It was dark, the ghastly pale glow of the moon filtered through the nearly closed curtains of the living room. A sigh was made known in the dining room coming from a shadow sitting in one of the chairs its arms resting upon the table one hand reaching up to cover its featureless face. It reached for something, hand grasping at thin air until it found what it was looking for. Raising its hand the shadow nursed the drink resting in its hand ever so slightly before carelessly tossing the drink onto the table. The clinking of the glass filled the empty apartment. The silent splendour, broken by the beating of knuckles on a metal door. The shadow's eyes shot open, startled for a moment before calming down. The figure stood grasping the previously discarded glass and unassuming bottle before striding towards the kitchen. The glass was thrown into the sink whilst the bottle disappeared behind some ingredients in an unspecified cabinet. Back into the dining room went the figure, it's arm sweeping across the table knocking something, metallic perhaps, onto the floor, an apparent haste within the actions. The figure rushed to a far wall close to the door it's fingers grazing the wall and hitting some switches. Light flooded the room, the figure composed itself before calling out, "You may enter."

"You may enter," his voiced called out. Receiving his confirmation Amélie pressed her hand against the touch pad, the door sliding open, and walked into his living accommodations. She was shocked to the room in such disarray. Once more his voice called out, "Ah, Widowmaker. What brings you to my room at such a time?" And when she finally laid eyes upon the individual who spoke she saw a man that she did not recognise. His normally immaculate attire was thrown on haphazardly, the face that was only ever complimented with a stoic expression conveyed a nauseating quantity of emotions, the typically clean but scraggly hair left unkempt, and his posture that which would generally be held high, dignified, and powerful that befitting a general was slouched over and screamed defeat.

"Jaune," a nickname he'd received from the colour of his hair, she started before abruptly stopping. To anyone else they may have missed it but she didn't. His brow had furrowed, eyes narrowing just barely, his teeth clenching, mouth tightening, as an almost undefinable grimace settled over his features. His name, she realised, had brought back some memories he had rather kept buried. She finally took note of rooms she'd previously glossed over. Many of the chairs used for dining were knocked over, puddles of various sizes stained the surface of the table along with a misty black powder. Off to the right was the living room, or family room or whichever you fancied, with pillows thrown everywhere and a blanket covered the back of the couch. The incessant humming of the signal less television finally made apparent painting the living room in blacks, whites, and greys. Her attention was brought back to Jaune who cleared his throat.

He spoke to her once again, "Yes?"

"Ah, everyone is eating," she hastily replied. "Gabriel decided to cook stating he remedy the fallacy that was "my teammates not knowing the pleasures of barbeque" and thought I should inform you," she expanded upon hoping to bring Jaune down for dinner.

"Oh, my mistake, I hadn't realised the time. I guess I was too busy cleaning Opus," he noted. Hearing this she finally noticed the beautiful flintlock pistol lying on the floor. The stock and shaft made of a rich mahogany wood complimenting that was magnificently engraved metal that made up the barrel and firing mechanisms of the gun and to complete the look was a bit of gold plating. "Go on without me, I'll be down in a few minutes," his continued response was lacklustre if anything and did little to satisfy her.

She was going to question him hoping he'd affirm his decision before deciding against it. "Okay, we'll see you downstairs. Just, don't take too long."

As she trudged towards the door she barely heard him speak one finally time before leaving the room, "Don't worry, I won't."

By the time, she had left his attention was already focused elsewhere. He glanced around himself taking in his surroundings noticing the utter chaos the room was left in. He walked past the tables and chairs ignoring the flintlock pistol that begged to be cared for into the next room. The family room, a room in which many pleasant memories had been spent with friends and coworkers over. They had partied, or watched movies, or even played games, it truly didn't matter. Now, it was a mess the pillows he had haphazardly tossed on the floor or elsewhere, the couch where he had recently been sleeping was practically a blanket fort at this point, all but one of the curtains closed, and even the television which he had yet reset it to the correct settings was giving off static.

He proceeded through his apart- no, living quarters turning on the lights of each room via voice command or otherwise before entering and turning them back off before leaving. His next stop was the bedroom which he hadn't used in… he couldn't remember. It had a king-sized bed for whatever reason the menagerie of different covers and sheets, of which he didn't know the names of, laid out over the mattress. The other furnishings of the room matched inexplicably with the bed and at one point the room might've looked cosy, even fit for a king, but it had been long since he last cleaned it.

His office was the only room untouched by the unrelenting havoc that devastated his living quarters. There wasn't much to it, though, an elegantly carved desk that faced the entrance to the room, behind it a window that overlooked the city. On the desk and off on the right was a triangular prism with blue led lights running up and down it and had he not known better would've assumed it purely aesthetic. He debated activated the prism and opening the holographic computer monitor but decided against it. In front of the desk stood upon a rug was two chairs made of carved wood with leather padded seats. Overall, the room looked very much like a Victorian Era personal study.

Once more, he walked towards another room of the living quarters his footfalls heavy and with them a sort of finality only comparable to that of an inmate on death row. Yet again he was in the dining room and yet again was searching for something. It took him a while but he finally found it: Opus his flintlock. His hand trailed down the barrel his eyes held a longing in them.

"Lights," his voice rang out for the first time or so he thought since Amélie had left. And from the simple command, all the lights that he had left on were instantly turned off. His thoughts danced thinking back to what all led up to this moment, what forged his destiny. A wetness was felt on his cheeks and he realised he was crying, no, he was sobbing. "Why," his haggard voice barely managed to whisper out. He didn't even care anymore, he just wanted it to end. Luckily, he had already loaded Opus. The barrel of Opus already pointing at his chin, finger on the trigger, he sat weeping at his mistakes.

…

Bang

AN: If it isn't readily apparent by this then I would like to point out that I am an amateur writer and the only reason I wrote this and am uploading it is because the idea came into my mind randomly and I couldn't just ignore it. Another point is that I know very little about Overwatch, and disclaimer I do not own Overwatch or any of the character from Overwatch I am only borrowing them. So yes this is an AU with some likely OOC characters and an OC only known as "Jaune". And to those who want to know I was listening to "Libera Me From Hell" when I came up with this idea. This is a one-shot and it's very likely that I won't continue this fic. I do hope you enjoyed reading it and some constructive criticism would be appreciated