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Overwatch ENF: Shadows of Shame	By : Meowshi Category: +M through R > Overwatch Views: 590 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Overwatch or its characters, Blizzard Entertainment owns those rights. I am not making any profit from writing this.

Chapter List
- 1-Moonlit Humiliation
- 2-Taloned Fingers
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- 2
  The vibrant orange and purples of dusk peeked in from the green-tinted windows of the Chez Tajine diner, reminding Efi that it would be dark soon. The young girl rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stared disdainfully at her laptop, the complicated lines of code on the screen blurring together in her sleepiness. A bowl of Moroccan vegetarian tajine sat untouched and cold beside her.
She glanced at the holowatch on her dainty wrists and frowned—she had spent nearly seven hours scripting optimizations to Orisa’s nano-neural learning algorithm and personality core! She briefly surveyed the diner and noticed that all the other customers had left, the only other presence in the room was the levitating waiter diligently cleaning off tables in the corner.
     She quickly began gathering up her things and thanked the waiter on her way out, as she had noticed more and more people treating the omnics working menial labor with derision and a lack of gratitude. She shivered slightly as she stepped into the crisp, nocturnal air of Numbani, silently wishing she had dressed warmer.
     Efi Oladele hugged her shoulders tightly as she considered how she would get home. She quickly decided that hailing one of the driverless, levitating cab shuttles dotting the city was probably her best choice, as the hyperloop tram stations would likely be crowded at this time of night. She located the nearest shuttle on her tablet and hoped that her parents wouldn’t be too upset at her for staying out so late again.
     As she walked towards the shuttle marked on her tablet, she noticed that it wasn’t located in the best neighborhood. Numbani, known globally as “The City of Harmony”, was a prosperous and peaceful metropolis, devoid of significant slums or poverty-stricken areas. However, there were certain districts nestled outside the watchful eye of the Numbani Civic Defense Department, that were frequented by mercenaries and black market smugglers. Although she had been taught to avoid these neighborhoods, her shuttle was right in the center of one.
     Even at night, the city was beautiful, and Efi sighed contentedly as she surveyed the surroundings around her with pride. The technologically-advanced city-state fought for and gained its independence from Nigeria after balking at some of the country's regressive laws toward omnic citizens. She breathed in deeply as she passed underneath a floral archway decorated with African violets; nature was seamlessly integrated within the afrofuturistic architecture of the cityscape.
     Looks of suspicion passed over her as she made her way through the seedy neighborhood and she noticed several illicit-looking, cornerside deals abruptly ending and dispersing as she walked by. That wasn’t too surprising, Efi was something of a local hero after she and Orisa repelled Doomfist’s attack on the Unity Day celebrations. The city’s criminal element likely recognized her as being closely connected to the security forces.
     “Ẹ kú alẹ́,” she whispered a traditional greeting to an older man with tribal scarification running down one side of his face. He simply scowled at her and ducked into an alleyway, his lips dripping with some sort of fluorescent drug she did not recognize. She needed to get into her cab and off the street immediately.
     She finally found the levitating shuttle underneath a holographic billboard for Lúcio Correia dos Santos’s upcoming charity concert in the city. She sighed wistfully as she looked over the advertisement. She had wanted to go, but maintaining Orisa’s augmented fusion driver and making repairs to her chassis sapped nearly all of her funds. As it stood, she barely had enough naira to afford the ride home.
     She quickly logged into the driverless interface of the shuttle with her tablet and prepared to hop in when a voice from behind her caused her to jump in surprise.
      “Well, well, well,” the voice cooed, laced with menace. “If it isn’t ‘The Hero of Numbani!’, slumming it with the smallfolk.”
     Efi spun around with a start, staring up at a group of three sinisterly-masked individuals. She immediately recognized their matte-gray armor and bone-colored helmets as belonging to Talon’s paramilitary troopers.
     “Stay b-back!” Efi shouted fearfully, backing up into the wall. Talon troopers were considered terrorists in Numbani, especially after their attack on the Unity Day celebrations.
     “Or what?” asked the trooper who had spoken earlier. The slight outward curve of her chest armor and thick Yoruban accent suggested that she was a native-born daughter of Numbani, like Efi. A traitor!
     The three troopers advanced toward Efi, invading her personal space and clamoring around her like she was some sort of prize catch. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the scarred man staring at her from across the street. The shame etched on his aged face made her wonder if he had informed the mercenaries about her presence, possibly in exchange for more drugs.
     Things were getting bad and she realized that she had to act quickly. She reached a finger towards the headset she wore at all times. Orisa, her omnic companion, was currently shut down for repairs back in her workshop, but a quick beaconing message would rouse her from her digital sleep...
     “Oh no ya don’t!”, shouted another one of the troopers, this one in a gruff British accent. He slapped the headset off her head in one swift motion, as the other two troopers raised their pulse rifles at her. “Keep yer hands where we can see ‘em, girlie!”
     Efi squeaked and shot her hands into the air as the guns rested on her. Her eyes watered as she watched her headset clatter to the ground, complete with the green horn ornaments and golden visor she had lovingly soldered onto them.
     “She might have something else on her!” the third trooper said in a panicky voice that sounded too young to be coming from a gun-wielding terrorist. “She’s some kind of genius, right? There’s no telling what kind of gadgets she has stashed!”
     “I don’t have anything else on me, I swear!” Efi whined although that wasn’t exactly true.
     “What are you say afraid of, she’s a little girl!” the British trooper teasingly slapped his panicky on the shoulder.
     “I don’t buy it. This girl fought off Akande. She’s worked with Overwatch in the past. She’s dangerous,” the Numbani woman decided, “We check her here and now before taking her back to HQ.”
     The mention of taking her to another location made a shudder of fear run through Efi, and she sniffled miserably as her mind raced desperately for an idea of how to get out of the situation.
     Suddenly the British trooper pushed her roughly against the wall, breaking her concentration and causing her to wince in pain as her back slammed against the rough surface.
     “Hey, don’t hurt her!” the young, panicky trooper exclaimed, “Doomfist wants to recruit her, remember? He’ll have us whipped in if we bring her in damaged!”
     The British trooper didn’t acknowledge him and instead swept his eyes over her form. Although she couldn’t see his eyes beneath his skull-shaped helmet, there was something about the way the red-light filtering through his lenses lingered on her lower body that made her feel deeply uncomfortable.
     Efi suddenly found herself wishing she had worn thicker clothes for reasons other than the night chill. Her traditional outfit was comfortable but it didn’t cover much skin. It consisted of a colorful, spring-green iro tied around her waist, partially concealing her tight, form-fitting, compression shorts. She was wearing a thin, sleeveless white work shirt as a top, and the length of the crop top cut just above the top of her rib cage, revealing the whole of her flat abdomen. The garments hugged her body closely, a testament to the fact that she had not refreshed her wardrobe in many seasons, due to lack of time and interest. Although the clothes were revealing, she was only eleven and didn’t have to worry about dressing modestly for at least a few more years. The possibility of an adult looking at her inappropriately had never even occurred to her.
     The British trooper grabbed her chin and roughly turned her face to the side, his gauntleted fingers digging into her nut-brown skin. “Pretty design,” he said, admiring the six white dots surrounding each one of her wide brown eyes.
     “It’s ancestral paint,” explained the Numbani trooper, “Us young Numbani wear it to honor our West African roots now that performing tribal scarification on children is becoming less and less tolerated.”
     The Numbani trooper finished this explanation by removing her helmet, revealing a cruel-looking, but pretty, brown face. She also wore ancestral paint on her face, in the form of two thin, vertical streaks running underneath each eye. Efi looked up pleadingly at the woman, hoping to appeal to her sense of kinship, but the look she got back was hungry and predatory.
     The trooper licked her lips as she surveyed Efi’s trembling form, noting that the girl’s petite frame reminded her of how she looked more than a decade ago.
      Surprisingly, the young, panicky trooper was the first to touch her. She shuddered underneath his touch as he reached for the two thin gold neckrings decorating her nape. “We can get a lot of dollars for these!”
     “Naira, not dollars,” the Numbani trooper corrected him, rolling her eyes, “You’ve been stationed here for over a year and you still talk like a foreigner.”
     “An’ we ain’t no bleedin’ thieves, boy. Leave her jewelry be,” the British Talon trooper admonished his subordinate before chuckling to himself, “Besides, I’m much much interested in what she’s got hidin’ under all them rags.”
     This statement sent a current of shock through Efi, and her eyes widened like saucers. She tried to stand up a little taller and looked at the British man Efi’s eyes widened in shock at this comment and tried to stand up a little taller. “You better not lay a finger on me!”
     The three troopers exchanged glances at each other before breaking out into guffawing laughs. Efi’s shoulders deflated as her confidence shattered underneath their derision. She looked longingly down at her smashed headset; without Orisa by her side, the terrorists simply weren’t intimidated by her.
     “Alroight, enough stallin’,” The British trooper grabbed her roughly by the hair, “Let's 'urry this up and get outta the cold."
     She struggled underneath his powerful fist, her small brown fingers wrapping his gauntlet and trying to dislodge it from her hair. She wore her hair naturally in traditional Yoruban dada, or “dreadlocks”, tied back with a braided ribbon. The trooper ripped this ribbon off, causing her rope-like strands of hair to cascade down her neck. He ran his fingers through the hair, checking for hidden devices or communicators.
    While he did that, the female Numbani trooper slowly untied the lime green stretch of fabric that Efi had bound around her waist. “Such a pretty color, little one!” she said teasingly as she ran the expensive fabric through her fingers.
    The third trooper crouched down on his knees and lifted both of her small feet, peeling off her cuffed work boots. “Boots are clear—a bit sweaty though,” the anxious trooper brought the boots up to the nasal vents on his respirator filter and shook his head.
    “Let me get a whiff of that,” the Numbani trooper said and brought one of the boots up to her uncovered face. Although her nose scrunched up at the sour, acrid smell of the boot, she smiled teasingly down at the cornered girl, “That smell just means that our girl is a hard worker. A diligent daughter of Numbani!”
     Efi could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, although her skin was too dark for her to properly blush.
     Of course, the boots didn’t smell like daisies! She wore them in a clammy workshop all day in the hot Numbani sun! She doubted the three troopers smelled any more pleasant when they peeled themselves out of their armor at the end of the day!
     It wasn’t just the comments about her sweaty boots that were causing her to feel embarrassed though. The three troopers were pawing all over her hair, waist, and feet; she had never felt so many hands invading her personal space at once.
     “P-please, stop this,” she begged, her body shaking uncontrollably at the violation of her bodily autonomy.
     “I don’t know, should we stop?” the dark-skinned, Numbani trooper cooed playfully, tapping her chin and pretending to think it over.
     The British trooper chuckled at his companion, before forcibly prying open Efi’s mouth and running the dirty fingers of his gauntlet along her pretty white teeth and tongue. The unfamiliar taste of pulse rifle grease suddenly filled her mouth as she groaned miserably.
     “What could I possibly have had in my mouth?!” the young girl shouted, spitting the sour taste onto the ground.
     “Yer’d be surprised, girly,” the British trooper said, rudely wiping the saliva off his fingers on her stomach, “I was once stationed in the Outback and we met a Junker who was missin’ both hands but somehow wired an explosive detonator into ‘is teeth. Lost a lot of good men that day…”
     Efi seriously doubted that any good man would willingly choose to associate with the man, but she kept those thoughts to herself.
     The dark-skinned, female trooper was busying herself by removing Efi’s gloves, but instead of just ripping them off, she pulled off each glove finger-by-finger, tantalizingly slow. She was clearly relishing the torment she was inflicting on the young girl and had no intention of rushing things. Her manic grin and wide eyes were tinged with malice.
     The anxious trooper was still crouched on his knees and was now pawing at the heavy toolbelt around Efi’s hips, peering at all implements and pouches with confusion. “What business does a ten-year-old have with this stuff?” he shook his head, holding up an adjustable, hyper-torque spanner and a gold-plated gravity hammer.
     “You really are a clueless white boy,” the Numbani trooper giggled teasingly, “Efi here is a child prodigy! She builds robots and designs artificial intelligence interfaces for fun!”
     The young trooper shrugged in response to this information and fully wrested the toolbelt off of Efi’s hips, pulling out a handheld circuit-detector and running the scanner over all the tools looking for any possible communicators or hacking devices.
     Efi tightly closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to disassociate from what was happening to her. Although she had already been stripped of several articles of clothing, the removal of her tools was the first time the brilliant little inventor truly felt vulnerable. Without them, she was not the Hero of Numbani, Mother of Orisa, and Vanquisher of Doomfist; she was just a scared little girl.
     But that fear would soon fade into fury.
     Efi was now standing in only her tiny crop top and compression shorts, the rest of her clothes and tools scattered along the ground at her quivering feet. Her hair tie had been ripped away, causing her dreadlocks to hang loose and damp with her own terrified sweat, instead of being tied up in a tidy ponytail as she usually kept them. The chunky, brass rings she wore on her lower legs chimed with each humiliated shiver of her body.
     “Time ta unwrap our gift for Akande,” the gruff-sounding British trooper said as he reached for the bottom of her shirt.
     “Get your f-fucking hands off of me, Oyinbo!” Efi suddenly shouted, swinging her palm as hard as she could against the helmet of the man. She was surprised she was capable of using language that crass.
      The fear that had gripped her began to dissipate, replaced by an intense and seething anger that burned within her like a raging fire. Her heart thudded in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she glared at her captors with fierce determination. She was so fired up that she didn’t even feel the pain coursing through her hand at making hard contact with the trooper’s helmet.
    “Oh! Our little hero has quite the mouth on her!” the Numbani trooper held her hand up to her mouth in false shock. “What would the elders think?”
     “Yer gonna bleedin' pay for that, you little bitch!" the trooper Efi struck growled. He couldn’t actually feel the slap through his helmet, but his pride felt as though it had been severely wounded. Rage clouded his judgment and he slammed his fist into the girl’s stomach, causing her to gasp and keel over in pain.
     The impact of the blow stole the breath from Efi, and although her eyes were tightly closed as she writhed on the dirty ground, she could still swear that she could see stars floating in her vision. A wail escaped her lips, and her dignity and determination fell from her eyes, streaming down her cheeks in thick, languid drops. Tears smeared the ancestral paint beneath her closed eyelids, leaving streaks of white on her pretty brown face.
     “Dude!” the panicky trooper slapped his hands onto his head, “Doomfist is going to kill us if you broke something.”
     “I-I just lost my temper is all,” the older trooper defensively as his better senses returned to him.
     “Relax boys,” the dark-skinned trooper purred teasingly, “Us Numbani are tougher than you think. It’ll take more than one little punch to break this little hero.”
    Efi didn’t actually hear any of this conversation, as all she could concentrate on was the pain shooting through her stomach. She was coiled into a ball, holding her abdomen with her trembling arms.
     “You guys smell that?” the British trooper queried, bringing the nasal vent of his helmet closer to the cowering figure on the ground.
     “I think our little hero is wetting herself!” the dark-skinned woman to his side giggled maniacally.
     The little inventor’s red-rimmed eyes shot open at this humiliating accusation.
      Surely they were wrong? Surely I didn’t just…
      Unfortunately, it was at that very moment that Efi began to feel a warm, wetness growing in the crotch of her compression shorts. Although she couldn’t bear to look down, the pungent, familiar smell of her own piss drifted into her nose, confirming her worst fear. The snugness of her bottoms made it so that the urine didn't simply trickle down her thighs, but was compressed and visibly jetted out of the crotch of her shorts in a slim stream.
     Sobbing, the girl tried to maintain some sense of dignity and pull herself up out of the urine pooling on the ground beneath her. She couldn’t meet the eyes of her tormentors, so she simply stared at the ground, anticipating her next humiliation.
    “Ah! She got some of it on my boot!” the younger trooper groaned, trying to shake the moisture from his foot.
    “When my dog used to go in the house, my Baba would swat him with a newspaper,” the Numbani trooper tittered cruelly, before forcibly spinning the young girl around and slapping her hard on the bottom. Efi shrieked in surprise and embarrassment, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks again at the wet, slapping sound.
     “Enough stallin’, get ‘er rags off so we can finish this an’ get on back,” the older trooper growled.
     “With pleasure, Sir,” the dark skin woman cooed, her voice tinged with wanton lust. She dropped to her knees and peeled the wet compression shorts off of Efi. Not only did she not seem to have any reluctance about handling the soiled garments, but she even brought the shorts up to her nose and breathed deeply before tossing them over her shoulder.
    Efi stared at her with wide-eyed disbelief, concluding that the woman must truly be insane.
    As the wet shorts were piled around her ankles, the younger trooper suddenly laughed as her underwear came into view.
     “Oh, how cute!” the dark-skinned trooper giggled in agreement. The pink and yellow undergarments were soaked through and adorned with colorful illustrations of the main character from the "Vivi's Adventure" arcade games. Efi’s face flushed with indignation as her childish panties became the topic of conversation.
     Without any preamble or warning, the British and Numbani troopers assaulted her all at once. Her panties were drawn down and her crop-top was pulled over her head. The public unveiling of Efi Oladele was finally over. The two troopers nodded approvingly at her body and stood back to admire their work.
    Their victim had a petite frame and delicate features, with a warm brown skin tone that was currently flushed and slightly reddened. and deep, dark brown eyes. Although she was obviously scared, her posture was still strong and defiant. She didn’t bother trying to cover herself, she just looked balled her tiny hands into fists and stared forward.
     She had a slender upper body, with toned arms and shoulders, no doubt from all the hours she spent in her workshop. Her chest was small and flat, with two small, pert nipples atop her ribcage, somehow a darker shade of black than her skin. The nipples pebbled in the cold chill of the night, pointing at her tormentors accusatorily.
     Her stomach was flat and toned, with a small navel in the center. The dark-skinned troopers whistled approvingly, having expected a bit of baby fat on the little bookworm. The girl’s lower body was also slender, with long, toned legs and a petite waist. Her hips had just recently begun to curve gently outward, and her buttocks were firm and round, owing to her Yoruban ethnicity. Although her chest was flat and featureless, she did have a sparse patch of downy, fine hair at the apex of her thighs, showing that she wasn’t completely immature.
     Beneath that small patch of hair was an even smaller vulva. The dark lips of her labia were pressed tightly together, although her thick clitoral hood was prominent enough to still be seen. Her skin glistened in the pale light of the alley, slick with sweat from the fear and humiliation she had just experienced. It was also damp from her involuntary urination, adding to her overall sense of discomfort and vulnerability. Her pretty little face wore a mask of defiance but was still smeared with tears and smudged, white paint.
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Overwatch ENF: Shadows of Shame