I do not own any of the characters or other names, places. etc. used within this story. these aforementioned items belong to Blizzard. I hope you will enjoy the story, however as it is my first time ever writing a fanfic/story please give tell me what you think.
The blue-skinned sniper watches the streets of Kings Row, intent on spotting her next target, the next fly to be caught in her web, little does she know someone has their eye on her. Ana adjusts her sights as she watches the Widow, wondering who could require Talon to send their best assassin into the field. To complete their triangle a young man snaps awake in his apartment, a cold sweat on his body, his breathing ragged as memories of the first Omnic crisis finish plaguing his dreams.
-Main POV-
"God damn, why now." I ask myself, my voice deep and gravelly, as I climb out of my bed, the sun barely coming over the buildings. I look around the near-empty apartment with regret, the walls barren, the cardboard boxes holding everything he owns, still stacked against the wall, almost untouched. Slowly I walk over to the boxes and I look at the only open one, the one holding my workout clothes that I had been given when I joined Overwatch. On top of the clothes was my Overwatch com-link, however looking at it brought up some bittersweet memories. As I looked at it, I decided to reach down and pick it up, and with a light press it powered on, as I had been hoping to get in touch with Mercy, my mentor, but as the screen activates, it shows one small flashing word that made the me feel fear for the first time in a very long time; Recall.
I stand there for a minute, my entire body had gome stiff, and I was shocked back into reality by the communicator vibrating in my hand, showing a message from Winston, but before I have a chance to press it, I run to the bathroom and vomit, the memories of my past causing graphic images to fly through my mind, remembering my time healing the injured from many of the large scale battles. Finally after a few minutes of vomiting, along with some potent dry graves, it wanes off and I'm able to stand and walk to the sink to rise out my mouth. I turn the cold water on and I begin splashing water on my face, hoping that calms me down a little. I grab the small towel next to the sink and as I dry off my face before looking into the mirror, and I'm barely able to recognize myself. Long, shaggy, black hair and thick beard, dyed from the bright flame red it usually is, frame my pale, gaunt, face, an expression of sadness and regret staring back at him, the sunken turquoise and red heterochromatic eyes hauntingly looking into his own. "I'm 27, I shouldn't have the same look Gabe had back then." I then turn my eyes lower and I see my chest and upper arms are still covered in scars from things like shrapnel and bullet wounds, however, thanks to my rigorous workout schedule, my body hasn't changed too much, the defined structure and toned muscles still the same as they were 8 years ago.
"Get a hold of yourself Malcolm, it probably that message was probably just a figment of your imagination." I think to myself as I exit the bathroom and walk toward the balcony, shaking my head to clear the thoughts. I then grab a small silver case near the balcony door, doing my best to ignore the neon orange glow of the communicator. As I step out onto the balcony, I light a cigarette, enjoying the menthol flavor, and I become lost in thought, as I reminisce about my time in Overwatch, unaware of the assassin watching for me.
-No POV-
As soon as she sees the gentle glow of the cigarette, the sniper smiles. "Dis au revoir, petit insecte." Widow quietly says as she lines up her shot. Ana looks over the scene unfolding and sharply inhales as she finally recognizes the target. "No, not our Firefly, not today." The Egyptian sniper says as she pulls the trigger, hitting the Widow in the shoulder, causing her to miss. As the Widow's shot hits the wall behind Malcolm it alerts him to the danger.
-Main POV-
"Fucking Christ!" I shout as I dive into the building, unconsciously grabbing the communicator and holding it near my head. I watch the window for a moment before looking at the communicator in my hand and with a heavy sigh I press the button to watch Winston's message. As soon as the message ends I press the respond button, calling Athena, and as I wait for it to connect, I look out onto the city, the sun trying to cut through the smog and clouds thinking to myself; "Out of the frying pan, and into the fire."