"Attention all passengers. It is currently 3:15 PM on the 3rd of August 2072. The temperature outside is a pleasant 81 degrees Fahrenheit. This hypertrain will arrive at Tulsa Station 390-FT in 45 minutes."
A silver streak against a backdrop of golden fields, the hypertrain raced towards its destination. Peppered among the rye fields were remnants of the Omnic Crisis, machines that had long been left to rust and decay, reminders of the conflict that had torn the world apart thirty years prior. From a distance, the large grey splotches appeared as nothing more than boulders, small imperfections in the sea of fields that surrounded them.
The cozy restaurant car was empty save for a single woman sitting at the far end, sipping on a cup of tea and looking over schematics on a screen, zooming in now and then, or flipping pages on the touch screen of her device. Even as her eyes were focused on the larger screen, information flew by on the corners of her light blue visor.
"Miss Vaswani, is there anything else you need?" Sharply dressed, the train employee kept his eyes to the table in front of her, his eyes not once meeting Symmetra's gaze.
She guessed that this was a different employee than the one that had brought her the beverage she was now enjoying by the simple fact that he sounded two decades older. Never looking at the man, she rapidly closed the display on the table before her.
Hospitality employees were hard to trust these days. Whether the man's downward gaze meant to look at the table, the screen or the shelf of cleavage spilling out of her dress meant little to the hard-light architect.
"I thought I told your colleague I would let you all know if I needed anything. Should I repeat myself, for it seems the message did not make its way to all its intended recipients..." The black-haired woman cast a sidelong glance at the balding man.
"Y-yes, you are right. My apologies, Miss Vaswani," stammered the man, bowing slightly before exiting the train car with as much haste as his long, skinny legs would allow.
When the automatic door at the end of the car had closed behind him, a sighing Symmetra launched her pocket computer again, the paper-thin machine stretching out before her, well over a foot long from corner to opposite corner. Though her mind should have been on the task at hand, her thoughts wandered to that night in Paris with the white-haired Ashe, the outlaw who had stolen her hard-light prototype.
For two months, Symmetra had been unable to shake the feeling of the woman's red lips pressed to her own, her dexterous hands caressing every inch of her body, and that fat, throbbing cock of hers... She bit her lower lip slightly, a blush creeping on her cheeks. The part of her mind not caught up in all manner of lewd thoughts managed to bring her back to the task at hand: finding the hard-light prototype that Ashe had stolen.
After that incident, the Vishkar Corporation had offered to send their top operatives to retrieve the object. Symmetra had simply refused, indicating that she had been the one to allow it to fall into the outlaw's hands. It was only natural that she be the one to correct that mistake.
Her employer had accepted and allowed her to proceed with her mission on the single condition that she allow the Vishkar agents to shadow her, interfering only if strictly necessary. It had taken only two months for the hard-light prototype to emerge, and a sale was meant to take place on the 5th of August in the city of Tulsa, she had learned. Arriving in advance would allow her to locate the warehouse where Ashe was headed ahead of time and plan her strategy accordingly. She had never been one for improvisation, preferring to account for every possible outcome. Especially when facing the deadly Deadlock Gang, known to most as Ashe.
Though her eyes were on the plans before her, the architect's mind had wandered, only to be suddenly snagged by something in the corner of her eye. The small piece of paper moved gently at the other end of the round table she was at. The tiny note, barely an inch across, was folded in half, though not with much effort for it remained open at a forty-fivedegree angle.
Symmetra's eyes followed the note around for a few moments, watching as it flipped and danced about, fluttering on the table, moved around by the nearly imperceptible air currents of the train car.
"What the...?" she muttered to herself. The employee that had just been there had most likely dropped it or left it there on purpose, Symmetra thought. Satya reached out for the note with her prosthetic arm, albeit with some hesitation. Opening it, her eyes flew over the short message:
Hello darling
I do hope you're finding as much enjoyment in your trip
as I am in watching you.
If you want your little toy back, meet me in the car number fifty.
The bottom of the piece of paper was stained with a deep red lipstick, the kind that Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe always wore.
An odd mixture of emotions welled up within her. Anger at the humiliation Ashe was now putting her through, first and foremost. Then came disappointment in herself, for she had let her guard down yet again, putting her employer's interests into jeopardy. After the first two came excitement and lust, tangled together as she liked to imagine herself with the gunslinger.
Her stomach became a furnace and every last inch of her burned for the woman in the 50th car.
Symmetra rose suddenly, taking one last gulp of the cooled-down beverage in her cup, and placing it back down on the table determinedly. She would confront Ashe, she would take back what was hers... she would...
A surge of lust took hold of her. Just the thought of the woman turned her into a real mess.
That note, that single piece of paper, had kicked her typically analytical mind out into the cold and replaced it with the fool she felt herself becoming, the blushing idiot. Though she tried to appear calm and collected on the outside, the Symmetra behind the facade was anything but.
Brisk steps carried Symmetra through the train, every footfall bringing with it an earthquake of titflesh, breasts struggling for space within the too-tight dress.
Eyes watched the woman as she moved, some with admiration and some with lust, her long black hair flowing gracefully behind her. She was a blur to most, never slowing for a moment. Anyone in her way knew to step aside by the look she gave them.
After fifteen or so minutes, the architect reached the door of the car, a golden 50 etched upon the shiny silver door. This car, however, had no window upon the door that Symmetra could use to peer inside. Chasing away any apprehension, she slowly tried to pull the door open, quickly realizing that it was locked.
"Of course..." she thought.
Before she could even think to knock, the door slid open before her, revealing the same middle-aged employee that she had seen moments prior.
