#Baptember2020

[brownfrogs]

Baptiste on vacation, what will he do?

[nitewrighter]

Baptember Prompt: Talon HQ

“Evaluation”

-----

Baptiste’s eyes flicked around the luxurious office with wariness, taking in the smoke-damaged Kandinsky on the wall and the small Yoruba sculpture on a table in front of it--both likely salvage from the Omnic Crisis---the placement made it seem like the painting was a dream of the sculpture, a chaotic but appealing whirl of triangles, circles, and straight and curving lines. Maybe Baptiste was looking at the wall behind the desk because of who was sitting at the desk. 

“Hm,” Doomfist was dressed in a lightweight olive blazer and white dress shirt. An orange and yellow aso oke scarf was tied at his neck in a casual ascot style. It looked like he had walked right out of a fashion magazine for a spread for ‘Fun and breezy executive casual looks,’ but Baptiste felt awkward in the gray cargo pants and fitted, high-necked black shirt of the Talon ground forces ‘casual’ uniform in the chair across from him.

“Is... there a reason you wished to see me, sir?” said Baptiste and Doomfist’s eyes flicked up to him from the tablet.

“I was just running over some testimonials again,” said Doomfist, setting the tablet down on his desk. 

“Testimonials?” said Baptiste.

Doomfist interlaced the fingers of his massive hands in front of him on the desk and gave Baptiste a single nod, “They’re very impressive.”

“...thank you sir,” Baptiste chuckled a little, “I... wasn’t under the impression that I popped up on your radar.”

A warm chuckle rumbled in Doomfist’s chest. “Yes, given the way this world has treated you, I can understand how you expect people to disregard you. To underestimate you. But you have my word that I will show no such ignorance. You see, I care about this organization,” Doomfist’s smile was so dazzlingly white, that it nearly distracted from that discerning gleam in his eyes. Baptiste felt himself being read, anticipated even, “I care about its future,” said Doomfist, “And yours.”

“...my future?” said Baptiste, hesitantly.

“You see, Lieutenant Augustin, much of the world runs on algorithms. These algorithms can define your life, from where you’re born, to what job you might get, to whether you qualify for medical care, to whether you qualify for a job.”

“I’m aware,”said Baptiste. He could count on both hands how many times Sombra had launched into her “cradle-to-the-grave algorithm” rant with him.

“I’m not a particular fan of that,” said Doomfist, that slightly-faded smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some luddite or ‘human supremacy’ fiend--I recognize Omnics as a vital part of the populace,” he demonstrably held up his own prosthetic arm, “And I recognize technology’s place with humanity, but we had a chance to break free of these oppressive algorithms after the Crisis and instead... Overwatch simply let us slip back to a system that punches down. We prized normalcy over humanity. Over evolution.” He rested his elbow on his desk and his chin on his knuckles “But anyway, in Talon’s early days, in the days of my predecessor Akinjide Adeyemi, Talon more or less mimicked this structure, and when I replaced him--”

Killed him, thought Baptiste.

“I thought we needed to take a more... personal approach when it came to the careers of our more outstanding recruits.”

Baptiste blinked a few times. “...Outstanding?” he said.

“It’s not often someone joins our ranks having invented their own weapon,” said Doomfist.

“The biotic launcher isn’t 100% a weapon---” Baptiste started.

“I’m aware,” Doomfist returned, holding up his tablet, “Again, testimonials. Now, my question is, with your talents, why not apply for Talon’s engineering or R&D departments?”

“...I don’t have a formal education in the sciences,” said Baptiste, “And my medical education is largely limited to my Caribbean Coalition training. I read, certainly, and I tinker, but... that’s not the same.” 

Doomfist leaned forward slightly. “I can assure you, you are more than qualified, and Talon would be happy to help fill in any gaps for you,” he said, smiling, “Look at Moira O’Deorain! Now that she’s not constrained by the formalities of academia, she is doing some of her best work with us. I would love to see what you create with the right resources made available to you.” 

Baptiste had to suppress a shudder at the direct comparison between himself and Moira. He had seen her strolling around the facility, her little cult of labtechs close at her heels. Across the desk, Doomfist’s eyes were making Baptiste feel like every microscopic facial twitch of his was being picked apart and analyzed. But it didn’t have the cold distance of Moira’s glare---it felt closer, hotter, consuming rather than dissecting.

“You... want me to be a labtech,” said Baptiste hesitantly.

“Hardly,” Doomfist shook his head, “You see, O’Deorain works mostly in theory, you, however, are able to quickly take available technology and find its immediate application. You could be the perfect bridge between our R&D department and our combat division.” 

You could make it faster and easier to weaponize O’Deorain’s ideas, thought Baptiste. He could feel his own fingers digging into his leg through his fatigues with the amount of control it took to keep his expression neutral.

“I’m,” Baptiste cleared his throat, “I’m more of a ‘boots on the ground’ guy.” 

Doomfist gave him a studying look.

“You can do a lot better than pure mercenary work, Lieutenant Augustin,” said Doomfist, “And the benefits would be much higher, with much less risk to your person. It wouldn’t even be more demanding, time-wise, than your current schedule. You wouldn’t be as subject to the whims of Talon’s ‘boots on the ground’ missions. More freedom to conduct your own business.”

More money. Less travel. He could visit the clinic back in Port-Au-Paix more often. He could buy better equipment for the clinic. He could invent better equipment for the clinic. But then how much more would Talon know about it? How much more would Doomfist or Moira know about it? How much did they know already?

“I’ll...” Baptiste’s voice trailed off, “Need time to think about it.”

“Of course,” said Doomfist, leaning back in his seat easily, “Take all the time you need... to an extent. Remember: Talon believes in a world where men are not bound by their fear. Hesitate too long, and you might just get left behind. If you ever need to discuss your future, you know where to find me. Of course, we’ll be keeping an eye on you in the meantime,” He picked up his tablet. “That’s all for now. As you were.”

“Sir,” said Baptiste pushing up from the chair, saluting, and walking briskly out of the room. 

He walked out of the office and made it a ways down the hall. An omnic assistant opened the elevator for him and he stepped in. As soon as the elevator doors closed on him, he slumped into a corner, bracing his hand against one of the wall rails of the elevator as he tried to get control of his breath. The elevator dinged as it reached the below-ground levels devoted to Talon’s armories and training facilities, and he still had his other hand clamped on his chest as the door opened to reveal Sombra and Mauga standing there, hunched around a cupcake filched from the mess hall. Sombra was sporting her heavily modified ‘tech specialist’ armor, her blood red pixie cut styled into a pompadour that day. Mauga, like Baptiste, was in the fitted black shirt and gray cargo pants of Talon’s casual fatigues, his wild mane of black hair with a white lightning streak tied half up in a white streaked bun with the rest of it cascading over his shoulders.

“Hey hey! There’s our favorite engineer!” said Mauga, clapping his hands.

“How’d it go?” said Sombra.

“How did what--” Baptiste started.

“The big boss calling you in!” said Mauga, “I mean, come on, you’ve been up for a promotion for weeks.” He clicked his tongue, “Gotta admit: I’m gonna miss you while you’re in the nerd squad.”

“Oh--I’m not... I didn’t...” Baptiste’s words didn’t feel like they were coming from him so much as he was trying to pluck them out of the air as they materialized.

“...didn’t what?” said Sombra, and a sharpness suddenly overtook her features, “You didn’t take it?!”

“I said I’d think about it!” Baptiste fumbled.

“Aw, is it ‘cuz you’d miss me?” said Mauga but both Sombra and Baptiste shot him ‘come on,’ looks.

“Look, it was just... a lot, okay? He--Doomfist--is a lot,” said Baptiste, “I didn’t slam the door on it! It’s just... a big change!” 

“‘Big change’ he says!” said Mauga with a laugh, “Like we aren’t being uprooted every couple of weeks to fly off who-knows-where!” But Sombra apparently read Baptiste’s expression and elbowed Mauga. “What?” said Mauga, before looking at Baptiste. Those sharp bright eyes gave Baptiste a brief scan. It didn’t give Baptiste the same apprehension that Doomfist’s look gave him, he had spent too long fighting alongside Mauga for that. He knew him too well for that. But Mauga seemed to concede to Baptiste’s apparently shell-shocked expression and sighed. “Eh, cold feet,” he said with a dismissive hand wave, “Happens to everyone.”

“I guess this is a consolation cupcake now,” said Sombra, pushing the red velvet cupcake towards him.

“Yeah... and... he said they’ll be keeping an eye on me?” said Baptiste, taking the cupcake from her.

The look Sombra gave him then had a flash of warning to it. “I guess that’s still good... just remember: they remember the shots you don’t take just as much as the shots you do.” 

“And you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take! That’s on my quote-a-day calendar,” said Mauga, trying to find the tone of conversation that Baptiste and Sombra were on, or at least trying to segue them hard back to his unstoppably jovial mood. 

Baptiste picked one of the red sprinkles off of the cream cheese frosting of his cupcake, “I’ll uh... keep that in mind.”

Sombra and Mauga exchanged glances.

“Tell you what,” said Mauga, “How about we all change into civvies, grab a couple drinks, and talk about it.”

“...or we could change into civvies, grab a couple drinks and not talk about it,” said Sombra, giving Baptiste a wry smile.

“...Let’s get the first two parts out of the way and figure out the third part later,” said Baptiste with a huff.

“There, y’see? Thinks on his feet, this guy,” said Mauga, “Real promotion material--oof--” Sombra elbowed Mauga again.

“Meet back at the usual spot in 30?” said Baptiste.

Sombra and Mauga both gave him a nod before they headed off for the lockers, leaving Baptiste in the hallway with his lonely little cupcake. He picked off the wrapping from the side of the cupcake, thought of Doomfist’s smile, of that brief flash of everything he could have done to help the clinic if he had just taken up the offer, and he wondered how a job where everyone was telling you you were doing so well could make you feel so wrong.