[ Ana’s fingers tap absently against the dark wood of her desk as she stares at the screen. Her work is done for the day. The mission reports have been reviewed, due diligence done in the chain of command, electronic transcripts sent off into the endless machine that’s Overwatch’s bureaucracy. Now all that remains is for her to write the hardest message of all. ]
Dear Fareeha, as you may have heard from the news, we did some good work today. I can’t say too much but Reinhardt, Angela and Torbjörn took one of our new recruits with them to London…
[ More and more these days she doesn’t know what to tell her teenage daughter — and not merely because so much of what they do is increasingly classified, carefully sequestered away from the ever-starving media vultures. To boast of their successes runs the risk of encouraging Fareeha’s dangerous obsession with Overwatch; besides, lately her words have started to feel like they ring hollow. What they did today she’s sure was the right thing, but the rest of the world seems determined to convince them otherwise. In that she doesn’t envy Jack his position.
She’s tired.
The knock on the door is a welcome distraction from the email she’s failing to compose. Ana saves the draft and stands to open it. This late, there’s only really a few people it could be. She folds her arms and leans against the doorway, eyebrows raised, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. ]
thank you!
[ Ana’s fingers tap absently against the dark wood of her desk as she stares at the screen. Her work is done for the day. The mission reports have been reviewed, due diligence done in the chain of command, electronic transcripts sent off into the endless machine that’s Overwatch’s bureaucracy. Now all that remains is for her to write the hardest message of all. ]
Dear Fareeha, as you may have heard from the news, we did some good work today. I can’t say too much but Reinhardt, Angela and Torbjörn took one of our new recruits with them to London…
[ More and more these days she doesn’t know what to tell her teenage daughter — and not merely because so much of what they do is increasingly classified, carefully sequestered away from the ever-starving media vultures. To boast of their successes runs the risk of encouraging Fareeha’s dangerous obsession with Overwatch; besides, lately her words have started to feel like they ring hollow. What they did today she’s sure was the right thing, but the rest of the world seems determined to convince them otherwise. In that she doesn’t envy Jack his position.
She’s tired.
The knock on the door is a welcome distraction from the email she’s failing to compose. Ana saves the draft and stands to open it. This late, there’s only really a few people it could be. She folds her arms and leans against the doorway, eyebrows raised, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. ]
Oh? Trying to get me to loosen up?