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The empty shell of a woman that lies before her is as much Lena Oxton as Widowmaker is Amelie Lacroix. Which is to say, not at all. The thing looks the same, for the most part. It has the same sharp jawline that Widow has licked, kissed, and made her own so many times in the past. It also has the same deep, expressive eyes like those of a sad little puppy. Except, now, they express nothing. They are cold, blank, like a fish. They take in nothing and care for nothing. Who Tracer used to be is gone now…like sand through one's fingertips. And nobody can bring her back. She's restrained, of course. Her wrists and ankles are bound, and tubes and cords are connected to almost every part of her. Completely naked, Tracer's lightly tanned skin is paler than usual and gleaming with sweat beneath the too-dim lighting.
Her pretty brown hair is black now, the first of many such changes. It's the color of ink beneath Widow's fingertips as she runs her fingers through the short locks almost gently. The sniper bends from where she stands, caresses Lena's cheek in her hand, and gazes into those empty eyes that stare blankly back. Behind her, the scientists who let her into this dark, depressing room are beginning to squirm. It had been difficult enough convincing them to let her see Lena before her wonderful transformation was complete, let alone speak to her or touch her. Now they're fussing. She ignores them completely.
"Look at you." She mocks, stroking the pale freckled cheek beneath her hand with her long fingernails. She notices it then, suddenly. Something is different. Or perhaps it's the fact that this something is not different. Whatever Talon is doing to Lena; they are keeping her warm. Her skin, her blood, is still red hot, it makes Widow's heart pound, her knees weak, her belly tingle with that familiar heat, and it angers her. Immensely. She hates that warmth. That "life." It was part of another life, one that she needed to leave behind. From the start, Tracer's warm gaze, her warm touch, her gentle voice changed things. Why, Widow never knew. But since when were things explainable when it came to this annoying British brat? Whatever the reason, it needed to end. She tightens her grip on Tracer's hair, leans closer. Her pulse is rising, despite herself.
"Don't touch her please," one of the scientists in the room interrupt, bursting out in anger as if he had reached his breaking point. His glasses are perched at the end of his long, beak nose. "She's still fragile and I'm afraid her transition is incomplete. Look, talk…but please do not touch." His voice annoys her. She wants to kill him. Kill him for interrupting her, kill him for daring to speak to her in such an insolent tone, and, most importantly, kill him for telling her that she is not allowed to touch what is hers. She doesn't respond, simply gives him a dark look. Despite being technically being above her authority-wise, he flinches and cowers. So did the other weak men at his side. These were the men who created her. They feared their own creation.
She sneers at them, and she certainly does not remove her hands from her property.
Eyes glittering with cold hatred, she runs her thumb along Lena's soft mouth. She can hear the scientists fussing again and she has to hold back a chuckle. "I find it all very amusing, don't you? The mighty Tracer, the greatest agent of Overwatch. Loyal. Brave. Powerful. About to become the greatest weapon of Talon. Did you hate me when you realized what I'd done? Did you hate yourself?" The assassin smirked at the lack of response she got, and her head cocked. Her cold, golden eyes narrowed. "I did warn you, cherie. Truly, you gave me no choice...I had to do this, you understand." The Talon agent gently ran her lips along that familiar jaw, kissing softly, inhaling her scent. It was the same, just like her hot skin. And this too, angered her. But the assassin ignored it, and instead continued to speak. Her voice was cruel, venomous, as she whispered. It would be unfortunate if the researchers were to hear what was coming next. "I told you that what we had – the meetings, the 'lovemaking'- could only end one way. With one of us dead. Now, here you are. Dead...In a way."
Lena stared back at her, but said nothing. As expected. But this lack of response was becoming frustrating. She leaned closer until they were eye to eye. She wanted a reaction. She wanted to see Lena again. Wanted to see her squirm again, see her angry again…one last time before she turned. Of course, she knew how to get a reaction out of her. "Yes we both knew. Yet you tried to end us in a different way, didn't you? You ran from me, from us…With that girl. Emily, was it?" Widow asked gently, soothingly.
Slowly, fingers wriggling, Tracer twitched. Her eyes narrowed. Her fists clenched and when Widowmaker gazed at the woman's hands she saw that they were sweaty, the knuckles bone white. Widowmaker's lips pulled back in a terrible smile, her teeth white as snow. "Ah yes, there's the fire in those eyes that I'll miss so much...the fire that girl stole..." Widowmaker leaned close, and placed a gentle kiss on the corner of Lena's mouth. "Goodbye, cherie."
Lena's fingers twitched, and her body shook lightly. She seemed to be fighting for control, breaking past whatever slumber her captors had put her in. Widowmaker watched this in amusement. Like an ant writhing beneath the sun and a magnifying glass. Desperate, alone, and in the end…hopeless.
"I must insist that you stop stimulating the prisoner! These emotional reactions could change the outcome of the experiment!" The beak-nosed scientist exclaimed, shaking his head. "Someone remove her from the vicinity at once, this has gotten out of hand! "
"Enough," Widowmaker sighed. "I do not need to be 'removed.' I'm finished." She glanced at Lena one last time. The flash of anger that had been there at the mention of Emily was gone now. The physical reaction from the kiss? Also gone. Her deep eyes were blank once more. Widow stood, and smiled calmly. There were pains in her chest. "I'll leave…. After all, I only asked for a moment of her time. You've done well with her."
The lab coat clad man nodded gratefully, adjusting his glasses. "Thank you."
She began to stalk towards the exit, her heels clicking on the floor. When she reached the door, she glanced back. "I must make one request, though. Her temperature?"
"Err, yes, what about it?"
"I want her to be cold. How hot she is…I dislike it." Perhaps he knew why, perhaps he didn't. She gazed at the man with her gleaming, golden gaze. He shifted under her stare. Yes, perhaps he knew that she desired Tracer's touch to be cold. He might have guessed from Widowmaker's intimacy with her, but she couldn't bring herself to regret it.
The scientist smiled awkwardly. "Well…I'll see what I can do." Which meant that Widowmaker would have to get used to the burning hot skin against her own.
"Do you regret it?" Sombra asked the question from where she was perched, sitting casually across the top of a desk in their quarters like it was a bed. She was such a child...Widowmaker thought about the question. She knew, of course, what this was about.
Bringing Tracer here. Letting Talon change her.
She answered honestly. "I'm incapable of feeling such a thing. Regret? It has no place in my life."
Sombra smirks at her words, and crosses her arms. "Mm. Always so dramatic. I love it. Say…When we first met and you rejected my…physical advances, what was it you said? I believe you were claiming your body was incapable of getting fucked properly." Her teeth are glinting, and her bright eyes are narrowed. Sombra had something up her sleeve. That much is obvious. "Something like that? Right?" Widow says nothing.
She wishes desperately that she could shoot the girl in the head. Since she'd first been introduced to Reaper and Widow, Sombra had been nothing but trouble. She cared nothing for Talon's goals, and she made that clear. Talon was a tool for her. Why she was allowed to be here Widowmaker never understood. Instead of voicing her thoughts, Widowmaker calmly sips her coffee and pointedly flips through her newspaper. Her heart pounds, yet pinches with pain, at every article she reads with the name Lena Oxton in it. All of them about her being missing.
Hence Sombra's unwanted attention…it must have shown on her face.
"Yes, that's what I said. And it is also true." She replies coldly, "My body isn't able to heat up, my heartrate can't raise unless I'm kill..." Her voice trails off, and her golden eyes narrow. The beautiful hacker is tapping the air with those damned nails, where a screen has appeared. She is apparently flipping through files with her fingers. Widow never cared much for technology. The woman flips the screen towards her, her dark skin shining with the screen's glow, her teeth so white and artificial they're practically sparkling. Widowmaker's fists clench as she gazes at the image of… Her nails buried into Lena's shoulders as they- "Get that out of my face," Widowmaker hisses, and turns away.
"Oh, strike a nerve, did I amiga?"
"I have no interest in seeing such a thing."
"I just find it so strange that a woman who is incapable of having sexual intercourse is orgasm-"
"I get it. She is...an exception. Now get to the point. What, you want me to sleep with you?"
Sombra giggled and nudged her hard with her shoulder. "Of course not, of course not! I just wanted to show my wonderful, dear friend a lovely image of her doing things she previously thought impossible." Sombra gazed fondly at the image. "Amazing, isn't it? Maybe one day you'll regret too. Maybe she'll be an exception again. How do you feel about that?
"It's wonderful," Widowmaker replied dryly, "Are you done?"
Sombra pouts. "You never let me have any fun. Worst mom ever."
Widowmaker sighs. She will never get over the fact that this woman is almost the same age as her.
Tracer wants to scream. Wants to cry. Wants to do anything but lay here silently. But of course…that's all she's capable of doing. All she's been doing for what feels like years. But at least they've stopped putting things into her body. Chips and wires, and injections- all very, very painful. Everything is white hot. Like she's burning. Men and women in lab coats gaze at her, scribble on their notepads, and then leave. Rinse and repeat. And since that first day...she hasn't seen Amelie even once. And throughout it all, her head hurts, like she's being stabbed in the back of the skull.
She has so many questions. Where exactly is she? Why is she here? She can't remember a thing. All she remembers is Widowmaker meeting her, kissing her and then...nothing. And Emily? Was she alright? Thinking of Emily gives her enough strength to at least clench her teeth, clench her fists. But that's all. Other then that, she is trapped. Paralyzed and unable to move or speak until the next day when the scientists re-entered the room to observe or do something to her once again.
Apparently today is going to be different than usual. Because instead of a group of scientists coming in, it's just one man. He's a rather average man. Average height, average weight and build, middle aged. He was neither handsome, nor ugly. The only thing peculiar about him was his pinstripe suit and sleek black mustache. The villain from movies and shows she watched when she was a child. She grimaces at the sight of him. He crosses his arms. "My work is always beautiful but you are truly a masterpiece."
He stalks closer, boots loud- too loud- and grasps her chin. He gazes right into her eyes. His are a pale, dull blue. Like dirty water.
"Are you frightened? For a while, you were lost in...there," he taps her skull, hard. Are his fingers metal? When he pulls his hand away she realizes his arm is robotic and made of pure silver. "I imagine you were frightened. Incapable of feeling anything... lost in the recess of your mind...alone. How very terrible." He smiles at her kindly. "But today all of that comes to an end. You will no longer be frightened, you will no longer be trapped. Because no piece of you will be left. Not a single, tiny fragment. Consider this a...rebirth. A new purpose, a new you!"
Tracer doesn't know what to think of those words. Were they...brainwashing her? Like Widowmaker? Turning her into a mindless killing machine?
As if reading her thoughts, he smiles rather condescendingly. "Not quite. Eventually you will be used to kill- and you will be magnificent indeed. But first..." He steps close again. His breath smells like cheap wine. "You're going to be used to breed."
Tracer wants to scream. To breed? What did that even mean!?
"Still your mind and I'll tell you exactly what it means. Tonight, you're going to lose the rest of who you are. You don't know it yet but the physical changes you have been through are...spectacular. Recognizable to friends perhaps, but even to them...your purpose here is clear." He gives her another uppity grin. "Your physical changes are complete in other words, and tonight you mental ones will be too."
She glares back at him in her mind, and he smiles.
"The only thing that saddens me is the lack of internal turmoil you will feel. It was oh so very funny to see with Amelie."
At her name, she twitches. "Yes, indeed." He steps back, and crosses his hands behind his back. "Amelie, Emily. To think you used that poor, poor girl to try to shove away and hide your sins. Bury them, as they say. But I'm afraid your attempt to get away from my sweet Widow was in vain. You see, you'll be in her company a lot."
He smiles coldly. And she begins to understand.
"Yes, indeed. You'll be breeding with Widow. You have caused rather peculiar reactions within her. Impossible reactions. Orgasms, emotions, warmth...Affection." He chuckles, as if he has told a funny joke. Tracer is not amused. "Enjoy your last independent thoughts. Tonight, it all changes." He walks away, but turns to her at the last moment. "If you're curious...I call it, Operation Alpha and Omega."