the gap, pressing into her space.

"If I still know him at all...this place is just gonna turn him into a time bomb. Don't know if you actually care about him at all, but me? I'd rather not see that happen."

No. His revenge would be a much more personal sort. But she doesn't need to hear the details on that, not right his second.

Even as he drifts, her stare doesn't drop or falter for even a second. Years of practice when it comes to making questionable deals in dark, dark corners. This time it takes longer, the obvious scrutiny (based entirely in logical measurements: Locus' trauma versus his reality, the memories she'd seen and exactly where it lands now in comparison to Felix himself— and more importantly his offer) followed up by a shift in where she's standing so that she's facing him instead.

Disappointing, maybe, if not for the fact that Sombra uses it as a means to show him the full arc of her gun as she slides it into its holster with a soft, somber click.

You want to make a deal? Your turn, Felix.

Now that's more like it. She's as smart as she looks. Undeniably pleased, Felix presses on.

"So I tell you what I'll do. One question, any question, you get a free answer. Sign of good faith and all that. You can even fact-check it if you're feeling saucy. You turn around and head your way, I'll head mine. When this is over? I'll be in touch. And you can have any story you want to hear...in exchange for a few small details of my own. More than fair for classified info only the dead and the Freelancers have access to, don't you think?"

Which leaves only one question unanswered. The exit strategy. She's not going to want to sit under the Legion's thumb forever, just long enough to finish whatever game she's got running.

"Then, when you want a safe spot to watch the fireworks go off? I'll make it happen. We can bring this whole thing down around their ears. All it's gonna take is a little mutual trust, and we both get what we want."

"Deal." It's an easy scoff, exhaled with a shrug of her shoulders and the open offer of an outstretched hand to secure their arrangement, lip curling upwards at the corner as the lights around them come flickering back to life— almost as if sensing the easing slack of their truce. She could do worse, after all.

Granted, not much worse, but still...

"Shame we don't have any tequila to drink to this."

"Always next time."

It's a little too easy, but with his powers and his ego? There's no way he doesn't believe this is working out exactly the way he wants it to. Someone on the inside to wreck his revenge for him, and a way to get Locus out the back door when no one's looking.

It's too perfect. Why wouldn't he take that hand, even knowing perfectly well what she's capable of doing with it?

For a little while? It was working. In fact, it did. If he'd turned up sooner— been there before Locus had a chance to take hold— the truth in Felix's offer would have seemed too valuable to resist.

In the end, though, her ego's as swollen as his own: maybe it'll take longer, prove harder, but she's sure down to the marrow that she'll get the answers she's looking for without anyone holding the answers over her head like a reward. Sombra came from nothing and won herself everything.

Temptation won't negate that now.

And instead, as his fingers close around her own, she latches on with that digital spark, cruelly chasing the operational systems that maintain his armor and working to shut them down before luck even has a chance to factor into the equation.

"Psych."

Oh son of a--

There's no time even to speak, and the comms in the helmet are muted as Sombra's little spark works through the armor. Immediately it locks up, locks down, the vision on his HUD blacking out, leaving him frozen in place.

She can still doubtlessly hear at least a portion of the things he's calling her under the helmet, just the same.

"Aww...pobrecito." Sombra hums, feeling that heavy weight immediately slough right off her shoulders with every muffled snarl. There's time, at least, before she needs to bolt and finish dispensing support to the rest of the Legionnaires (if they fail in their mission, she'll have shot herself in the foot with this, after all); she seizes the opportunity to gently pat the front of his chest, and—

Oh. Hey. Souvenirs.

"Don't take it personally, vato. Between you and me? Locus made the better choice."

Pocketing a pair of those knives, she shrugs, pursing her lips in the galaxy's most charming little grin despite the fact that he likely can't see it, heading out the single exit she'd left herself and sparing a few extra seconds to lock it behind her. Later on, once they've taken care of the rest of his allies, she'll send someone back to pick him up.

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