Just a general thought, exploring the idea of the potential of Tracer joining Talon. Set before her slipstream incident. Might expand upon it in later chapters.
Dark red, warmth. Digits coated in hot blood, rolling a forefinger and thumb together as the substance stained downward upon a delicate hand in some form of morbid art. Cold pupils studied the liquid, a cruel smile spreading across lips in amusement. Death...It felt good, it felt good to kill and as the lifeless corpse of her target fell from her grip, Lena finally understood, finally knew that this was right. The power of life and death within her grasp, it completed her. Her life beforehand had been a shallow existence, one indebted to weakness. Now she was stronger, faster. Yet she needed more, the thrill was fading away into nothingness, leaving her hollow once more. The former pilot wished to awaken what was missing within her now; excitement, pleasure, the thrill of the kill. And she would kill again, bathe in a sea of blood. She would do anything to feel...alive.
Lena Oxton jolted upright in her bunk, heart pounding and pores perspiring. She was shaking, the remnants of her dream...no, nightmare, clinging to her consciousness as she raised a hand to her brow, sighing and relaxing her body's alert muscles. The pilot wiped away the sweat from her face with a forearm, closing her hazel eyes while she tried to think of something to take her mind off what she had witnessed.
"The hec was that..." She muttered into the darkness of her shared room within the barracks, turning her head to see the time. Two in the morning...Great. Like she would be able to get some decent rest after whatever that was...The pilot let her gaze wonder, seeing her bunk mate sleeping soundly on the opposite bed, rhythmic breathing indicating the woman was in the depths of deep sleep. Lena wouldn't be cruel enough to wake her up. Instead she lay back down, stretching her tense muscles under the covers with something of a groan and stared up at the ceiling, her mind still racing. It was just a dream, people have nightmares all the time, well not all the time, but they do happen. Then why did it feel so real? She scoffed, rolling over to her side and closed her eyes, ridding the mental images. Instead she busied her thoughts with simple routines of her day to day life as an RAF pilot, going over the planning cycles and checks needed before take off. It was almost second nature to her, a rhythm that had been deeply ingrained within her consciousness. It soothed in a unusual way, the familiarity welcomed as her eyes finally grew heavy, her breath deepening and slowing as her mind allowed itself to fall into blissful slumber, the surroundings of the barracks dimming into darkness.