violence, claustrophobia, freezing to death, basically Mei's backstory
[LOCATION UNKNOWN - ABANDONED WATCHPOINT - 7 MONTHS AGO]
This is Overwatch?
This is who kept humanity from extinction? This is the organization that Gérard was so proud of? This is what that has been a thorn in Talon's side even after its death?
This is Overwatch? Widowmaker had questioned as she sat handcuffed and guarded in the Watchpoint hanger. The rag-tag group that had "captured" her dragged her back to one of the Overwatch bases that hadn't been repurposed by the PETRAS act.
The flight after her surrender had been vexing. Once they were in the air Tracer had spent a good portion of thirty minutes poking and prodding at her trying to get a reaction. Widowmaker made it abundantly clear she would only speak to whoever was in charge of this madhouse. Eventually, Tracer gave up, and the rest of the group relaxed taking the speedster's word that Widowmaker wasn't a threat.
The hanger was basically the same as every other hanger Widowmaker had seen. Concrete floors with lines of faded paint, sounds warped and magnified by the space, electric lights humming far above her head. There was only so many ways to make an oversized garage. The main difference was the layer of dust that covered everything except the places from where equipment had been dragged out and the cargo plane she arrived in. The only other disparity was the complete lack of whoever they were supposed to be meeting.
After an hour past and still no sign of their superiors, the "agents," had forfeited all manners of professionalism.
Tracer and Reinhardt stood off to her left near the carrier giving the giant ample room to express himself. Widowmaker got the impression Tracer didn't want to separate from the only aircraft she'd flown in a while. They were discussing two rival sports teams, loudly, as Tracer zipped around the hanger doing some light maintenance. Every few minutes Tracer would make a terrible joke, and Reinhardt would explode into laughter.
Meanwhile, the MEKA pilot, DVa she now remembered, was sprawled out to her right on one of the other benches. She was playing (and insulting?) a handheld gaming system. Until a cowboy (she didn't know any other way to describe this fashion disaster) walked in from the door to the main base and plucked the console out of the child's hands. Something about the gunslinger sparked a distant memory.
The only person who had taken the capture of a Talon assassin seriously was the man kneeling a few meters away from her. Widowmaker assumed this was the Archer who tagged her. Quite an accomplishment, but she doubted he could do it again when she was in peak condition. He had sharp features, an intricate tattoo on one arm, and wore a garment that she hoped was traditional and not a personal fashion choice. Though he blinked freely, his eyes never left her person. Widowmaker had yet to see him relax his guard. Smart man.
Widowmaker's eyes wandered over to the hanger's exit. She could escape if she wanted, not easily, but she could do it.
The MEKA was most problematic; she would take out it's pilot first. Lure her over with a few "friendly" insults and then strike. Arrow shaft through her eye, death would be instantaneous.
Enraged, Tracer would move in close and use her fists. She would take the death personally. She always did. Her body would prevent the others from open firing. Widowmaker would not return the favor. A few shots from DVa's pistol would thin their numbers.
The Cowboy's eyes and mannerisms indicated too much alcohol and not enough sleep. Rough living did not do good things to one's athletic abilities. Shoot at the his gun-hand and knees: chest looks protected. T here was some sort of rift between the Archer the rest of the group. As soon as things start going South, he'll desert. Aim for his chest; legs look artificial. One would go down. Hopefully the Cowboy so her eyes wouldn't have to suffer any longer.
Tracer would snap out of it and switch back to her pistols. That needed to be prevented. Elbow strike to the Accelerator; use Tracer's panic as an opening for single shot to the head. Prepare for two, possibly three shots from the Archer.
Then the Crusader would start moving. He was an older soldier not to be manipulated by grief or rage. He would charge, attempt to crush her, to end this quickly. To counter she would stick Tracer's pulse bomb on him and dodge. She would need to take note of the Archer's position beforehand so she can fire on him through the explosion. Eliminate him if he pursues.
As if aware of her musings the Archer had narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on the bow.
Yes, she could have done it. But what for?
More bodies wouldn't make Talon take her back. Wouldn't help her situation.
To her right, D. Va had climbed up onto the shoulders of the Cowboy who was trying to shake her off. Tracer zipped over and started chanting Fight, fight, fight, fight!
The Infant and the Cowboy began slapping at each other. Reinhardt pulled out his phone and began calling for bets. The Archer ignored all of this.
"This is Overwatch?" Widowmaker repeated out loud.
"I know we don't look like much now but you really should see us in the field," an elderly female voice said from her left.
She knew that voice. Amélie knew that voice. Ana Amari. Widowmaker killed Ana Amari over ten years ago. Shot her through her own scope, through that damned eye of hers that she was so proud of. Proved her superiority as a sniper. One shot, one kill. Ana Amair was dead. Another ghost walking. Widowmaker killed her. Any more and they could open a haunted house. One shot, one kill? One shot, failure. Failure. She was dead.
"But I really don't think you're in any condition to judge considering you got KOed by a twelve-year-old," Ana had said.
Widowmaker didn't say anything.
"Wow! I didn't know she could make that face!" Tracer exclaimed.
Widowmaker's world faded to black. She never even felt the needle.
[DELI FREEZER - PRESENT 09:46]
A burning sensation on Widowmaker's forehead brings her back to the present. She pushes off the door and starts pacing. She pulls out a synthette packet while she rubs at her forehead to increase circulation. As soon as the synthetic cigarette clicks on she starts smoking like a chimney. It will take an hour for the nicotine to get into her system, but the effects will last three times longer than they should.
Shortly after her final physiological enhancement Talon began to realize how expensive it would be to keep a 'living corpse' operational. Her body was in constant need of medical check-ups, her mind and organs required special chemicals and hormones, not to mention that her slowed metabolism couldn't replace damaged cells fast enough. The fact that she was still operating at such a high capacity was something of a medical marvel at this point. Or an atrocity. It depends on who you asked.
Either way, Talon wanted their perfected assassin to last as long as possible, so a solution was proposed. They would put her on ice. Stored and hidden away to be awoken when needed. Cryostasis technology was already in use, after all, it would just need to be modified to fit Talon's needs.
And the meat locker was mimicking those conditions a little bit too perfectly. If she spends too long in here her body will shut down, only this time there won't be an elite team of doctors and scientist waiting to revive her.
No matter how many times she read the schedule, how many times the procedure was explained to her, how many times she woke up months later, going under always unnerved her. She was very aware of how easy it would be to be shoved behind some crates and forgotten. But as long as her talents were needed her future was secured.
But now she's playing by an entirely different set of rules.
And she has no intentions of spending her last moments clawing at the walls like some animal in a trap.
Widowmaker clenches the plastic tube in her teeth. Short of finding some Nitric acid in the shelves she's going to have to ask for... some assistance. Her finger hovers over her earpiece. She's having difficulty thinking of anyone that Tracer would listen to. Eventually, a name comes to mind.
Widowmaker activates her comm.
"Athena, call Winston."
There's a sound in her ear, a synthetic huff. Widowmaker frowns and tags on "S'il vous plaît."
This time she hears a dial tone. There's a click; the call is accepted. Widowmaker holds her breath thinking of how best to explain her situation. After a few moments, she realizes that she hasn't heard anyone on the other end.
"Dr. Winston? Are you near the phone?" she asks.
The ape has multiple PhDs. Anyone with such an accomplishment deserves to be called by their proper title.
"Hm? What? Oh! Yes, yes hold on a second." She hears papers shuffling followed by the padding of giant feet. "Hello, uh, Widowmaker. Er. I didn't expect you to call. How's... the weather?"
"Tracer has locked me inside a walk-in-freezer," she says, no point in pleasantries.
"Has she now," Dr. Winston says with the voice of a long-suffering parent. "And why did she feel doing that was necessary?"
"... We had a disagreement."
"Hmm," he rumbles.
This time the pause is on his end. Widowmaker pulls out another synette while waiting.
She first met the hyper-intelligent gorilla at a medal ceremony for the experimental but highly successful Overwatch field operatives. Gérard had been invited to shake hands and instill fear into the lower level operatives. Amélie had insisted on coming with him. There was no way she was going to miss that train wreck.
When Gérard warned her that a reformed cowboy gang member, a disowned cyborg ninja, and a 180-kilo gorilla with a doctorate would be attending she'd said she couldn't wait to hear the punch line. She stopped laughing after her husband dug up some halo-vids and news reports.
As it turned out she did end up meeting the ape in person. Gérard had been introducing her to his work friends, putting faces to names and grievances, when Dr. Winston had wandered a bit too close to the circle. Introductions were made, hands were shook, and then Monsieur Lacroix had been called away leaving an equally awkward civilian wife and space ape with only each other for company.
Amélie had done her best to ask polite questions about his work and refused to verbalize the many, many animal puns that had rapidly sprung to mind.
She supposes she must have left some kind of impression as Winston was one of the few original OW agents that didn't outright hate her. Though that could just be out of desperation for competent members.
"I assume you are calling because you are in some sort of danger?"
"Tracer did not provide a detailed schedule for her return. Turning into a human popsicle will greatly hinder my ability to contribute to the mission."
"I understand. Let's see what Tracer has to say on the matter."
Dial tone again followed by a click and rapid breathing.
"HeyWinston!Thiskindaisn'tthebesttime,callyoubackinfivemintues?"
Widowmaker can barely make out Tracer's words over the roar of people in the background.
"Tracer, did you lock Widowmaker in a walk-in-freezer?" Winston asks.
"What? Noooooo. Of course not. Where did you hear something like that?"
"From me," Widowmaker snaps.
"Ouch. Didn't peg you as the tattling type, Widow."
"I don't think it is tattling when my life is in danger."
"It's just being stuck in an icebox for a bit. Commander Mom had me patrolling for hours in way worse conditions. So you'll have to zip up your catsuit for once. Oh, boo-hoo... You do know how to use the zipper, right? That would explain so much."
"Lena," Winston says bringing the conversation back on target. "Widowmaker can't create the necessary body heat to function in freezing conditions. Being trapped in such an environment for an extended period of time could be detrimental to her health."
"But I've seen you. We've fought – What? You got it? Good. – We've fought in Antarctica before," Tracer says a hint of doubt in her voice now.
"Special heated suit," Widowmaker snaps.
"Oh."
There's a frantic male voice in the background. Tracer's voice becomes fainter, "Wait. That one? Now?" This is followed by a flurry of movement and some yelling.
"Now that we've got that settled I trust you will release Widowmaker and that you two can settle your disagreement without resorting to lockable refrigeration units?" Dr. Winston asks.
"I would love to Big Guy – ow- I really would - there you go - but you see we've just gotten on the bullet train and our chap has almost died three times today and I really don't want there to be a fourth."
"Bullet train," Dr. Winston repeats flatly.
"You see what I have been dealing with?" Widowmaker asks.
"Oh, what you've been dealing with?"
"Ladies, ladies!" Winston interrupts, "Please, let's handle this like the responsible, mature agents I know we are. Lena, how long is your trip going to take?"
"Um, at the speed we're going I'd guess about... 133.7 minutes, round trip."
"And you feel it is crucial that you and the target complete this trip now?"
"Yes, 200%. Absolutely. Yes."
"Hmm. Widowmaker, the only other operative we have near you is five hours away. Will you be able to wait for Tracer to return?"
"Short of developing the power of teleportation it appears I do not have a choice."
"Right."
"Again, sorry about all this Big Guy, but I've really got to go, bye!"
There's a click as Tracer ends the call. Silence falls around Widowmaker once more. She lets the empty synette fall from her lips.
The cold wraps around her, settling in like a wraith. She doesn't shiver. She can't. One of the many things her body can no longer do. The chill bites at her fingers, nose, ears, and legs. She's already losing sensation in her feet. Numbness is replacing where her toes and heels should be. Fingers and her aim will go next.
Widowmaker hasn't felt fear in years but the suffocating darkness, the cutting cold, the encroaching numbness stirs a discomfort that isn't too different.
"Uh, Widowmaker?" Dr. Winston asks, "If you would like I can stay on the line."
"Thank you."
Translations
S'il vous pliat - Please (formal)
Added location/date stamps for clarity along with other minor edits. Suggestion from my brilliant Beta, 2JRC6
/I am disappointed in the fandom's lack Tracer Reinhardt interactions. They're very similar personality wise. Now I really want a fic that's just Reinhardt and Tracer running around getting into trouble being followed by an exasperated Winston and Bridget.
Widow's plan is good but it isn't flawless. DVa isn't that dumb and Widow doesn't know about McCree's flashbang.
Soldier 76: We've captured Widowmaker and no you can't kill her.
Ana: Aw Jack you take the fun out of everything.
Ana: What about just giving her a mild heart attack?
76: ...
76: Knock yourself out.
One thing I love is just how pointlessly extra all the Overwatch characters are. There's just so much to work with.
*inhale* Widowmaker should be dead. I do not have the time to properly describe how dead Widowmaker should be but it is very. Hence the Cryostasis idea. Widow only gets frozen if there's going to be a six plus month period without any missions for her.
Commander Mom/Morrison and Commander Dad/Reyes idea. It really fits pre-fall.
I will drag Widow's suit to heck and back and no one is going to stop me./
Edited 3/2/18