Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Angela liked to believe that (sometimes), Overwatch was above the BRUTALITY of common criminals. Or maybe not. She understood, at least somewhere that was rational and not still simmering with anger, that cruelty couldn’t be fought with good-intentions and kindness. Sometimes, it needed people cut of the same cloth, with the same dirty hands. Which was a long way of saying, she didn’t AGREE with her role in this all, but she understood it.
It could be the tightness of the bindings along her wrists that have put such a bad taste in her mouth, but – admittedly – Angela Ziegler has never been a hostage, nor a particularly GOOD damsel in distress. It was worth it, she told herself. For the work, for the good she was doing. It was hard to keep that in mind when they were knocking things over left and right.
❝ Verdammt. Could you tell your apes to be a little GENTLER with my things? ❞ Her voice is a mixture of both disgust and distaste.
❝ I didn’t hide the GOODS away inside my first aid kits. ❞