"When I was a girl, I had a fear of spiders.. I was told that they felt no emotion, that their hearts never beat.." Widowmaker chuckled softly at the irony of her thoughts. It seemed, well, natural to fear a creature that felt nothing; who would care for something that couldn't possibly feel love, or happiness, or compassion? Or hate, despair, and apathy? What sentient, feeling being would give even an ounce of themselves to a creature as low as that?
It amused her that she had so much in common with a creature she used to fear more than almost anything in the world. It may be natural to fear such a thing, but Widowmaker was anything but natural these days.
She sighed heavily, looking down at the twinkling lights of London, England. She felt as though she should be feeling.. something. Self-pity, maybe? But she felt nothing. No joy, no anger, no resentment, no longing. Widow was an emotionless woman, a mere shell of the bubbly, outgoing person she used to be. Again, the feeling of wanting to feel something. She wasn't sure if that in itself was an emotion, but if it was, Widow was glad to feel it.
Reaching down beside her, Widowmaker lifted the one-of-a-kind Widow's Kiss sniper/assault hybrid rifle into her arms, caressing it as one would hold a lover in their embrace after a night of passionate lovemaking. The rifle had been crafted specifically for her use only. Each curve of the stainless steel weapon fit her hands perfectly. If used correctly, the gun was one of the deadliest weapons in the world. When used in close-quarters-combat, the weapon functioned as an assault rifle with a 30-round clip, firing at a rate of ten rounds per second. When used at long range, however, the rifle became much deadlier. The weapon charged the longer she looked through the scope, multiplying the damage tenfold. A headshot would take out pratically any target, Omnic and human alike.
The similarities between her weapon and herself were eerie. Widowmaker had been crafted by geneticists and biologists of the world's most powerful and deadly terrorist organization, Talon. Her skin was cool blue in color, the result of drastic slowing of her heart rate to approximately ten beats per minute, thus decresing her overall body temperature. This rendered her virtually invisible to most detection systems.
Looking at the scope of her weapon, Widowmaker noticed the reflection of her golden eyes glinting in the fading sunlight. Another product of Talon's ruthless experiments, her eyes could see farther and better than any normal human. This allowed her to easily identify targets in battle or on missions. Widow frowned at what she saw in her own eyes; or, more accurately, what she wished she saw. Her eyes were filled with nothing, no emotion whatsoever, as they had been for years. And they would most likely stay that way until the day she died.
The only emotion Widowmaker ever felt even a sliver of was pleasure, and she felt it after one thing and one thing only: cold-blooded murder. After all, that was the sole purpose of her existence; to kill. Any and every threat to Talon had to be disposed of, and thanks to them, she excelled at the act of ending lives. Whether it was ultimately for the greater good was debatable, but that didn't matter to Widow. In the end, all that mattered was the thrill she felt as a bullet entered the forehead and exited through the back of the skull. She thrived when she watched a body fall to the ground in slow motion, the light of life fading from the targets eyes as if the sun were setting instantaneously.
Sighing heavily again, she set the rifle aside, gazing over the sparkling labyrinth of nighttime London as she lit a cigarette. Widow inhaled deeply, savoring the taste of the chemical-ridden tobacco on her tongue, and the slight head rush the nicotine gave her. To her, each of those shimmering lights represented a life; a life that could be taken away at any second, stolen without warning. A life that could be taken by her. All it took was for her superiors to speak into the microscopic earpiece she wore at all times and order her to eliminate someone. And she would do it, without even thinking twice, because the act of cold-blooded murder (she chuckled at the irony of her thoughts) was the only thing Widowmaker was truly capable of.
She flicked the butt of her cigarette with her ice-cold thumb, watching with mild fascination as the grey and black particles drifted away in the slight breeze. Taking another deep puff, she held the smoke in her lungs briefly before expelling it into the cold night air with a long breath. Well, the air would be frigid to anyone else; her body was substantially less sensitive to climate change as a result of the brutal changes Talon's leading geneticist, Dr. Moira O'Deorain, had forced on to her unwilling body. In effect, she could endure both sweltering heat and freezing cold without batting an eyelash.
Tossing the butt of the smoke onto the ground four stories below her, she stood, using one long, toned leg to kick her rifle up into the air, snatching it easily with one hand. It was a practiced maneuver, that; one that had been drilled into her during the countless rigorous training sessions she'd been forced to undergo after her new body had completely healed. Given the choice, she would have refused, but the thought of enduring more torture at the hands of Talon made her shudder. So she obliged, and in doing so, became the world's deadliest assasin.
It had taken time to adjust to her new body. Still, after years of being gawked at every day, she wasn't used to looking in the mirror each morning and seeing blue skin, waist-length purple hair and golden eyes. She knew that she didn't want to see that, but she was unsure of what exactly it was she wanted to see. Widowmaker's past was hazy at best, and completely forgotten at worst. Talon's cruel methods of transformation had repressed every memory she had of her former life (that was how she saw it; two separate lives lived by two separate people. It was a bitter but realistic outlook.) She knew the memories were there; it was impossible to completely erase them. They were under lock and chain, residing in a coffin deep within the recesses of her mind. Whenever she tried to access them, a blinding, crippling headache struck her, rendering her completely useless. She had learned the hard way to avoid those thoughts.
Even now, she felt the tingling of pain at her temples as she even thought about thinking about her past. The fact that she was even having these thoughts assured her that she was due for another memory reset. Each time her memories threatened to burst through the implanted barrier in her mind, Widowmaker was forced to undergo a "reset". She wasn't sure how exactly it was done, but every time she woke up, she felt that familiar emptiness again. It was almost comforting in a twisted way.
Shaking her head to clear it, she spoke into the comm device fastened to her ear. "I am on my way to the target. ETA approximately five minutes." Her voice was cold yet soft; a silk scarf covered in the thorns of roses, completed with a heavy French accent. That was the only part of herself she was allowed to keep; she was French. She spoke and thought in the language, and she thought that if that were taken away from her, she would turn her rifle on herself and pull the trigger with no hesitation.
Raising her left hand, she fired a grappling hook at the building across from her. Widow didn't bother looking down before she dropped; her irrational fear of heights had dissipated years ago. She dropped like a bomb, swinging in a graceful arc before flipping and landing on her feet on top of the next building. She hit the release button on the grappler, and the hook slid into its casing with a satisfying metallic chink.
She repeated the maneuver effortlessly over and over, making her way stealthily through the night towards her target. Tonight's victim would cause quite the uproar; she was tasked with eliminating the Omnic monk and peacekeeper Tekhartha Mondatta. Mondatta was a modern day Buddha; his life goal was to repair the ever-growing rift between Omnics and humans. His teachings and philosophies were read, absorbed and practiced worldwide. However, there were a few who frowned upon his outlook, and even fewer who outright denied him. Talon were one of those few. For some reason or other, Mondatta was considered a thorn in Talon's side, and therefore his elimination was necessary.
Her mission should go easily, with no complications. Nothing made tonight's goal any different than the countless other eliminations Widow had been tasked with in her years as the world's deadliest hitman. At least, that's what she tried to tell herself. Something about tonight felt.. off to her. She kept a wary eye on her surroundings as she traveled through the night, but no threats arose. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling in her gut that something was very, very wrong. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Widowmaker approached the location of Tekhartha Mondatta's peace rally.
She dropped silently onto the rooftop of the building across from Mondatta's stage and rolled behind a large AC duct, popping up in a crouch. Already, she could feel the adrenaline rushing through her veins. The sounds of the guards making their rounds drifted over to her, and she knew she'd have to take more than one life tonight. The thought sent a twisted shiver of anticipation down her spine and a spark of desire to her core.
Peeking over the top of the duct, she quickly counted five guards circulating the area. Mondatta needed all the security he could get; his life was invaluable. Each soldier had a heavy assault rifle in his arms and a pistol at his side. They were clothed in black, their faces painted dark in order to stay hidden in the night if the need arose. Smirking to herself, she looked down the scope of her rifle, watching as the damage it would put out quickly climbed to ten times the regular. Within the span of a second, she aimed, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger. The guard dropped, what was left of his head pooling on the ground under him in a sick display of abstract art.
Widow leapt into action, sprinting at an almost inhuman speed and snapping the neck guard so fast he barely had time to see what was coming."Target eliminated," she said to herself softly. "Times deux." She looked around warily, expecting the other three guards to be rushing her, but nothing seemed amiss. Still, the ever-present feeling in her gut that something was wrong wouldn't go away, no matter how hard she tried to banish every thought of failure or complications.
She moved swiftly, dispatching the last three guards with ease. Barely a minute had passed before three corpses lay at her feet, the light gone from their eyes. They stared blankly at nothing, two of their faces twisted in a grimace of extreme pain. She had not been gentle with them, snapping their spines and severing their vocal cords so they couldn't scream. They were forced to write silently in agony before Widow put a bullet between each of their eyes.
She knew now that she had a limited amount of time to complete her task before the guards' absence would be noticed. The time to act was now.
Widowmaker manually unwound the grappling hook and searched quickly for a place to secure it. She noticed a set of iron stairs leading to the floors below her and walked over to it swiftly. Making sure the hook was firmly in place and wouldn't become detached, dropping her to her death, she wrapped the wire around her leg and tucked the casing into her belt. Slowly, she lowered herself upside down until the target came into sight through a narrow gap between two pillars.
Taking a deep breath, she eyed the target through her scope. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, giving her a high that nothing else could come close to. Elation filled her heart briefly before it was consumed by that raging feeling of something being wrong.
She heard it. The scuffle of feet on the rooftop above her. Panic rose in her throat; she was in no position to fight. If she was found, she was as good as dead; or worse, captured and taken prisoner. Before she could even begin to formulate a plan, the voice of her enemy spoke.
"Whatcha lookin' at, love?"
/
Lena Oxton, better known by her call sign Tracer, was walking briskly through the streets of London. Beside her strode Genji Shimada, wearing a heavy black trench coat to hide his cybernetic body. "I don't like this, Lena," he muttered robotically, and she sighed. Tracer had practically had to beg Jack Morrison to let her go watch Mondatta's rally in the first place.
"Absolutely not," he said flatly, narrowing his eyes and crossing his muscular arms. Jack Morrison, aka Soldier 76 to the world, was an intimidating man. Standing at over six feet tall, his body was lean from rigorous military training and extensive workouts. Scars criss-crossed his skin, past wounds from bullets and shrapnel the never fully healed. His eyes were cold and bright, the result of having been forced to see many things the human eye should never have to witness.
"Jack, come on, love. You know how much this stuff means to me," Tracer plead. Despite the difference in their heights, Tracer was unafraid of the war veteran in front of her, even though he was technically her boss. Tracer was a slim brunette, with short, messy hair and warm hazel eyes. Her body was toned, though not to the extent of Morrison's; as a woman, she abhorred the idea of looking like.. that.
"Do you think I care, Oxton?," Soldier snapped back, getting slightly annoyed with the bubbly Brit standing her ground in front of him. "I can't afford to lose you, Lena. You're the best agent I have. Without you, there may as well be no Overwatch."
Lena sighed, and she knew he was right. Overwatch had recently been recalled; the heinous acts being committed by Talon coupled with escalating conflicts between Omnics and humans were getting out of hand, and despite what the UN thought, the world needed a task force built to handle this magnitude of violence. Putting it bluntly, the world was teetering on the brink of a fourth World War, one that humanity itself had no chance of surviving. "Then don't send me alone," she retorted. "Genji can come, or Angela, or Winston. Winston could use an outing. He's been cooped up in that bloody lab of his ever since I got here."
Jack considered it briefly. Oxton was right about Winston; he spent entirely too much time isolated in his laboratory, working on God knows what. Granted, it was probably something genius and spectacular, but even genius apes needed a break once in a while. "Fine," he relented unenthusiastically. "Genji and Winston will accompany you. But be careful, Tracer," he said forcefully, looking down straight into her eyes. "Talon could be anywhere. I have a hunch that they're planning something to do with Mondatta. I doubt they'd have the balls to off him in public, but who knows.. that sniper of theirs could be in and out before we even blink."
Lena nodded and had to physically stop herself from throwing her arms around her boss. "Thank you, Jack!," she squeaked happily. "I know how to take care of myself, love. If I didn't, I'd probably look a bit more like you. And what girl would want that?" she teased with a cheeky wink before turning on her heel.
"Oxton!," Soldier barked, and she sighed before turning back to face him. "Yes, sir?" she replied, a pained expression on her face. She was truly over the pep talks and advice Jack shoved down her throat every time she ventured an inch from Gibraltar. She did know how to take care of herself; the Chronal Accelerator anchored to her bodysuit made sure of that. Without it, she'd float away deep into the caves of time. Lena shivered at the thought of going through that again.
Jack cleared his throat, his face softening a tad. "Don't separate yourself from the others unless you have to. And if you do have to, make sure it isn't for very long, and make sure they aren't far away. You aren't invincible, Tracer. Don't forget that." He turned on his heel and stared out the window of his office, effectively ending that conversation.
Tracer huffed. "Roger that," she muttered, giving Morrison's back a sarcastic salute. She turned around again and left his office, waiting until the doors slid closed behind her before skipping down the ramp, smiling widely to herself.
Lena wore her heart on her sleeve; she was among the most compassionate and caring agents Overwatch had ever seen. She would do absolutely anything and everything in her power to lessen someone's suffering if given the opportunity. She was a strong advocate for world peace, and was particularly passionate about Omnic-human relations, which was why she looked up to Tekhartha Mondatta so much. It was also why she got along so well with Zenyatta, the Omnic monk Jack had acquired.. She realized she didn't know where Jack had found Zenyatta, and shook her head. "That doesn't matter. What matters is that his soul is pure, more pure than most humans I've met."
She made her way slowly to her quarters, making sure to stop by Winston's lab on her way. "Whatcha workin' on, big guy?," she asked as she approached him from behind. She felt at home in Gibraltar's laboratory; it had been here where Winston developed the chronal accelerator, pooling his knowledge with Mercy's to save her life and inevitably becoming one of her closest friends in the process. "Pharah's suit needed some minor adjustments. A rocket misfired on the practice range," the ape replied absentmindedly. Tracer could tell he was focusing on the task at hand, and she sighed heavily.
"Why don't you take a break, love?" she asked quietly. "When was the last time you even left the Watchpoint, Winston?" The ape turned to her, a slight frown on his face. "I can't exactly go out in public, Lena," he said dryly. "I'm a talking ape." She laughed at the seriousness in his deep voice. "Well, do I have good news for you, love!" Lena said cheerily. "I convinced Jack to let me go to Mondatta's rally in London tonight. Under one condition.." she wrung her hands, feeling a tad embarassed. "You and Genji have to come with me." She braced herself mentally for his refusal and the pending argument, so Tracer was pleasantly surprised when he pondered the idea for a few seconds before nodding.
"Wait, you aren't gonna argue?" she asked, her surprise showing in her voice. Winston shrugged. "I suppose you're right; it'll be nice to get out of the lab for a while. And I can't really disobey Jack," he added as an afterthought, but Lena knew him well enough to know that that was the only reason he had agreed to accompany her. A smile lit up her face as she threw her arms around Winston, or tried to; the intelligent ape dwarfed her, and her arms barely wrapped halfway around his thick body. "Thank you, Winston. You don't know what this means to me, love." She kissed his cheek before blinking out of the lab and rushing towards her apartment.
Lena was lucky that she hadn't caught Morrison in one of his legendary bad moods; if she had, she'd most likely be sporting not one, not two, but three assholes by now. He would have torn her a new one, and to top it off, ripped the new one open as well. Tracer chuckled at the thought. Despite his intimidating demeanor, and him being over twenty years her senior, Lena wasn't scared of the man one bit. She knew deep down, behind the gruff exterior, lay a man with a good heart. He had saved her life more times than she could count, and for that she was eternally grateful.
Rounding the last corner, Tracer's brown eyes widened at the sight of the crowd gathered to listen to Mondatta speak. "There has to be over 5,000 people here.." she muttered to Genji, completely awestruck. He simply grunted in response.
Genji felt ill at ease in a place like this, with this many people. He was sure that if he took his hood off, each one of those 5,000-odd people would turn and stare, pointing at him and snickering behind their hands. It's not that he wasn't indebted to Dr. Zeigler for saving his life; it wasn't exactly a contest between living and dying. It was just that.. ever since his "transformation", he preferred to be alone with his thoughts. It was the easiest way to achieve inner peace.
Tracer eyed Genji sideways for a second, sensing his discomfort. She wished she could help him get over his odd aversion to crowds and people in general, but she had no idea where to begin. "You can stay back here, love," she spoke gently. "I want to get closer to the front. I promise I won't be far." Genji narrowed his eyes at her before nodding slowly. "Fine," he said curtly, ending any possible conversation they could have had. Tracer sighed heavily before turning her back on the ninja and pushing her way through the throng.
Lena slowly fought her way to the front of the crowd. She noticed that the populations of Omnics and humans seemed nearly even; she even saw human-Omnic couples. Her heart warmed at the sight. Members of both races held signs demanding peace. "Omnics + Humans = 3". "Fuck race! We are all one in the Iris!" Some of the signs were a lot more vulgar than that. She continued onwards, and just as she emerged feet away from the stage, Mondatta himself emerged to deafening cheers and roars. He was wearing robes similar to that of the ancient Buddhistts, and a pendant with the face of Buddha himself dangled around his neck. Tracer joined in the cheers, screaming until her throat began to hurt.
"Humans," he gestured to a girl of about eight standing with her parents to his right, "and Omnics," he pointed to his left, at a human/Omnic couple holding hands. "We are all one within the Iris." Tracer watched and listened, mesmerized. She hung on to his every word as though it were the only thing saving her from drowning in a raging, frothing river of violence and discrimination.
Suddenly, something in her gut clenched, and for some unknown reason, dread filled her body. She turned around, her eyes sweeping the buildings surrounding the square. she squinted, and.. she saw it. The red glint of light reflecting off of a sniper rifle scope. "Bloody hell," she hissed, and dashed off, blinking through the crowd without a second thought. She coul only hope that her chronal accelerator would be fast enough to get to the top of that building and save Mondatta's life. She was prepared to fight to the death, and kept a tight grip on her pulse pistols.
She zipped through the stairwell faster than she had ever moved before, and she was panting heavily by the time she burst through the door four stories above the ground. She gasped quietly as she saw three black-clad bodies strewn about the rooftop like a child's toys. Lena walked quietly in the direction she had saw the glint coming from, and looked down.
The assassin was wearing a skin-tight, black suit that hid almost everything, but only just. Her suit dipped deep in the torso, showing off her ample cleavage. The suit was tight enough that Tracer could see every toned muscle move as Widowmaker turned around to face her.
"Whatcha lookin' at, love?" she asked, trying to seem carefree and almost succeeding. Widowmaker chuckled before sneering at Tracer. "Mon dieu! Of course it would be you," she snapped back, leveling her rifle straight between Tracer's eyes. But as she looked into those endless pools of warm brown, something.. ignited inside Widowmaker. She didn't know what it was, or why she felt it, but something inside of her was stopping her from putting a bullet between the Brit's eyes. Widow sighed. "Look, cherie, this is nothing personal. I must end this man's life, else my own will be no more. Please.." She realized she wanted to use the Overwatch agent's real name, but she didn't know it. She also found that she wanted to. ".. let me have this one. I promise I will not kill you."
Tracer snorted sarcastically. "Fat chance of that, love. You know, I could simply detach that grappler of yours and you would fall to your death." She strode over to where the hook was placed, pretending to study it. When she had first seen Widowmaker hanging there, she had had every intention of ending the assassin's life, but when those cold, golden eyes met hers, all the anger she felt faded away. The pain that made Widow's eyes so bright was a pain deeper than any she had ever experienced. And now, as she stood above the sniper, she couldn't bring herself to end her enemy's life.
Widow's eyes flashed in fear, and she swallowed past the lump in her throat. "You would end my life without even a fair fight? Tu es une lache, petit fille." Tracer didn't understand a word of Widow's last sentence, but judging by the tone of her voice, it wasn't anything particularly friendly. Tracer looked down at the assassin studying her. She had Widowmaker, the deadliest woman in the world, a wanted criminal worldwide, completely at her mercy, and she couldn't bring herself to do a thing about it. She sighed in defeat.
Maybe Jack was right. Maybe she was too soft. She had to stop wearing her heart on her sleeve and start worrying about the greater good. "No, I wouldn't," she admitted sadly, and Widow smirked. She slowly pulled herself back up, climbing gracefully on to the roof of the building. She gathered the grappling hook silently before turning to look at Tracer, studying her. The girl wasn't unattractive; in fact, she was the polar opposite. Her bodysuit, while not as tight as Widow's own, clung in all the right places, leaving little to the imagination. She focused on the glowing contraption centered on Tracer's chest, frowning a little.
"I stick to my promises, cherie. I will not hurt you." She gathered up her rifle and turned her back on Tracer. Already, the younger woman filled her mind, and she knew next to nothing about the agent.
"Wait!" Tracer mumbled without thinking. Similar thoughts were running through her head; she wanted to know this woman. Looking into those eyes had started a fire in her, one that she didn't think all the water on the Earth could possibly put out. Widowmaker turned her head, glancing at Tracer sideways. She wanted nothing more than to put her gun down and talk to Tracer, but she couldn't be sure that Tracer wouldn't shoot or handcuff her the instant she was unarmed.
Before Widow could say another word, however, a green and silver blur dashed between her and the Brit, materializing into another Overwatch agent, Genji Shimada. "Widowmaker," he ackowledged icily. "It has been some time. The pleasure is mine," he said mockingly, giving her a traditional Japanese bow. She turned around fully, pointing her gun at the ninja as he slowly pulled his katana from it's sheathe. "Let us dance," he murmured, but before Genji could dash at the blue assassin, Tracer blinked in between them. "Genji!" She fumed. "You know our orders concerning Talon agents." Genji's robotic eyes glinted in fury. "You overstep!" he snapped back, stepping aggresively towards Tracer. Widow prepared to shoot him, but Tracer stood her ground.
"This woman.. this vile monster.. slit the throat of the best agent Overwatch ever had. Gerard ran circles around even Jack, and she murdered him in his sleep, the way a coward would. She has no honor, and she deserves death!" He trained his eyes on Widow again, and Tracer snapped.
"For Christ's sake, Shimada, look at her. Do you think her skin is naturally that color?! Talon clearly fucked with her; who knows what else they screwed up in her? Hell, murdering her husband could've been something completely out of control, something they forced her to do! None of us have any idea why she is the way she is. Everybody deserves the benefit of the doubt."
Meanwhile, Widowmaker was holding her head in her hands, using every ounce of effort she possessed not to cry out in pain. The mention of her late husband's name had brought on a flood of repressed memories, and the migraine headache arrived mere seconds after. The longer Tracer went on about her, the worse the pain got, until she felt something.. not break, but give in. Suddenly, the physical pain was gone, replaced by a deep ache in her heart. And she remembered.
So, that's chapter one.. for those of you unfamiliar with Overwatch lore, this chapter is based on the "Alive" Widowmaker short released by Blizzard. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to review or PM me, and I'll gladly answer to the best of my abilities.
I'll be putting some translations in the ANs of the first few chapters, but most are repeated throughout the story, so hopefully you guys can come to recognize them and their meanings.
Deux - two
Mon dieu - My god!
Cherie - dearest
Tu es une lache, petit fille - You are a coward, little girl
So, yeah. Um. I have four chapters written so far, and they'll be uploaded on a somewhat regular basis. I could use an editor, if someone would be willing to volunteer. Please review! I could use some constructive criticism!