The stale white lights of the science facility hummed lowly. Their colorlessness added to an already sterile and cold atmosphere, complementing the white walls, floors, and labcoats worn by the doctors. A man in a black business suit walked down the corridor, starkly contrasting with the rest of the environment. To his right was a doctor sporting long wavy locks of hair that descended to his shoulders. It was a faded brown and looked like it was rigorously taken care of. A feature of pride for this young man. Glasses framed his face, a black to contrast the brown. His labcoat flowed behind him with each step he took. The man in the suit droned on about their mutual "investors", but the doctor only payed half attention. He was far more focused on showing off their new "agent."
"She'll be ready to send back?" the suit asked. The doctor smirked and peered over at the man.
"She's far from the deadly assassin we have planned," he said. "But everyone starts somewhere. She's learned much from her husband, but we've taken it upon ourselves to instill some basic gun knowledge into her psyche."
"Any physical abnormalities?" The doctor stuck out his bottom lip and shook his head.
"We've left her physically untouched. The psychological modifications were much more difficult to pull off this way, but we couldn't risk cutting open the skull and leaving some scar or indent for Overwatch to latch on to. But make no mistake: she's primed and ready."
"How can you be so sure?" the suit asked. The doctor let out an amused huff of air through his nose.
"You always have to beta test the latest program before it's released for public use," he said, a tone of snark in his voice. "Or at least you used to. Nowadays, they'll just shit out any hack program, no matter how buggy or broken it is."
"This is much more different than a computer program, Doctor," the suit insisted. The doctor smirked, shut his eyes, shook his head, and merely patted the man on his shoulder.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand," he said. "That's why I'm the scientist, and you're the rep. But the real testing and modification won't come in until after the mission is complete."
"How extensive will these modifications be?" the suit inquired.
"Very," was all that consisted of the doctor's answer. The two entered a hollow chamber, the doors shutting behind them. A laser wall washed over them, and steam erupted from mechanical vents in the wall.
"Decontamination in progress," the computerized voice stated. The suit checked and patted his outfit with notable concern.
"Don't worry," the doctor said. "It'll be fine."
"Decontamination complete." The doors slid open, and the two entered a laboratory. This room was grey and more dimly lit than the hallways. A group of scientist stood by terminals, awaiting further instruction. The doctor and the suit stood before a large pod in the center of the room. The glass was fogged, obscuring the contents within.
"Ready?" the doctor asked. The suit nodded. One of the doctors standing to their side pressed a button, and steam began to hiss out of the seals. The door lifted with a whir, mist wafting up from the opening. As it cleared, its contents were revealed. A pale skinned woman was laying inside. Her body was covered by the clothes she wore before they had taken her, clean pressed and looking fresh off the rack. Slowly, her eyelids opened, and the world around her came into focus. She squinted as the bright lights beamed down on her. The woman rose from the pod and climbed out, standing before them. The suit peered at her, unsure of what he was supposed to be looking at. The woman stood expressionless before them, her eyes lacking any sort of spark of life or thought to them.
"Well?" the suit asked.
"Report," the doctor said. The woman stood at attention.
"Amélie Lacroix," she replied, a soft French accent detected in her words. "Codename: Widowmaker. Reporting, sir. Ready to comply." The suit looked over to the doctor, who smiled with intense satisfaction.
"Widowmaker?"
"Think about it." There was a silence for several seconds before the suit came to the realization. "Now you get it. What is your mission, Widowmaker?"
"Infiltrate Overwatch. Operate undercover for two weeks. Eliminate Gérard Lacroix. Return to base."
"Two weeks?" the suit asked. "That seems a bit long."
"It's an assassination mission," the doctor said. "They'll be watching her closely. She can't operate out in the open. Not yet, anyway. Only when they let her guard down can Widowmaker effectively strike."
"Hmm…" the suit rubbed his bottom lip with his hand in contemplation. "Is this the most effective method of eliminating Lacroix?"
"Would you rather I sew an explosive into her stomach and detonate it?" the doctor asked flatly. "Talon needs field agents equivalent to Overwatch's "heroes." She's the first. Unless you have a steady supply of extraordinarily gifted individuals and a lot of disposable income at your fingertips."
"Fair enough," the suit said. The doctor looked to the scientists and jerked his head in Amélie's direction. Two of them walked to her side, resting their hands on her for support.
"Latrodectus Hesperus," the doctor said. Immediately, Amélie's eyes shut, and she slumped into their arms. The two scientists lifted her up by her arms and legs, resting her on an operating table.
"Latro-what?" the suit asked.
"Her trigger words. These are a code phrase that activates her deep sleep protocol. She will awaken in a few hours, completely unaware of all that transpired here."
"How will she know when to carry out the mission?"
"Her psychological clock has been adjusted to reactivate her dormant psyche after the window has passed. Then, the deed will be done."
"And if she fails?" The doctor limply shrugged, having not even considered the idea of failure. His plan was bulletproof in his eyes.
"Then we deal a blow against Lacroix emotionally," he responded. "And we always have our backup agent."
"How will you convince him to join?" the suit asked. The doctor placed an arm around him and smirked.
"You're in communications," he said. "You should know that you gotta work all the angles with these sorts of things."
"Very well." The suit slipped out from under his arm. "Will she be ready to go soon?"
"She's ready to go now."
"Excellent." The doctor pressed a button on his watch, and two black armored soldiers entered the room. They lifted the woman up and followed the suit. "Talon thanks you for your cooperation." The doctor nodded, and the door closed behind them. He sighed and strode over to the pod, resting his hand on the glass.
"Two weeks…" he said. He tapped the glass anxiously, chewing at the bits for the chance to further experiment with the Widowmaker. To change her into the ultimate assassin and usher forth the fall of Overwatch.
Gérard rushed through the center of the shanty town where he had received the call. The rest of his team sprinted to catch up with him.
"Gérard, slow down!" The Frenchman turned to see his superior officer standing there, a man wearing blue riot gear, a trenchcoat, and a visor mounted on his right eye. Blond hair sat neatly trimmed upon his head. The rest of their unit arrived behind them.
"Commander Morrison, with all due respect, I can't slow down," Gérard said. "My wife is here in zis town!"
"It could be a trap," he said. "Talon could've set this all up."
"Hence why we should hurry! My wife could be in ze crossfire if this is a setup!"
"Gérard, just listen to Jack for a moment." A woman walked to Jack's side. She wore the same armor as Jack, minus the visor. A blue beret rested atop her black hair. Her skin was dark, and a tattoo of the Eye of Horus rested under her left eye. She gripped the specially modified sniper rifle in her hands. "He might be correct."
"Ana, please," Jack said. "I can handle this-"
"I have no time for zis!" Gérard shouted. "I must find my wife!" Without another word, he ran down the dusty streets, looking in all the buildings and calling her name.
"Dammit," Jack growled. "Something's off here. Ana, I want you on the roof, watching our backs."
"Understood," she said and quickly scaled the side of a wooden store. Jack gripped his rifle and sprinted after Gérard, the rest of his team following in his wake. The trail of footprints in the dust wound through the town, stopping outside a bar. The three entered and saw Gérard cradling a frail woman, his rifle on the ground.
"Ma chérie," he breathed quietly as the two held each other. His voice was so quiet. "When Talon took you, I feared ze worst. I would never stop hunting them if harm came to you. But you are here. But how?"
"Gérard," Jack said. "Step aside." Gérard rose to his feet and stared him down.
"Sacré bleu!" he hissed. "My wife has been stolen from me for many a month, and you try to break our reunion?"
"I don't like this," Jack said. "Something isn't right."
"Mister Morrison," Amélie said, rising to her feet as well. "If you worry about my husband's safety, I can assure you that I would do nothing to endanger his life or his colleagues. You must believe me!" Jack pressed two fingers to the earpiece attached to his visor.
"Ana?"
"Nothing to be found," she replied. "No suspicious activity or armed persons anyway." Jack craned his neck and popped it.
"How did you get here, ma'am?" he asked. Amélie opened her mouth to respond, but her mind went blank. She sat back down, rubbing her temples.
"I…. I don't know," she admitted. She had been gone for months and yet felt no sort of fear or concern for the time gone. All she felt was relief to be in her husband's arms again. Jack shook his head.
"This isn't right," he said.
"Let me take a look," a feminine voice said. A woman with long blonde hair done up in a ponytail made her way past Jack. She wore an angelic looking suit complete with wings and a halo-esque fixture on her head. The suit was white with gold trim. She withdrew the long staff from its place on her back and scanned Amélie. The French woman was enveloped in a golden light. The angelic woman examined the readout on her staff. "Physically, she is fine. No sort of modifications done to her."
"You're sure, Angela?" Jack asked. She nodded.
"Talon hadn't touched her," Angela said. "Strange…"
"Thank you, Angela," Gérard said, scooping his wife up in his arms and hugging her closely. "My love, do not pay attention to zhem. I know you would never jeopardize us or seek harm on us."
"Never!" she hissed. "I would rather die than aid Talon in zheir schemes. Had something I done led to your downfall, I could never forgive myself!" Jack sighed and decided to table this discussion until they returned to HQ. Angela placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"You should relax, Jack," she said. "This is a day of celebration. True loves are reunited."
"Hmm…" he said. Jack turned around and stepped outside, seeing his other teammate leaning against the wall. He was a dark skinned man with a goatee and a black beanie on his head. He wore dark grey fatigues with black boots and plating along the legs. "You think something up too, don't you?"
"Hmm," the man responded. "No memory of what happened, and she just up and appears out of the blue? Fishy."
"You don't have to tell me, Reyes," Jack said. "I don't like any of this. We're in the dark about something."
"Perhaps we ought to take her out," Reyes growled. Jack slapped his shoulder with the back of his hand.
"What, are you crazy?" Jack exclaimed. "We're not gonna kill her! She's one of ours! We're not gonna tear each other apart!"
"What do you propose?" Reyes growled, glancing at Jack from the corners of his eyes. The strike commander rubbed his forehead, feeling a migraine set in from all this frustration and uncertainty. His least favorite thing was being kept in the dark.
"We'll…. we'll watch her. Have her escorted under armed guard. For safety."
"Her safety or others'?"
"Both."
"Gérard's not gonna like this."
"He'll be the main one looking after her."
"Hmm. Clever."
Gérard sat on a stool as his wife sat in the examination bed, scanners plugged onto her head. Brainwaves were showing up on a virtual graph along with a showcase of her brain's layout.
"You're going to be okay," Gérard whispered, holding his wife's hand gingerly. Too afraid to let go out of fear that she might disappear right before his very eyes. Angela held a tablet, examining the results she was getting. Jack was in the office with her, the both of them watching Gérard and Amélie from behind the glass.
"Physically, she is completely fine," Angela said, her eyes fixated on the tablet. "Her brain tells a different story." Jack looked over her shoulder at the tablet's contents. The brain showed a spot with muted colors over the part that housed memory while the rest of her brain was more vibrant. "This should have more activity and be brighter."
"Tampering?"
"Please, Jack," Angela said. "We may live in a world where intelligent machines exist, but neural manipulation and removal of memories by the hand of science are mere fiction."
"Who's to say?" Jack said. "Maybe Talon's stepped their game up."
"Had this technology existed, we would've been the first to develop it," Angela said, feeling a blow to her pride at the suggestion of such an idea. "We are the forefront of modern technology."
"What do you think?" Jack asked, leaning back and folding his arms.
"Repressed memory," she stated. "The stress of being separated from her husband and being at the mercy of Talon no doubt took its toll on her. In order to cope, she forced them deep into her psyche."
"Can we get her to remember?"
"Perhaps, but it'll take weeks of therapy. Maybe even months or years." Jack let out a deep sigh. He rested an arm against the glass and leaned his head on it. Nothing she said seemed to be of any comfort to him. All of it didn't settle with him, and having no answers made it worse. His thoughts retreated inward, analyzing every possibility with his signature military prowess, when his attention shifted to the feeling of a soft hand on his shoulder. "We should be happy, Jack. She's back. And safe. Talon can't get her here."
No one could have known what Amélie had been subjected to. No one could have known they were playing into Talon's hands. No one could have known Gérard would meet his end two weeks after his beloved's return. No one could have known the dormant assassin would awake on the very first second of midnight, the hairbrush dropping from her hand and clattering onto the floor. No one could have known the gun she shot him with while he slept in the comfort of his own soft bed would be the very one he had strapped to his thigh in the field. No one could have known the guards that escorted the two of them from their base to their quarters would signal for her exit. No one could have known the same guards would be found dead immediately afterwards, killed by the same gun she used on Gérard. No one could have known that Amélie was alive and had betrayed her husband and all their friends instead of being believed to be kidnapped once again.
No one could have known. Save for one scientist with faded brown hair and glasses, smirking over the report while no one was looking inside the lab where Angela had commenced with the psychiatric evaluation.