Pharah: Jetpack Justice by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Pharah-Jetpack-Justice-1292867391?file=1

Pharah: Jetpack Justice ANIMATION

Anatomy of an Eclipse

Altitude: Forty-three thousand feet. The stratosphere offered no mercy, only a biting, frictionless void that sought to pry the warmth from Fareeha Amari’s bones. Her Raptora Mark VI armor maintained a frail equilibrium against the sub-zero atmospheric pressure, the suit’s internal heaters vibrating with a low, anxious tremor. She floated in the absolute black of the night sky, a solitary raptor holding a holding pattern over the freezing Atlantic, staring at absolutely nothing.

"You are chasing ghosts again, Captain," a voice murmured. It did not come from the standard Overwatch encrypted frequencies, but rather slid directly into the audio cortex of her helmet, smooth and laced with an intoxicating amusement. "I thought you military types preferred targets you could actually shoot."

"Just find the anomaly, Sombra," Fareeha replied, keeping her vocal cords perfectly rigid. She despised the way the hacker’s voice made her skin prickle. It was too close, too invasive, bypassing firewalls like they were wet paper.

"I am swimming through their architecture right now. It is... thick. Sticky," Sombra whispered. The auditory illusion of a soft, lingering exhale ghosted across Fareeha’s neck, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. "Talon has upgraded their stealth weaves. They are using something organic in the coding. It fights back. I like it when they fight back."

"Focus. If this vessel reaches the eastern seaboard, millions are exposed to whatever volatile compound they stole from the Lucheng facility."

"My, my. Always the protector. Your heart rate just spiked to one hundred and twelve, pajarita. Is it the thrill of the hunt, or just the thought of me rummaging around inside your suit's telemetry?" Sombra teased, her tone a dark velvet ribbon winding through the cold steel of the mission.

"Drop their cloak," Fareeha commanded, ignoring the warmth flushing her cheeks.

"Abracadabra."

The empty sky tore open. It did not simply appear; it bled into the visible spectrum like an infected wound in reality. The Talon airship was massive, a bloated leviathan of black metal and violet luminesce, but it was horrifyingly deformed. It did not look built; it looked grown. Great calcified veins of some dark, pulsating resin webbed across its thrusters. The hull wept a continuous stream of black vapor that froze instantly in the high-altitude air, trailing behind it like a funeral shroud.

"What am I looking at?" Fareeha breathed, her grip tightening on her rocket launcher.

"I don't know," Sombra replied, the playful seduction abruptly evaporating from her voice, replaced by a razor-thin edge of genuine unease. "The ship's AI is screaming. Not alerting. Screaming. I've breached the airlock controls for you. Go. And Fareeha? Keep your visor sealed. The atmospheric readouts inside are... wrong."

Fareeha ignited her jump jets, the cobalt flare propelling her across the abyss. She latched onto the dorsal access hatch. The metal was unnaturally warm, yielding slightly under her gauntlets like bruised flesh. She forced the manual release, stepping into the yawning maw of the airlock. As the heavy doors hissed shut behind her, plunging her into the belly of the beast, the comforting hum of her thrusters was swallowed by an oppressive, suffocating silence.

The interior lighting was a sickly, bruised purple. The walls, which should have been sterile titanium, were coated in a glistening, fibrous membrane. It smelled, even through her suit's supreme filtration system, of ozone, copper, and crushed orchids.

"I am inside," Fareeha whispered, her voice echoing too sharply in her own helmet.

"I see you," Sombra said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. She was back to purring, finding comfort in the digital shadows. "You look beautiful in the dark, Captain. Like a silver moth in a spider's web. Turn left at the next bulkhead. The bridge is thirty meters ahead."

Fareeha moved with practiced, lethal grace. Her boots made a wet, tearing sound against the deck plates. The terror was a physical weight, pressing against her chest, but she boxed it away, wrapping it in years of discipline.

She found the first crew member in the corridor.

It was a Talon heavy trooper, fully armored. But he was fused to the bulkhead. The fibrous violet membrane had grown over his boots, traveling up his legs and spiraling around his torso. His helmet was gone. His face was locked in a rictus of silent, eternal agony, the jaw stretched
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