This is my first fanfiction and really my first attempt at serious writing. helpful criticisism is appreciated.
Widowmaker lied in her bunk in her private quarters of the Talon ocean base. Disguised as an oil platform, the base was the headquarter of the European warfront against Overwatch. As widowmaker lied there in her bunk, she couldn't help but feel dissapointed about her most recent assignment. While the mission was a success, Mondatta was indeed dead, Widowmaker was truly dissapointed in not killing her british rival. The British Overwatch agent known as Tracer had attempted to foil Widow's mission. However with only minor interuption from the agent, Widow got her kill. She got her feeling of life, of purpose, and was brought once more to her solitary moment of peace, before being reminded that she still had another kill to complete for her own sake. Yet as the dropship arrive dto pick her up, why did Widow hesitate to kill the british agent once and foreall? Through the many duelss they've had, And even the annual memory wipes, Widow can't shake the feeling that she knows the Tracer from another life, by another name. Widowmaker had no idea who she was before her life as a Talon assassin, nor did she care to. On the few occassions where she would try to remember her former life, all h could remember was emence, physical pain, emotional and mental trauma, negative symbolism with any alchohalic drink,... and unruly spikey brown hair? Her head would hurt everytime she tried to rmember so widow gave up.
Widow knew that trying to remember was pointless. She needed nother from her past. There was no past for her, There was simply Widowmaker and her Talon life. That Is how she liked it. At least being the most feared assassin i the world meant she was safe. But safe from what? Widow maker kmnew not that answer herself. There was much of the world she did not know, nor did she really care to.
Widowmaker decided she had done enough contemplting for the day and was ready for sleep. Maybe she would have a peaceful sleep for once. She rarely did, always having nightmares of a man who smelled of alchohol reapeateddly hitting her, or witnessing a surgery be done to herself while she was still awake. Sometimes, quiet rarely, she would dream pleasantly, yet only remember unruly, brown hair and the smell of tea.
Widow slowly began to slowly drift to sleep thiking of why the smell of tea was imprtant to her.