"You're a bleeding heart, Lena!" he called out. "You always were, you never had to make the hard decisions! You just soaked up the praise and adoration, you were a mascot, but you could have become so much more." The voice growled across the roof of the skyscraper.
The wind battered spire lurched beneath them as Tracer stumbled, one hand clutched her accelerator, it's blue hue flickering on and off. Snow whipped and cracked at their faces, it's silent torment doing little to slice through the tension. Tracer brought McCree's Peacemaker to bare on the figure, who rested a shotgun on her and one beneath the chin of his hostage.
"You betrayed us, Lena, for what?" The voice rattled across the sky in a desperate to justify itself. "You never loved her, you said it yourself!"
Emily's face pulsed through her brain, hers and a thousand faces danced across her mind in a sea of painful and happy memories, each one wreaking havoc among the young girl's mental faculties as she slowly and menacingly stepped towards her target. Suddenly the gun felt heavy in her hand as her mind slowly unravelled. The weight of the revolver reminded her of its wielder and how the man in front of her was the reason it now belonged to her.
"You gave up everything you had for her!" the voice said again. "She cost you Winston, Angela, Torbjorn" the voice turned vile "It cost me Amelie and Gerard, even Sombra" it spat out those names as if they were poison.
"That's not how it fucking was and you know it!" Tracer screamed "It wouldn't have mattered if you had trusted me, if you hadn't left me with them" she seethed. As the two figures became more defined and the winter fog receded around them. The scarred rooftop belched and spluttered smoke into the sky from the hole in its side.
"That's exactly how it was, Lena" the voice said, a tinge of sadness slipped into the stream of rage that spewed forth from his mouth. He chuckled as Tracer lowered her gun and wiped away her tears using the sleeve of her jacket. "You betrayed us" he reaffirmed, letting his hostage fall the ground "now he'll pay the price too" he said looking at the other man crawling away from him. Raising one shotgun he fired in to the back of the man, who cried out in pain before crawling away. He chuckled to himself as Tracer fell to her knee's "I'm surprised you're still even processing this shit, considering how we fucked up your brains" he mocked. "Oh, please wipe everything, I don't want to feel anymore!" he gloated before firing the other shotgun into the back of the man's skull, his body finally going limp. "You're weak, at least Amelie didn't want her memories erased, at least she put up a fight" he laughed, steadily becoming unhinged as he circled her goading her into action. He crouched in front of her and held her face up. Through her cracked goggles and bloodied face he finally came into view, a fresh set of tears running down her face. "Don't worry, little one" he cooed, as he held her head to his chest, it'll all be over soon, you can truly replace Widowmaker this time" he said, pulling out the familiar syringe and sinking it deep into her arm.
"Even now, after all you did?" Tracer spoke at last her voice seethed with hatred, "you'd have me believe this was all my fault?" she said, defiant yet passive as the fluid entered her veins. With her last ounce on strength she smiled and gripped the heavy revolver before jamming it under his ribs and firing upwards, the bullet tore through his body.
Tracer stood up, the serum infecting and coursing through her veins. Her addiction was now fed as she stopped suffering the withdrawal symptoms. She walked towards the writhing form on the floor. "It's just us left now" She said, her body numbing, "and when you die, the world can move on" Tracer noted nonchalantly as her victim began coughing up the blood that had seeped into his lungs. The life drained from her eyes. "It ends here, as it began" she said coldly, cocking the weapon dramatically.
She pulled the trigger and a rush passed through her, the familiar rush of a target well taken care of. This time however, a sense of personal satisfaction overwhelmed her. It was over, she'd done it…
Morrison was dead.