Respite: A short period of rest from something unpleasant or difficult
Lena watches Widowmaker's silhouette slip away behind a group of buildings. Well, she thinks as she squints into the sunlight, that was different.
She always thought the whole 'Widowmaker feels nothing but the thrill of the kill' shtick was Talon propaganda, but there seems to be some truth to it. She knows from the field Widow can experience surprise, disgust, and the like but now she has a clearer picture. From what she can tell Widow can barely feel anything remotely positive unless she's killing people. Widowmaker has her gun, mission, sometimes her murder friends and... that was it.
Lena steps back into the bedroom, closing the glass door behind her.
Widowmaker is still a contract killer and Lena isn't sure where she falls on the scale of Twatwaffle to Absolute Coat Hanger, but–yeah, she can't hate her anymore.
With a flick, Lena pulls up the tracking app, seeing that Widowmaker's chip is still within a kilometer of the hotel.
She's just sad.
Now if she could just stop being an arse for more than ten minutes.
Heavy footsteps alert Lena to someone else approaching. She slips her phone away as Reaper enters the bedroom.
"Hey, Reaps. What's up?" Lena chirps, suddenly aware that Widowmaker isn't around to remind him that she's not expendable. "You looking for something else to eat? I don't know how Talon runs things, but we don't exactly keep corpses lying around." Lena thinks she hears a sigh come from Reaper, but he doesn't break stride. Lena starts edging her way back towards the balcony. "There's some silverfish that keep showing up in the tub, if that's your thing. If not I'm sure I could find you a Snickers bar-"
"Stop running your mouth Oxton," Reaper snaps. He reaches out but doesn't touch her. Black whips rise off his arm.
Lena inhales sharply, feeling her pulse spike. Her Accelerator revs up and she takes another breath. Wait, she shouldn't be breathing hard. She hasn't done anything yet.
The smoky tendrils coming off of Reaper focus on her, surrounding her in a loose circle. The air turns hazy as more smog pours off Reaper.
Her heart rate kicks up another notch; her lungs start to burn, fatigue rushes back into her legs. It feels like the time she ran fifty laps at RAF cause she was the young hotshot with something to prove. It feels like the reverse of when Mercy's nanites stitch her back together. Her sudden drop in energy causes the Accelerator to switch back to standby mode.
"Listen up," Reaper demands, "You're going to deliver a message for me. Overwatch is going to leave Widowmaker alone."
Lena blinks.
Reaper pauses, giving her time to realize that she isn't feeling worse. It's like Reaper applied the brakes to the life drain. He's showing off, the wanker. Lena stops trying to kick jump her Accelerator.
"I don't care if your people think they're helping her," he continues, "I don't care if Ziegler thinks she can bring Amélie back. Short of Widowmaker slipping into a coma your people aren't going to do anything to her without her permission."
Ash rises off Reaper's shoulders like steam. Every molecule of the whips is highlighted in the sunlight along with the dust in the air. Despite this, his presence has the weight of a black hole and his stance remains solid.
"If Overwatch does so much as to give her a goddamn haircut, everyone will regret it. "
Reaper drops his arm. The tendrils wind their way back to his coat. "Unlike some people, I look after my own. Do you understand me?"
From her position Lena can see Reaper's red irises through his mask while he looms over her very much living up to his namesake. So Lena does what she always does in the face of death. She smiles.
"You got it, Boss!"
Reaper stares at her a moment before letting out a grunt. He turns and vanishes in a cloud of smoke.
The second Lena is sure he's gone she half collapses, resting her hands on her knees, gasping for air. Reaper protecting Widowmaker, she muses, interesting, very interesting. She's learning all sorts of things today. She just wishes there was less death threats involved. Something else is niggling at the back of her brain, but it slips away when she tries to pin it down. Lena goes back to breathing; she'll remember it later.
Metal boots touch down on terracotta tiles, a rhythm of light clacking announces Widowmaker's arrival on a rooftop not too far from the safe house. Her visor retracts, and a stream of vapor starts to rise as soon as she is grounded. Widowmaker cuts her line and the grappling hook reels back in with a snap. Even, controlled steps take her to an alcove created by two overlapping roofs.
Once hidden in the alcove's shadow she unslings Widow's Kiss and breaks it down. First the scope, barrel, stock, and then the inner workings. Blue fingers skim over every piece, noting any new scratches or deformities, and then just as smoothly the pieces are reassembled.
She moves on, repeating the process with her grappling mount, unlatching it from her arm, checking the support pads, the wire, the hook, the wrist controls. All of it responds like the finely tuned machine it is. Muttering to herself in French, she puts it back on. Fingertips trace the empty slot in the mount. It had taken a while for her to convince Overwatch to let her have bullets, pointing out that the lack of ammo would only force her to be more "creative" seemed to do the trick, but there was no way she was going to be supplied with venom mines.
It's not worth the risk to take apart her visor without the right tools. She frowns and holds the sythette in her hand while she exhales. She glances at it before giving it a shake. It's got one more good dose in it. She savors it, leaching all the nicotine out of the cartridge she can, feeling the other chemicals shredding her lungs.
The smoke rises from her lips like the breath of a drowning man.
Merde.
Amélie throws the tube away. She drags a hand down her face. The normal things aren't helping enough. Clips, phrases, and emotions are still ricocheting around her skull. The shocks from earlier are cascading into a sense of dread and unease.
No. She is not going to have another episode. Amélie takes a moment to just breathe. She's been in much worse situations before. She just has to hold it together for a few more hours. She's going to be fine.
But... maybe it is time for something different.
Amélie settles herself in the corner of the alcove and closes her eyes. Then ever so slowly, ever so carefully, like retrieving a buried heirloom or breathing a dying ember back to life she calls back a well-preserved memory.
It is June of 2068, night has fallen and rain drums against the windows as a storm brews outside. The flatscreen is off and the reading lamps are on. Gérard is sprawled out on his end of the couch reading on his tablet. Amélie sits at her end skimming through a novel. Their legs lay on top of each other. Each content with simply enjoying each other's company. If memory serves neither felt the need to move for several hours.
Several stories off the ground, hidden from the sun, with bricks digging into her back a soft smile forms on Amélie's face.
[45 MINUTES PAST - LOCATION: NAPLES, ITALY]
The room's only source of illumination is a single holoscreen. The pulsing blue light from the loading symbol produces strange shadows and intricate patterns as it is reflected off a skull-like object on the desk. Moira's manicured fingernails tap impatiently next to it.
The secure call finally connects; the head, neck, shoulders, and not much else of Akande Ogundimu, Doomfist: The Successor, a mountain of a man, appears onscreen. His appearance is impeccable; his suit perfectly tailored, his shaved head shines, as does the implants on his forehead, radiating a delicate balance of raw strength and corporate power.
"I take it you've accepted my offer," Akande says as a greeting. His voice reveals his Nigerian descent. "Welcome back."
"I am considering this a test run, Mr. Ogundimu," the caller clarifies, "I have almost everything I could ever need at my current occupation. Do keep that in mind."
Akande dips his head at 'almost' but moves on.
"A crawler planted within Helix's internal network picked up a series of curious events at a single location this morning," He reports, "A five-second glitch in an omnic guard's recording and a false alarm for the sublevels. All at Helix's Rome location."
"Where Helix hid the Omnium Mainframe," the caller finishes, "Sounds like my prediction was correct and Sombra finally went for it. You plan to profit from others hard work like usual?"
"Sombra knows her refusal to declare loyalty to Talon will cost her from time to time. And, if I may, your entire field is based on propelling one's work off the discovery of others."
"Humph. I assume you wanted to tell me something other than that I was right?"
"Sombra could not have gotten to the Mainframe alone and whoever assisted her would need to match, if not surpass, the Mainframe's drones in firepower and maneuverability. It appears that it is possible Operative Widowmaker is still alive."
The caller breaks into a smile as sharp a knife and tries not to look too smug.
"Lacroix was always a fighter," they says, "I still can't believe you let those imbeciles give the kill order. Just because some rewired operatives exhibited a coding flaw doesn't mean it was necessary to eradicate some of my finest work-"
"You left the Widowmaker division years ago to 'pursue other interests,'" Akande cuts in.
"I couldn't push her any further physiologically," the caller defends, "not without turning her into soup, and Talon wasn't giving me anything worth my time to work on."
"Yes, it's a shame my predecessors wasted your talent," Akande says with a somber look on his face, "but I think you'll find we're turning over a new leaf. I'm bringing the Neural Rewiring Project back, and I want you to be head of the staff that creates an enhanced operative to replace Widowmaker."
At this, the caller perks up. "I would be honored, Mr. Ogundimu, and with the advancements I've made over the years I'm sure I can fully replicate her this time."
Akande smiles. "There is no need to promise me perfection, I have full faith in your abilities. As I said, I am taking Talon in a new direction and I understand there will be some bumps along the way."
The caller relaxes slightly and changes the subject. "You are going to retrieve Widowmaker?"
"Lacroix disobeyed a direct order and deserted. The first act shows that she's become unreliable but running proved this is now beyond what a session or two could fix. Operative Widowmaker will be terminated for her actions."
"Yes, yes, you have to maintain order, but there's no reason her sentence has to be carried out immediately..." They trails off.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it's just so rare to have an operative that's survived both types of treatment and live long enough to reach a stage of decline. I feel it's a shame to forgo such an opportunity."
"What are you suggesting?"
"How about this; you get your data, make an example out of a deserter, and I share what I learn from studying Lacroix, alive."
Akande mulls this over. "I'll allow a capture or kill initiative."
The caller's smile grows even wider. "That's all I need."
With a blink, the call ends.
Almost purring with self-satisfaction the figure picks up the metal object and holds it up to the light. The holoscreen's screensaver reveals it resembles an Omnic's head more than anything else, though it is a size too big and hollow. The back suffers from a gaping hole and bits of dried blood cling to the stretched, jagged metal. The faceplate has two tinted optical ports and a bullet hole placed neatly above them.
The entrance hole is so neat in fact, that the forensic team had no problem pairing the bullet used to custom rounds for a custom dual mode rifle that happened to be the signature weapon of a possibly not dead operative.
Smears of red and cream appear on the metal surface of the faceplate. The tinted lenses reflect the eyes of its holder: one sky blue, one blood red.
"I can't wait to see what you've been up to Lacroix," Moira O'Deorain purrs.
You enjoying the story so far? Did I make you laugh? make you think? or did you find a typo? Leave a comment!
Betaed by 2JRC6 and Dot
Translations
Merde – you guys should know what this means by now
/A whole chapter without Sombra. How dare I?
Don't worry about Tracer, she likes to sing and run, she has lung capacity that dolphins would be jealous of.
And that's the problem with having signature weapons.
End of the second arc! Woo!/
Widow: There is no such thing as non-lethal rounds there are only less lethal rounds.
By giving me rubber bullets you'll simply force me to aim for joints and eye sockets.
And if I get into situation where I need to defend myself I just have to... improvise.
Tracer: Oh just give them to her. If she shoots me I'll shoot her back. I have brothers, I know how this works!