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Chapter 6: The Test
The Overwatch lounge carried an air of faded elegance that reminded Fareeha of old movies...all dark wood paneling and amber lighting, with an antique jukebox in the corner playing something smooth and melancholy. Behind the bar, an OR-14 unit polished glasses with methodical precision, its optics dimmed to a warm gold that made it seem almost cozy.
Fareeha had chosen this location deliberately. Neutral ground. Comfortable enough for her girlfriend to lower her guard, intimate enough that a quiet conversation wouldn't raise suspicions.
"Oscar," she addressed the omnic bartender, leaning across the polished wood. "I need your help with something."
The OR-14's head tilted in a gesture of attentiveness. "Of course, Agent Amari. How may I assist?"
"I'm meeting Angela here in a few minutes. I'll order drinks for both of us, but I need you to adjust them." She kept her voice low, casual, just two colleagues having a conversation. "For me, a whiskey-colored drink, but make it non-alcoholic. I have a flight mission early tomorrow, and I need to stay sharp."
"Understood. And for Dr. Ziegler?"
"Strong Scottish whiskey. The real thing. She's been stressed lately...I want to help her relax."
If Oscar found the request unusual, his programming didn't allow him to question it. "I will prepare the drinks as specified."
"Thank you." Fareeha settled into a corner booth, her back to the wall, eyes on the entrance. Her heart hammered against her ribs like it did before combat...that same terrible certainty that she was about to step into something that would change everything.
The door opened. Angela walked in, moving with that stolen grace, her smile brightening when she spotted Fareeha. "There you are, darling. It's been too long since we had time alone together."
Had it? The real Angela would have carved out time no matter how busy, would have noticed Fareeha pulling away. This woman seemed content with the distance, as though Fareeha were a possession to be checked on rather than a partner to cherish.
"I thought we could use a drink," Fareeha said, gesturing to the bar. "Decompress a little."
To her surprise, Angela's eyes lit up with enthusiasm rather than the usual gentle reluctance. The real Angela drank socially but had never been excited about it...she'd seen too much of what alcohol could do to people in her medical career.
"Wonderful idea," Angela said, sliding into the booth across from her. "I could definitely use something strong."
Oscar delivered their drinks with mechanical efficiency. Fareeha raised her glass...noting the lack of any alcoholic burn when she sipped...and watched as Angela downed a substantial portion of her whiskey without hesitation.
"Long day?" Fareeha asked.
"You have no idea." Angela... no, the impostor...leaned back, already reaching for more of her drink. "Sometimes I wonder why I bother with all this saving people nonsense. The gratitude is so fleeting, you know?"
The real Angela would never say that. Never think it.
"Tell me about it," Fareeha encouraged, her own drink barely touched. "Hey, remember that night when I first told you how I felt?"
"Of course." Angela's smile turned fond or what passed for fondness in whatever creature wore her face. "You were so nervous."
"I was terrified," Fareeha agreed, watching carefully. "I told you that even if the sky falls, you are my strength... my foundation."
"You did." Angela drained her glass and signaled Oscar for another. "And I was so touched that I said, 'You are my source of power!'"
Lie. Fareeha had said "Even if the sky fell, I would only love you." and Angela had answered "You are my sky." The impostor got it wrong.
"And that trip to Egypt," Fareeha continued, her voice steady despite the ice forming in her veins. "Alexandria was beautiful that time of year."
"Magical," Angela agreed, accepting her second drink from Oscar. Her cheeks were already flushed, her movements less controlled. The real Angela had always had a low tolerance for alcohol, and it seemed Moira hadn't accounted for that when stealing her body. "That Swiss chocolate we shared by the Mediterranean..."
Cairo. Mint tea. Egyptian flatbread. The real Angela would have remembered.
"And that mission in London," Fareeha pressed, leaning forward. "When Doomfist's surprise attack disabled my suit..."
"Terrifying," Angela interrupted, well into her third drink now, her words slightly slurred. "But I was there. I flew up and caught you before you hit the ground. My hero." She giggled...giggled...in a way that made Fareeha's skin crawl.
Rio. Sombra. Not Doomfist. The impostor was guessing, filling in blanks with plausible scenarios, but getting every detail wrong.
Fareeha let her finish the third drink, watching as the alcohol loosened whatever control the woman usually maintained. Then she leaned forward, letting her expression soften into something inviting, intimate.
"Angela," she said, her voice dropping to a purr that made the impostor's eyes sharpen with interest. "Is there something you're not telling me? Something secret?"
"Secret?" Angela's smile turned sly, conspiratorial. The alcohol had stripped away her careful pretense, revealing something hungrier underneath. "Oh, darling. I have so many secrets."
"Tell me," Fareeha encouraged, reaching across to touch the impostor's hand. "We shouldn't have secrets between us."
"You want to know the truth?" Fake Angela leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with drunken pride. "Fine. You want the truth?" She laughed, sharp and bitter. "I'm better in this body than she ever was. Angela wasted such potential on mercy and healing, always holding back. But me? I'm going to show the world what a doctor can really do when she's not constrained by outdated morality."
"What do you mean?" Fareeha's voice stayed level, though her free hand had moved to the stun device concealed at her hip.
"Gabriel and I have plans," the impostor continued, the words tumbling out in an alcohol-fueled rush. "Overwatch thinks it's so safe, so secure, with its guardian angel watching over it. They don't realize their angel has clipped wings now." Her smile turned vicious. "When the time is right, we'll burn it all down from the inside. And you, my dear Fareeha...you're the perfect cover. Who would suspect Mercy of betrayal when she's so obviously, devotedly in love?"
The admission hung in the air between them like poison gas.
"I see," Fareeha said quietly. Then, in one fluid motion, she stood and pulled out her sidearm, training it on the impostor. "Your twisted game ends now."
The drunken haze cleared from Angela's(Moira's)eyes as she realized her mistake. "Fareeha, wait..."
"Oscar, security override code Amari-Seven-Seven-Delta. Restrain this individual."
The omnic bartender's optics shifted from warm gold to alert blue. Before the impostor could react, Oscar had vaulted over the bar with surprising agility, producing restraints from a concealed compartment.
"You can't do this," the false Mercy snarled, all pretense gone now. "I'm Angela Ziegler. I'm..."
"You're a liar and a traitor," Fareeha said coldly. "And you've just confessed to conspiracy against Overwatch. Oscar, escort the prisoner to my personal quarters. Secure lockdown protocols. No communications in or out."
As the omnic led the struggling, cursing impostor away, Fareeha's hand trembled slightly. She'd hoped, desperately, to be wrong. But now she knew with absolute certainty.
The woman she loved was trapped somewhere in the body of their enemy.
And Fareeha was going to bring her home.
She pulled out the Talon communicator, her thumb hovering over the activation button. Then, taking a breath that felt like stepping off a cliff, she pressed it.

Chapter 7: Reunion
The abandoned laboratory was cold, dark, and smelled of ozone and burnt electronics. Fareeha moved through it cautiously, her tactical awareness on high alert despite the coordinates coming from the communicator. This could still be a trap. Talon could still be A figure emerged from the shadows, and Fareeha's breath caught.
She'd prepared herself for Moira's appearance, had told herself that appearance didn't matter, that Angela's soul was what mattered. But actually seeing her girlfriend's consciousness looking out from those sharp, unfamiliar features sent a shock through her system.
"Fareeha." The voice was wrong, but the way she said the name with such desperate relief and longing was unmistakably Angela's.
They met in the middle of the ruined laboratory, and Fareeha pulled her close, not caring about the corrupted hand or the changed features. Angela...her Angela...was shaking in her arms, and that was all that mattered.
"I've got you," Fareeha murmured against red hair that smelled nothing like the apple shampoo Angela favored. "I've got you. I'm so sorry I didn't see it sooner. I should have known, I should have..."
"You're here now." Angela pulled back just enough to look up at her, tears streaming down Moira's angular face. "That's what matters. You believed me. You found me."
"Always," Fareeha promised. "I told you once that even if the sky fell, I would only love you. That's still true. This body, your body... it doesn't matter. You are what I love. Your kindness, your brilliant mind, your terrible jokes about medical puns. That's who you are, not..." she gestured to encompass Moira's form "not this shell."
"The shell is all I have now," Angela said bitterly. "Moira destroyed the machine. I examined the wreckage myself it's unsalvageable. I'm trapped like this forever, Fareeha. I'll never perform surgery again, never work without people questioning my methods, never... " Her voice broke. "Never be able to show you the face I want you to see when you look at me."
"Hey." Fareeha cupped that unfamiliar face with both hands, forcing Angela to meet her eyes. "When I look at you, I see the woman who saved my life in Rio. I see the doctor who stayed up all night developing a cure for that bioweapon that nearly killed Winston. I see the person who makes terrible jokes at 3 AM when we're both too wired to sleep, and who cries at animal videos even though she pretends not to." She pressed their foreheads together. "I see you, Angela. I will always see you."
She leaned in, and Angela met her halfway. The kiss was strange... different lips, different angles, the physical mechanics all wrong... but underneath, it was still them. Still the connection they'd built over years of trust and love and shared danger.
When they parted, both had tears on their cheeks.
"I should have fought harder," Fareeha said. "Should have protected you better. This is my fault..."
"No." Angela's response was firm. "Moira planned this for months, maybe years. She outmaneuvered us both. But we're going to fix this. Somehow, we're going to..."
Her gaze fell past Fareeha to a dust-covered box in the corner of the laboratory. Something shifted in her expression.
"Wait." She pulled away from Fareeha and moved toward the box with sudden urgency. "This is...Fareeha, this is Moira's research archive. I saw her reference it during the transfer, but I thought it was destroyed with everything else."
She opened the box with trembling hands...one normal, one corrupted...and pulled out a leather bound journal and rolled technical schematics. Her eyes widened as she scanned the pages.
"These are her notes. The complete theoretical framework for the Quantum Consciousness Transfer Matrix. And these..." she unfurled the schematics with reverent care..."these are the original design specifications. Everything needed to rebuild the machine."
Hope, fragile as glass and twice as sharp, bloomed in Fareeha's chest. "Can you do it? Rebuild it?"
"Not alone," Angela admitted, already studying the equations that filled page after page of Moira's cramped handwriting. "The quantum physics alone are beyond my expertise. But with Winston's help, with the resources at Overwatch..." She looked up, and for the first time since the nightmare began, she smiled and even on Moira's sharp features, it was Angela's smile, full of determined optimism. "We have a chance."
"Then let's go home," Fareeha said, taking Angela's hands... both of them, corrupted and normal alike. "Together."