… I broke my promise big time T_T I'm sorry guys. Just things got hectic at home, I couldn't onehundred percent focus on the story. I needed time to unwind, and I kinda just ran outta steam. I'm sure you understand. I hope this small chapter will make up for it. I'm getting back in the swing of things. This chapter also went through a lot of rewrites so that's also a reason why I took so long to get it out. So yeah. Sorry again. Hope you enjoy this one. It's short but I did my best. Thank you again for all your support! I luv you all!

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"What the hell am I looking at?" Reaper asked, almost in disgust.

The three of them were gathered in the main control room, the largest monitor still counting up, displaying the Iris' progress as it processed through every Omnic mind across the globe. The light from the monitors glistened off the damp cave walls, almost illuminating the rest of the cavern.

Reaper and Sombra had just returned to Doomfist's HQ, ready to deliver the information they, or rather Sombra, had retrieved. Instead, they found themselves staring at the face of Widowmaker, and yet, it wasn't Widowmaker at all.

Amélie Lacroix smiled at her colleagues, waving timidly at them, as if she was waving at childhood friends.

"Bonjour, Gabriel, Sombra," she said, with a shy eagerness.

Reaper and Sombra just stared at Amélie, not sure what else to say. Everything about her was different; her skin had a more natural pale tone, flush with life and energy. Her lips held a wide smile, approachable and kind. And her eyes, they weren't cold, heartless, dead. They were warm, gentle, and full of life.

Reaper couldn't believe what he was looking at, who he was looking at. What the hell did Doomfist do to her?

"What?!" Sombra exclaimed, rushing over to Amélie's side, "You were a human this whole time? I thought you were a blue alien, or something,"

Amélie chuckled at her friend's joke, knowing full well that Sombra knew everything about everything.

Amélie had yet to re-equip her usual uniform, since the vast cave wasn't particularly cozy and warm. She remained in the black turtleneck and purple slacks that she wore to the market.

"It's good to see you too, mon ami. I missed you,"

"Missed me?" Sombra said, feigning astonishment, "Now that's a first,"

Reaper, however, was not as charmed. He didn't like this, not one bit. Was this what Widowmaker wanted? To be turned back into this? An emotional, conscientious, compromisable, self conscious thing?

"What happened to you?" He asked, approaching Amélie.

"Now Gabriel," Amélie started, "I know what you're thinking, but believe me, there is nothing to worry about,"

"Nothing to worry about?" Reaper exclaimed, "Explain to me, how this isn't going to affect you in the field! We need you to be cold, calculating, precise, and efficient. Why do you think Talon did what they did to you in the first place?"

"Gabriel, I swear, I will be just as quick on the trigger as I always have been," Amélie pleaded, her face full of genuine sincerity, "But I will not do it under the guise of Widowmaker. I am Amélie Lacriox,"

Reaper couldn't help but growl to himself. This wasn't his partner. This was the ghost of a woman who should have been buried long ago. He couldn't trust this person. No, Widowmaker was still in there, he knew it. Whether Amélie liked it or not, he'd get his partner back.

"Just you wait," Reaper growled, "She'll be back, and you'll be nothing but a forgotten memory, again,"

"Why do you care about her so much?" Amélie asked, tilting her head to one side, not understanding Reaper's aggression.

"I don't care about her," Reaper replied, "I just don't trust you,"

Those words hung in the air like a hangman's noose without a corpse. They seemed like they should mean something, and yet they meant nothing.

Why? Why did those words have no meaning? Did everything she and Gabriel go through mean nothing? After every mission, every victory, every defeat, was it all meaningless? Perhaps it was simply because that's all they were: Missions, victories, defeats. No real emotional connection should have been made, or could have been made, for that matter.

She wasn't Amélie Lacriox then. She was Widowmaker. She only lived for the moment of the kill. Other than that, she was dead inside. But not anymore.

After a brief pause, with nothing but the gentle lapping of the cave water below them to fill the silence, Reaper let out a sigh. He was getting frustrated for no reason. He knew Talon's programming would kick in sooner or later. Besides, he still had Sombra, and even though he never trusted her, either, he knew she was damn good at her job.

Things would straighten themselves out sooner or later, and Reaper knew it.

"Where's the boss?" he asked, putting the conversation behind him.

As if on cue, one of the automated doors on the left side of the control room parted, beckoning the three of them to enter. Reaper and Sombra drew their attention to the door, but Amélie remained composed, seeming to have expected it to open.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," she began, "Dinner is ready,"

"Dinner?" Sombra exclaimed, "Oh, Dios mio, I haven't had a real meal in weeks!"

Before either Reaper or Amélie noticed, Sombra was already through the door. With a sweep of her arm, Amélie gestured for Reaper to go ahead of her, cracking and charming smile out of the corner of her mouth. To Reaper, the smile was anything but charming, but he indulged her, all the while grumbling to himself.

The room which Sombra had entered was designed similarly to the control room; one massive platform in the center with narrow bridges branching off into different rooms, all suspended above cave water from the cavern's natural river. The difference between the two rooms was the large table on the main platform, coated in plates and silverware and drinking glasses.

Accompanying the plates were large portions of sirloin, potato salad, and a tall bottle of what appeared to be a very expensive wine. At the far end of the table sat the trio's boss, who stood up as they stepped in, adorning a welcoming posture.

"Sombra, Gabriel," Doomfist started, "Welcome back. I trust you retrieved the data we desire,"

Sombra paid no heed to Doomfist's words, but made a B line for the sirloin, sitting on a plate on the left side of the table.

"She already had everything we needed. I went out there for nothing," Reaper replied, taking a seat across from Sombra, who was quite happily filling her mouth by that point.

Amélie, despite the tension from earlier, placed herself beside her hooded partner.

"Ah," Doomfist began, lowering himself to his chair, "I see. Well done. Sombra,"

Her attention caught, Sombra swiveled her head towards Doomfist, sirloin hanging from her lips.

"The data on Overwatch, if you will," Doomfist requested, giving a charismatic smile.

Swallowing her food, Sombra nodded. With a flick of her wrist, a purple hologram of the globe materialized, hovering above the center of the table. Along side it was the list of Overwatch agents, the ones who had yet to answer the recall. The purple hologram illuminated everything with a soft violet hue, as if it was going to consume what ever its light touched.

Doomfist's charismatic smile twisted into a grin, a grin that would make anyone, feint of heart, keep their distance. He was glad he had employed such competent allies, allies who knew how to do their jobs.

"Excellent," he began, "With this, the fates of these individuals are all but assured. Starting tomorrow, each of you will be assigned a target. Form a small task force of your best Talon units, and assassinate these former agents,"

Amélie's eyes rolled over the list as it slowly scrolled down, revealing names and faces of retired Overwatch members. She recognized many of them; some were good friends of Gérard's, others she remembered having coffee with. It was a shame they'd all have to die. Doomfist continued.

"Remember, they are isolated, alone, and that means they are weak. But you have your team. Work as a team, win as a team, Alone, they stand no chance against you. And when we've killed them all, the ones who escaped Gibraltar will find their world a whole lot smaller,"

The next grin Doomfist slipped from his lips made even Reaper feel uncomfortable. He could sense the joy and genuine pleasure Doomfist was feeling just by talking about destroying the remnants of Overwatch. Reaper couldn't tell if he should admire the man, or be afraid.

"I have prepared quarters here, for the three of you," Doomfist continued, "unless you have other places to be, of course. Are there any questions?"

"I've got one," Reaper said, as if he was the one guy who no one listened to at all the board meetings, "When are you going to hold up your end of the bargain? You already got Widowm-"

"Amélie," Amélie interrupted, before indulging herself in some potato salad.

"...Amélie," Reaper corrected himself, "-what she wanted. So what about me?"

Doomfist set his elbows on the table, locked his fingers together, and let out a brief sigh.

"I understand your frustration, my friend. Trust me, I have not forgotten you. But, what you desire requires more than just the throw of a switch, or a therapy session,"

"Well, what do we need?" Reaper asked, ready to get what ever it is he needed, without hesitation.

"Angela Ziegler," Doomfist said, simply.

An uneasy silence filled the dining hall, for a brief moment. Amelie filled her plate with more salad, while Sombra chewed on more sirloin, her eyes darting from Reaper to Doomfist every few seconds. Reaper blinked twice behind his mask before responding.

"The doc? What does she have to do with this?"

"She is the key to restoring your body. I'm sure Sombra can fill you in on the details, later,"

Reaper swiveled his head towards Sombra, who stopped chewing, realizing she was the new topic of discussion.

"… Que?" she garbled, small flecks of meat flying form her mouth.

Doomfist brought the attention back to him.

"In the mean time, let us enjoy this meal, and revel in our first victory against our enemies. I'm sure you-" he gestured towards Reaper, "-of all people need something to eat,"

Reaper scoffed, knowing this guy knew more than he let on. Reaper was nothing more than a cloud of smoke taking the form of the man he once was. He had no heart, no muscles, no bones, no stomach, not even taste buds. Food meant nothing to him, but he'd humor his boss.

"Whatever," he said.

Reaper pulled down his hood and removed his mask, baring his burnt, scarred face once more. He reached for the silverware, and remembered why he wore the mask. His upside down reflection on the spoon stared him back at him, stretched and warped. Talon may have given him the mask to hide his identity from their enemies, but Reaper wore it another reason; to hide him from himself.

He hated what Talon had turned him into. Everyday, his cells decayed and renewed themselves. Everyday his body felt lifeless, yet alive. What did they do to him?

Reaper felt something warm grasp his shoulder. He turned to see Amélie, her hand upon him, her face smiling gently at him, full of compassion, understanding, kindness. He hated it.

He didn't need her pity; he needed results, and he was certain this thing beside him wasn't going to get him any. He hated to admit it, but the more he looked at her, the more he actually missed Widowmaker.

Reaper shrugged her hand off and began cutting his sirloin. Amélie drew back her hand, but kept smiling. She knew he didn't care for what had happened to her, but it didn't matter. She was happy, and that was all she cared about. She'd repay her debt to Doomfist, that was certain.

Reaper couldn't remember the last time he had eaten anything; there simply was no need for nourishment because of what he was. But just by looking at the steak, he could tell how it was made, what seasoning coated it, what parts were tender and juicy, and what parts were tough and lean.

He cut through it and saw the read center of the meat break through the opening; medium well, just how he liked it. He pressed his fork down into the cut piece of meat, and put it in his mouth, feeling it on his tongue, chewing it with his teeth.

It tasted like dust.