A/N: If it weren't for that extremely talented necromancer, the author would still be dead

Jack didn't want to open his eyes. Didn't want to face the possibility of the ceiling not being the same. Didn't want to deal with this anymore.

It was hard to believe it had only been two weeks, two weeks, since this madness began. There had been nine 'switches', as he ended up calling them, so far. Nine times that wretched bitch Oxton had shown her sneering mug. Some switches were subtle. Some not so much.

He currently found himself in a hotelroom in Venice. He'd been on a train to Bratislava when the conductor wore a bright red chronal accelerator and suddenly the train's final destination had been Salzburg, and- ugh. He'd stopped trying to explain it. It felt like one of those semi-lucid dreams where you're fully aware of what's happening, but the world around you makes no sense.

Jack threw an arm over his forehead, taking two seconds to remember his visor was no longer there. Panic set into his chest so hard he physically tensed, so he focused solely on his breathing for three deep, slow breaths. Right. It had been gone ever since the train. He hadn't quite gotten over it yet. It took at last a minute until he felt calm enough to slide his arm down and feel his face with his fingers.

Rough, callused fingertips pressed into his cheek, the bridge of his nose, his browbone. He slid his hand further to cover his mouth, the moisture of his breath strangely unfamiliar. There were no scars. He let that thought sink in, then felt for them again. Gone, gone gone gone gone gone-

No. Jack refused to succumb to madness. He opened his eyes and was disproportionally relieved that he recognized the ceiling of the hotel. He'd paid for this room. Everything was still as it had been for the last 12 hours. 12 hours of stability was good.

He briefly entertained the thought of simply staying here, trying to outlive whatever Oxton was planning, but he quickly dismissed it. There was no outrunning time, not for normal mortals, anyway. The grim thought that normal mortals might become a minority at some point made him grit his teeth. With a groan he stood up and walked over to the bathroom.

He blindly felt for the tap and let icy cold water run over his overheated hands and wrists. The cold was grounding, numbing for a small moment. He splashed the water on his too-smooth face, now also noticing a lack of stubble. He'd never been gifted with a full beard, but after a day or two the stubble should have been more than noticeable. With a grimace, he looked up into the mirror, at himself.

It was.. not as bad as he expected. The buzzed, graying hair, the shape of his face, the dark rings under his eyes- those were familiar. Those were good. But the smooth skin caught him off guard, the 5-o'clock shadow only just starting to show. He traced one fingertip over where his scars should have been, and suddenly wondered,

'How did I get those scars again?'

.

'Dios mio, what am I going to do with this?' Sombra swiped aside a screen, only to conjure up three more. Her room was dark, aside for the violet lights, reflecting in her trained eyes. She flicked them from left to right, searching, scouring. Her databases were nothing less than extensive, and while knowledge was power, looking for that one piece of information in her vast network of data was.. for lack of a better metaphor, like looking for a needle in a haystack. Overwatch research data was so… disorganized.

She'd started out with the chronal accelerator's blueprints – a piece of cake, really. She'd had those for ages. But that was not what she was after now. Sombra had to dig deeper, to the very beginning. To the timewarping abilities of the-

'A-ha! Bingo.' The Slipstream fighter jet. She couldn't help a giddy giggle as she traced her long nails over the document, releasing a few decoders to decipher the password.

Next to her, her communicator beeped. She blew a raspberry in frustration before she picked it up.

'What do you want, Gabe?'

'Is Slipstream with you?' There was something about his voice. Sombra couldn't quite place it.

'Haven't seen her in a while, no.' A blip on the screen indicated the password had been cracked, and Sombra leaned forward as she opened the file.

'When's the last time you saw her?' There was a strain on his voice. That was it. Like he just came off the treadmill or something.

'Last record of being on base is from,' a little flick of her wrist brought up a list of data, which she quickly glanced at, 'two hours ago,' Sombra huffed, zooming in on a concept render of the Slipstream airplane. She turned it over, inspecting it before swiping to the next page. 'I'm actually kind of busy, Gabe.'

'Yeah, but did you see her?' Reaper insisted. Definitely strained. Also a little annoying at this point.

'Honestly Gabe,' Sombra frowned and shook her head at her screen, as if he could see her. 'If it's so important, ask her yourself. What're you interrogating me for?'

'I-' Reaper hesitated. That was new. It was interesting enough that Sombra halted her movements, glancing at her communicator, waiting for what came next. 'It's nothing,' he then said, resolutely, disconnecting the call right after.

'Nothing, huh,' Sombra grinned, archiving the call right away. 'Ohh, I like 'll see what nothing entails. But first…' she opened the file. '"Chronal acceleration for military transport purposes, a clinical trial in extratemporal mobility." Perfect.'

'Everything can be hacked, after all,' Sombra enlarged the file, swiping away a few other screens to make space for it. 'Let's see if time is an exception.'

.

'Good day, sir,' Slipstream skipped through the hall, saluting cheerfully at Doomfist, who simply nodded at her in return. She'd worked out, handed in her reports, got her checkups with Moira – everything was going swimmingly today. I might even have some free time today, she thought, a grin on her face. Being on the winning team is great.

She rounded the corner with a little skip, expertly avoiding Reaper and his coffee, no thank you sir, I know better than to spill it on you. Two more corners, dancing the last steps to a beat in her head. She didn't care who saw. The numpad next to the door beeped as she punched in the code and opened it. 'Hey Amé! You in?'

'Hmm?' came from the bed. Widowmaker raised an elegant brow, only lifting her eyes enough to stare at Slipstream over the datapad she held as she lounged, legs primly crossed.

'Happy to see me?'

'Hmm,' she answered non-committally, and resumed reading. That was, obviously, an invitation to enter. Slipstream knew thát much. She closed the door, then jumped on the bed.

'That all you gonna say, love?' She crawled forward on all fours until her face hovered just above the datapad. She could see the corners of Widowmaker's mouth twitch ever so slightly as she kept her eyes trained on the datapad.

'….Hmmm,' Amélie finally answered, straining not to laugh. It was barely noticeable, but Slipstream knew where to look.

'Oh come on,' she whined, adding in some extra drama. Then she ducked under Amélie's arm, turning on her side to lay next to her, pressing her cheek into Amelie's collarbone. 'What'cha readin'?'

'Classified documents,' Widowmaker answered, resolutely shutting down the datapad and putting it down next to her. 'What brings you here?'

'Just to see you,' Slipstream beamed. 'I finished first, so-' She was interrupted by Widowmaker snorting through her nose, and feigned offense, laughing with her. 'Don't laugh at that! God, you're so immature!'

'I am immature?' Widowmaker could not have sounded more incredulous if she tried. There was that typical hidden smile again, though. The one that made Lena feel a little lightheaded.

'Yes! I just meant that I'm all done with my chores and stuff.' Slipstream puffed up her cheeks in fake embarrassment.

'Ah,' Widowmaker nodded, a sarcastic smirk playing on her face. 'Bien sûr.'

'Insufferable. That's what you are, you know!' Slipstream could make an insult still sound endearing. It was one of her better qualities. And it always worked on Amélie, as proven by her little smirk and the arm she snaked under Slipstreams shoulders to pull her closer.

'You are starting to sound like Gabriel,' Amélie murmured into Slipstream's windswept hair. 'So why are you here, my annoyance?'

Slipstream's answer was lost in the curve between Amélie's neck and jawline as she peppered little kisses to the skin. It was moments like these that she really enjoyed, as Amélie would close her eyes and sigh, taut muscles relaxing for a single heartbeat.

'Actually, Lena,' Widowmaker suddenly sat up a bit, ignoring the pout on Slipstream's face, 'I really do have to read these documents. Also, my rifle is still in maintenance- would you mind getting it for me?'

'Sure,' Slipstream huffed, 'ammo too I presume? Same place as last time?'

'You read my mind,' Amélie truly smiled at her this time. Okay, that was worth it.

'Alright. See ya in a bit, love!' With a final chaste kiss and a salute, Slipstream hopped back on her feet and danced backwards out of the room. She closed it carefully again, and walked the long hall, down the stairs to maintenance. She didn't need to say anything as she approached the armory, as a man wearing a dark Talon uniform simply put a sleek, dark purple case on the counter. She wondered how long she would still be able to pick up Widowmaker's weapons for her like this, because she was fairly certain Sombra had taken out Reaper's shotguns at some point for some unauthorized modifications, and there was going to be hell to pay when he found out. She couldn't wait to see it, though. Might need to bring her card next time. She swiped the case with practiced ease.

Through the dark grey door in the back was storage. The door was half opened and heavy, so she slipped around it. It was dark inside, but her chronal accelerator and the light leaking in from the doorway was enough for her to see.

'Laser charges, smoke bombs… I need rifle ammo. Where did you go now?' she muttered, looking around for the right crate. She put the rifle case down to walk around, checking crate signs and gnawing her cheek.

A sudden, heavy metallic groan shook her from her concentration, and she looked up just in time to see the door fall closed. 'Hey!' she cried, as the clang of the doors hitting each other echoed through the hall.

First there was just the ringing in her ears, but then she heard the familiar buzz and sputter of her accelerator recharging. She looked down at her device, strapped firmly to her chest, and felt around it. It hummed contently, not a sign of it being overcharged.

In the corner of her eye she saw the flicker of red light, and turned on her heel, pistols at the ready.

'Show your-' She turned towards the light, but trailed off as soon as she saw who was behind her, '-self…'

For a moment, she thought it was her reflection. She laughed nervously at her own overreaction, but then she lowered her guns and her reflection didn't. Instead, her reflection removed the safety of her pistols with an echoing click.

'Hiya,' her reflection deadpanned. There was a silence as she just stared, brain working overtime to process what she was seeing. This was mental, absolutely bonkers. She'd gone mad, yeah? That had to be it. Slipstream swallowed a thick lump in her throat.

Her eyes strained to see the woman before her. The hair, the outfit, the anchor… it was her, to the most minute details. Except the face, she noticed. Her face was pale, hinting blue in the neck, even in the red light of their accelerators. It was a Lena, alright. Just not this Lena. She tried desperately to find some sort of explanation for this. Had some sort of time-error happened? Did she accidentally get copied in a timeloop? Had she blinked too many times?

'You have everything,' the Other Lena spat, venom in her voice, 'that I have worked for. That I ever wanted.'

The words took time to sink in, and slowly, Slipstream began to understand. She had to look inside herself to find out what was happening. She felt her deepest fears, and what would happen if they came true. The copy before her… it was from a world like that.

'Let's not be hasty now,' Slipstream carefully gripped her guns tighter, making sure to move slowly, trying to give herself more time to think. She had to do something, anything, to buy herself time, maybe call for backup. If this was a Lena from another time? World? Then she would know all her weaknesses. She would probably be more prepared for this. Slipstream felt she was at a disadvantage, and it scared her. All her secrets laid bare because they were no longer only her secrets. 'Who are you?' she asked, a little breathless. She did not really want to hear the answer.

'Exactly what you think I am.' The other Lena cracked her neck. The ashen colour of her face looked like a pale mask. 'I am you. I am the you you'll never become,' she growled deep in her throat, 'I am the you that survives this encounter.'

Instinct kicked in. Slipstream had no time to be confused – no matter what kind of trick this was. She had to think on her heels. She needed to come out on top. What are my weak points? What would make me back off?

'Love, I got my aim directly on ya anchor. Is this really the route you wan'ta go?' It was a gamble.

It worked. She could see those twisted features softening, and God, this is so weird, felt the air relax. There was a moment of silence between them. She could see the girl before her chew on her cheeks, ah, is that what that looks like? Awful. She quietly vowed to ditch the habit.

'I just want to see her,' Other Lena suddenly whispered. There was a change in the tension between them. It took a moment for Lena to register what the copy meant. With the realization, she felt cold fear run down her neck, and the appearance made a lot more sense.

'What- no.' She said, resolutely. And then added, with even more confidence, 'Out of the question.' She shook her head and gestured with her gun for good measure, 'she don't need any of this. Any of it. It's fucking mental to begin with!' She heard herself laugh and it sounded just slightly unstable.

'You don't understand.' Other Lena hissed, raising her gun back up threateningly. 'I'll do anything. I'll kill you if I have to.' The Other Lena took a step forward. Slipstream felt the back of her thigh pressing into a crate. Damn it.

'You don't know what you're doing. You can't do that. You don't even truly exist here.' It made sense in Slipstream's head, for the moment. She was unsure of how this all worked, but she knew one thing: she'd protect Amélie with every fiber of her being.

'But you do,' Other Lena smiled, the red light from her accelerator illuminating her face from below, showing her dilated pupils, her nostrils blown wide, her chattering teeth. 'I just need you to create a vacancy.'

Slipstream closed her eyes for a moment, sucking in cold air. She felt it spread through her chest, grounding and reassuring, and then looked back at her adversary, this ghostly image of herself.

'You won't find what you're looking for. Even though you look like me, she'll know. She'll never love you.'

For one second, the earth was completely still, two ex-Tracers trembling at the sight of each other, guns trained on their vital points, ears ringing with their hollow heartbeats. She looked at the quivering form of her mysterious double. She knew her words had hit home.

A blink, and a sobbing snarl pierced the air. She pulled the trigger, but heard no impact. Felt pain as the grip of a gun slammed hard into Slipstream's temple. She could vaguely register a hollow, howling cry as she sank to her knees, and everything went black.