A/N: (Author's Note:) Blizzard reserves all rights to Overwatch. Don't sue me; I have no money to begin with lol.

This is my first Fanfiction. Enjoy.

Alone.

I had salvaged whatever flammable scraps I could find from my poor crash-landed jet. Huddling for warmth beside a makeshift campfire, I regained my bearings and checked my own vitals.

Chronal accelerator? Dented here and there but intact. Broken bones? None, fortunately. Injuries? A few scratches. One long but shallow gash on my right arm. Failing to find bandages of any sort, I ripped a strip of cloth from my body suit. I clenched my teeth as I rubbed fresh snow over the wound, then held the cloth on it.

I pondered my next move. Stranded in a frozen wasteland with two days' worth of rations... a great situation! Oh who am I kidding… Couldn't trick a British preschooler with that.

I found my radio flung far to the side of the aircraft. I avoided the billowing smoke disseminating from the jet and plucked the radio out of the snow.

Click. "Lena Oxton here. Please reply if received. Over." Click.

I tried several times, to no avail.

Sigh. "What did I expect anyway?"

I leaned on my back, briefly considering the events that transpired moments before my brutal crash-landing.

"One last debriefing boys." And girl, I thought.

"Wid'ermaker is a mercenary on the loose. She's a trained assassin, a skilled pilot, and an extremely dangerous martial artist. The latest reports say she recently m'erdered an entrepreneur in Vancouver. Just like last time, she'll have an escorting jet to take her away from the scene immediately. Our job is to get there as soon as possible. If we see Wid'ermaker's jet, we take 'er down. Avoid civilian casualties. Got it?"

Thirteen replies were mumbled into a collective "Yessir."

The fourteenth was busy thinking. Don't worry luv, the cavalry's here!

We finally caught up with Widowmaker's jet far north of the city. She was alone, and our environment was devoid of people. Perfect.

Out of nowhere, we were flanked from both sides.

"Fighter B5 down! Retreat! I repeat, retreat!"

Explosions and radio messages alike blared into my ears. I reared my jet to the right, hoping to avoid the carnage of the dogfight. Outnumbered and outplayed, we were losing men at an alarming rate.

It was as if a large invisible being was controlling all of the enemy jets in an extremely organized fashion. Half of the jets to the left, half to the right. They alternated their attacks and avoided friendly fire.

Almost like… Reaper's double handguns. No. Impossible! Talon had been exterminated years ago!

Yet it all made sense. Gabriel Reyes, Amélie Lacroix. Both presumed dead, years and years ago.

I was wretched away from my thoughts by an explosion. I looked up, straight at the piercing glare and smirk of Widowmaker. I had foolishly let myself come into direct fire.

Her sniper rifle didn't even make a sound. One of my engines burst into flames.

Click. "A1. My right engine is down! Need assistance!"

No one replied. I panicked.

A flash, a bang.

I don't remember what happened next. Instinct and years of piloting experience must have kicked in, allowing me to crash-land a good distance away from where the battle occurred.

Sigh. I should get there and see what I can salvage.

Time to get moving.