The Talon ship flew through the air, skimming the waters of the Mediterranean. We were low, low enough to avoid radar. Low enough to reach out and touch the warm waters. The ship, our prey, was coming in to a port in Italy, a sympathetic nation. They wanted Overwatch back; that meant they were helping to arm them. Widow could see the Overwatch planes; Talon had enhanced her eye sight to make her a better killer.

Massive metal shipping containers were piled high, ready to be unloaded, their goods transferred to the Overwatch ships that were landed. The shipping containers were big, meaning they would block line of sight, but also would give a shooter a commanding field of view if one were to stand on top of them.

"Pick your targets," Reaper said from the front of the ship. Much like the Overwatch ships, the Talon ships were VTOL; they could land vertically, making them much better suited for assaults.

It was another reason why Blackwatch had failed; too little oversight.

"We kill as many Overwatch operatives as we can, but the cargo containers are the target. No one kill Morrison; he's mine."

Widow's heart beat faster; Lena was out there.

The ship banked sharply, making a bee-line to the port. The Talon men readied their weapons.

"Ground in ten."

The ship was flying in so low, it threatened to crash into the waves. But Widow was more worried about Tracer than crashing.

At the last second, it rose up, barely avoiding a crash into the concrete docks. It landed, and Widow jumped out first, landing on top of a container. Forty meters away, she could see the gathered Overwatch agents; they were meeting with Italian politicians, no doubt posing for photos.

She could see a man with silver hair pulling a VIP to safety. A massive, pink haired woman was bringing an equally massive canon to bear. A woman in a rocket suit was boosting, flying into the air.

But above all, Lena was there, popping into and out of existence in a blue streak.

She shot her grappling hook, aiming for a stack of four containers.

"Eyes are in the sky," she said, zipping to position. "I have a bead on Tracer."

Move, Talon, Reaper snapped on the radio. Prep demo charges, Overwatch will not get those shipments one way or another.

Gunfire exploded; the battle was on. Now it was my turn.

The book store is quiet, and surprisingly full. With the Crisis in full swing, many people were there to escape from reality.

I looked up from her book. Lena was in a large, leather chair, leaning over the back, and staring at me.

'What?' I mouthed.

'You're beautiful,' Lena mouthed back.

The smell of old books and musty pages filled the air. I had heard Lena say it a million times, but with the warm smell of books, it seemed much more intimate.

My mother's words danced through my head.

You are so full of love, it cannot be contained to one person.

My mind drifted to-

I had to concentrate to stop the memory. We had a fight when we left the store; Gérard had called me, and asked me to another date. I loved them both so much…

If Talon's conditioning held true, any thought of Gérard would make Widow burn with hatred. They did not take my love of Gérard; they poisoned it. I could not have that poison seep over to Lena.

Widow did not seem to mind, or even know that something happened. I could feel my warm love spreading through her as she brought her rifle to bear.

She could see Lena running through the rows of containers, winking into and out of existence. She jumped onto one container, then saw Widow.

Her face filled the scope. I knew that Widow had her dead to rights.

The trigger to her rifle was dialed to one-point-six kilograms; all it took was a simple twitch to end her life. But suddenly, the trigger felt as if it was made of pure, solid iron.

Widow couldn't pull the trigger. My love was filling her.

I was winning.

The scope jerked and the rifle cracked; the shot zoomed over Lena's head. Widow had missed, intentionally.

Lena wasted no time; she teleported across the containers, making a bee-line to her. She returned fire with her automatic pistols, but the shots weren't aimed anywhere near Widow. They were both intentionally missing each other.

Widowmaker her, I am under fire, Widow said on the radio. Relocating.

She jumped from the top of the container to the lower level, out of sight of Lena. Not that it would last long.

Sure enough, Tracer popped into existence at the top of the container, and gave chase. Widow's rifle switched to automatic mode, and she laid down suppressive fire, just until she could get behind another container. We could both hear the popping of Lena's teleporting, and the staccato pops of her guns as she circled the container.

"Your aim is sloppy," Widow laughed as a burst flew over her head.

"Well, you sure ain't aimin' at me either, love!"

"'Love?' You think you know me, ma chérie?"

The gunfire stopped. Lena stopped. Neither of us could hear her step, or her teleport. The only sounds that could be heard were the distant gunfire.

"A-Amélie?"

Hate flared in Widow. No, not hate, but annoyance.

"Amélie is dead," she spat. "I am Widow, 'love.'"

Feet echoed on metal; Lena was approaching. Widow used the grappling hook to jump to a higher level, avoiding her.

"You sure about that? You called 'me chérie.'"

Lena followed Widow. There was a popping sound, meaning she teleported. But Widow had already jumped from the container, putting more distance between her. The grappling hook broke her fall, and she quietly ran through the containers.

Widow did not want to fight. Widow was running from her. My love was still winning.

"That does not change anything, chérie. You are my prey. And I get my prey."

"Aw, I'm flattered. You sure you can catch me, love?"

"More sure than you know, chérie."

Widow jumped to a higher level with her grappling hook. Lena was hot on our trail, we could feel it. We could feel her eyes drilling into our back. She was closing in on us.

Widow dashed across a few containers, then jumped down a level. Soon, Lena was lost, unable to follow us. Widow quietly climbed to a higher level, and began looking for her with her recon visor.

A massive explosion echoed through the port.

Objective complete, Reaper said on the radio. All units, fall back.

"It looks like our little jaunt is coming to a close, chérie," Widow laughed. She was a level above Lena, easily tracking her with the visor. She waited until she was just above her before launching a venom mine behind her.

The mine exploded, and Lena immediately began coughing, utterly disoriented.

"L'araignée has her eyes out for you, ma chérie. Watch yourself."

Widow broke towards the Talon ship. The ship rose in the air; she was the last one. She fired her grappling hook, catching the ship and pulling herself on board.

"Any luck with Tracer?" Reaper asked.

"Oui," Widow said. "I am getting better at tracking her."

She looked over Reaper. Bullet holes had punched through his cloak, but his armor held true. No blood seeped out.

"It looks like you had as much fun as I did," she bluffed. "Tell me, were you able to kill anyone?"

"That pink-haired Russian can make barriers," Reaper spat. "If it wasn't for her, Morrison would be mine."

"Then we both learned something."

Reaper grunted.

Widow looked out the back of the plane. She knew she could not see Tracer, but she looked out longingly enough.

I am winning.