Chapter 2: The Huntress
Everyone who knew of Widowmaker almost exclusively referred to her as The Huntress. Once she had her eyes on her prey, she stalked them relentlessly until they drew their final, quiet breath. You never knew The Huntress was coming for you until it was too late. When someone was shot in the temple with such fatal precision in a seemingly impossible situation, you knew who had struck.
Widowmaker departed her temporary aircraft and went to work. She casually hopped onto the uneven London rooftops, gliding off into the night. Her tracks would soon be covered by the downpour of musty rain.
Widowmaker peered through her scope and spotted the mansion, which was surrounded by large guards in black uniforms. They were hardly a problem to the experienced femme fatale.
Skillfully maneuvering past the security cameras and alarms, Widowmaker comfortably crouched on an adjacent rooftop that peered into the mansion's windows.
Widowmaker wished she had a blueprint to the house. Well... no. She didn't. Being given the blueprints of the home would make the mission too easy. She loved the thrill of the mission, the adrenaline rushing through her ears, the excitement of the chase. The only thing that satisfied her more than the thrill of the mission was the death that came along with it. Widowmaker just felt satisfied watching the pupils of her victims dilate after being shot. Watching the warm blood seep through the victim's clothes. Watching their panicked last gasp for what was left of their pathetic life-
Widowmaker smirked as she spotted a little blonde girl play with dolls in what appeared to be a playroom. It was decorated with lilac walls and glowing stars.
The word "hope" was written in cursive alongside a wall.
It didn't take long for Widowmaker to find the other child, sleeping comfortably in a blue crib.
Widowmaker placed a dot over the little girl's head. Time slowed down. She counted her ever faint heartbeats and would instinctively remember to pull the trigger in between heartbeats. But, the gunshot never happened.
Widowmaker frowned. She continued to stalk the little girl, who had now gotten up and towards a closet. The little girl pull out pink shoes.
Widowmaker, with a hint of curiosity, zoomed in on the shoes. Ballet shoes. The little blonde girl giggled ever so quietly, partly because she didn't want to wake her brother up. Even from a distance though, Widowmaker heard her.
The little girl slid her tiny feet in the ballet shoes and proceeded to dance. She was obviously taking ballet lessons. Innocence Hale, albeit a little clumsily, twirled and danced the night away, as if she didn't have a care in the world. As if she were the freest bird in existence.
"Is that the Vaganova technique? It's clumsy. No matter, she has time to perfect it." Widowmaker subconsciously thought. Then, it hit Widowmaker.
Innocence would never have a chance to grow. She would never experience the nervousness and excitement of her first major ballet performance. She would never feel the stage floor melt at her touch. She would never hear the uproar, the beautiful applaud from the audience. She would never perform the pas de deux upon ballet academy graduation. Oh, never mind ballet. She would never experience life to the fullest extent. Never.
Widowmaker exhaled sharply and accidentally dropped her rifle, which clattered on the floor. Merde. Several guards noticed the ruckus, and shone their flashlights towards the rooftop where Widowmaker hid. There was nothing there.
Widowmaker ran and ran, until her lungs felt as if they were drowning in volcanic ash. She had been sloppy, and now her rifle was inside some random bushes of the mansion's house. Widowmaker didn't care.
Once hidden in an alleyway, Widowmaker collapsed. Her daunting eyes scanned her surroundings. Widowmaker used her grapple to perch herself in an open apartment window, where a man was sound asleep and totally oblivious to an unemotional killing machine occupying his home. Widow saw three police cars survey the vacant cobblestone street Widowmaker ran off to.
Widowmaker closed the window and heard the man stir.
"Rebecca? Is that-"
The poor bastard could not even finish his last sentence, as Widowmaker rapidly jammed her boot into his face. Widowmaker considered leaving the man alive, but decided that it was too risky to let the man live. He would tell authorities that she had been in the square. Widowmaker never left a trace of her whereabouts.
After dealing with the man, Widowmaker surveyed the apartment and found the coast clear. She sat on a burgundy armchair and sighed.
Why did I hesitate to shoot the little girl?
A booming headache caused Widowmaker to silently yelp. She could feel the blood rushing in her head. She tasted metal.
She saw a strong mental image of a beautiful woman. The woman had strong, but slender, legs. Her mere presence gave off a charismatic, charming persona with a hit of wit. Her smile was her most striking feature.
It's wrong.
Widowmaker wickedly laughed to herself. Since when did she distinguish between what is right and wrong?
Shit. Widowmaker could already hear her superiors laugh at Widow's failed mission. How is she going to get out of this one? Widowmaker remembered being on thin ice when she returned to her headquarters with no gauntlet. She would be on even thinner ice now that she failed to do possibly the most simple task any skilled assassin could take on.
Was she getting soft?
Her? Soft?
Widowmaker could taste the bitter feeling of being subjected to emotional reconditioning. She didn't remember the procedure, but she remembered the recovery. She remembered an emptiness, a feeling of cruel violation.
"I could go back to the mansion, retrieve my rifle, and finish the job," Widowmaker thought, knowing full well that Talon would equip someone else to do her job for her. Widowmaker had too much pride to let that happen.
A torrent of thoughts poured in her head. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she had no idea what to do.
Smash. Whip. Bake.
Lena Oxton, better known by her callsign Tracer, eagerly waited for her cookies to bake. The holidays were near, and Lena Oxton wanted her girlfriend to come home for a nice surprise. Soft rain pitter pattered on the uneven apartment rooftops. A light red glow illuminated the apartment Lena was situated in.
The sound of a car parking and rattling keys caused the young air force pilot to stand in front of the door with roses in her hand. She had been gone for two months, secretly meeting with Winston and other ex-Overwatch members. The possibility of Overwatch operating once more seemed all too real a possibility. A second Omnic and political crisis was on the verge of erupting. The catalyst? The assassination of Tekhartha Mondatta, renowned Shimbali monk and advocate for peace.
Lena shuddered and shut her eyes to block out the uneasy feeling in her stomach. But, all she could see was a silhouette of a tall, slim figure. Piercing yellow eyes were staring into the depths of Tracer's soul.
That woman.
That murderer.
"Why?! Why did you do this?"
Tracer could still taste the bitterness in Widowmaker's voice when she answered with a simple laugh. There was so much pain in that laughter. So much loss.
Tracer slapped herself. There was no pain in that laughter. And there was a sense of direction. Widowmaker simply sought out the blood, the thrill, the excitement of murder. She was just a psychopath who got a kick out of death.
The sound of a car parking and rattling keys prompted Lena to jump out of her trance and grab a bouquet of roses.
"Oh, did she tell you that? Well, tell her to kiss my ass," Emily said angrily, not realizing she was killing the romantic mood Tracer had set up. Once Emily realized Tracer was home, she hung up immediately and hugged her lover.
"You're back?! I thought-"
"The trip ended early. So, I thought I would surprise you," Tracer beamed, softly kissing Emily on her plum lips.
"Okay, Lena, ya got me. Is that the smell of gingerbread cookies?" Emily said.
"Yes, ma'am! We are staying at home all day and watching chick flicks. First up, Mean Girls."
"Never heard of it," Emily laughed.
"How dare you insult me like that? It's a damn classic!" Lena pouted.
Emily nervously laughed and plopped on the worn down couch. She was playing with her nails, a nervous tick that Lena always picked up. Something was bothering Emily.
"Hey, luv. What's wrong?" Tracer asked, taking a seat next to Emily.
Emily sighed. "It's work. I got offered a promotion." Emily started biting her lip.
Tracer was confused. "No, really?! I'm proud of you, luv!"
Emily was currently a receptionist at a renowned law firm. She was attending school to become an attorney, and her ultimate goal was to represent the United Nations. It was an extremely prestigious goal. Some would even argue you needed to fight dirty to reach that goal.
"There's a catch. I have to move to the United States for an internship that almost guarantees I get a higher position in the law firm. Lena, I would have to move to the United States for two years."
Lena sat back in her seat, baffled. She had been waiting two whole months to see Emily again. Now, she will have to wait another eternity? Tracer felt obligated to say she was against the idea, yet Tracer knew the position meant so much to Emily.
"Go, "Lena said firmly, clasping her lover's hand. "You set aside your dreams just to be with me. Now, it's time I set aside my dreams to be with you. I'll quit my job at Overwatch and go with you to the United-"
"No, Lena. Overwatch... it's your passion," Emily sighed. "Overwatch is a part of who you are, a part of what you will always be fighting for- peace, love, justice. I can't ever take that away from you. And let's not even talk about your chronal accelerator."
Lena needed monthly checkups with Winston in order to check the condition of her chronal accelerator, which made sure she never slipped in and out of time. She would travel to Gibraltar at the end of every month. It was already a costly trip, and Lena knew she wouldn't be able to go to Gibraltar if she lived in the United States. The United States was placed under strict aviation law, due to the rising international tensions. This meant air travel was extremely limited. Only high officials were permitted to travel outside of the United States freely.
Lena smiled. "You're absolutely right, luv. It would just be impossible. If that position means that much to you, then I am willing to work out a long distance relationship. It's not like distance has ever been a problem."
Emily smiled faintly and started to tear up. She was lost in her own thoughts.
"Earth to Embug, earth to Embug! Stop with the waterworks, you'll make me cry! Anyways, you need to be cultured. I'll put on Mean Girls."