Widowmaker

'Bend your back further. Further. Further. Further!'

'It cannot bend further!'

'Oh? Truly?'

'Ah!'

'There. Now, rise up.'

'It hurts!'

'Of course, it does. Balance upon the tip of your toes.'

'I cannot!'

'Cannot! Cannot! Cannot! Truly a pathetic child! You will not! There is a mortifying difference.'

'Hrg…'

'Tsk. Pain should be embraced, not feared. Enduring pain is what will separate you from the rest. You are built for this. You have the potential to be a legend. Pain is frightening you, but it is only proof that you are alive. How can any soul relish in pleasure if there is no pain? The pleasure you will feel cannot be paralleled should you take your ballet seriously. I have trained hundreds, but none fill me with as much anticipation as you.'

'Madam?'

'Face forward. Rise. Good. Again. Again. Again. Stop shaking. Head up now. Expose your neck. It is undervalued as a sexual stimulus. You have a beautiful, long neck. Present it.'

'Like this?'

'Yes. Perfect. Now – '

'Eek!'

'For the love of…What is it, child?'

'A-a spider…'

"Do you understand, Widowmaker?"

Widow browsed through the projected screen before her, her yellow eyes scanning robotically, spastically analyzing the data presented to the minute of details. So much unnecessary jargon. The final line was all she needed to know beyond the date and time:

Assassinate Tekhartha Mondatta in King's Row.

'Affirmative.' Widow hissed, turning from the mission's private meeting.

'You will be leaving in approximately two hours. Prepare your body and mind, for this is paramount to Talon's presence within the world.'

Widow continued walking, her heels clicking upon the flooring as she did so. She was one of the few members of the terrorist group who got away with doing as she pleased outside of regular duties. Reaper was another, but for entirely different reasons.

The greatest sniper in the world. She had that title. The most dangerous assassin ever to be created. She had that title as well. The operative word was "created", but even that hardly fazed the woman. Skin blue due to an artificially slowed heart, eyes surgically enhanced, and brain utterly compromised from neural reconditioning, left the once respectable woman, Amelie Guillard, as nothing more than a killing, emotionless machine.

However, "emotionless" may have been a slight dramatization. True, Widow was quite aware she "felt" far less than most, but she couldn't deny the thrill of the kill; her only driving force and purpose. When she wasn't on a mission of some form, she was aimless, staring into nothingness until called upon. This was just her life. It was a life she had come to understand and accept. She went into "sleep mode" when there was no use for her.

'Heard you have a big job coming, Widowmaker. Mind telling us what it's all about?' A fellow Talon member asked. He and his friend(?) were in full gear save for their helmets. Widow envied them. Were they going to kill sooner than her?

'Did you hear me?'

Two hours. Two hours until departure and then another several until landing. Then, between one and three more hours depending on the schedule of everyone involved. So much time. Widow was triggered already. She was anticipating the kill. She was aptly named.

'It's like talking to a wall…'

'Do you need something?' Widow finally answered, looking down upon the men. She was an imposing woman at 5'9" naturally, but her heels propped her to an easy 6'2" height. Her voice was ice, with only a hint of interest thanks to the passing thought of killing one of these men. Talon had more than enough grunts. What would it mean to be down one measly, useless individual?

'You just got a job, right?'

'Correct.'

'Who you gotta kill now?'

Something tugged at the side of Widow's mouth, her gaze flashing with venom.

'It's classified.'

'See? Tight-lipped as always.'

'As always is right. Wish I could find out just how tight-lipped, if you know what I mean?'

'Hell yeah. Maybe we could help her out with all that frustration she's bound to be feeling by now, huh?'

Widow may not feel anything, but it didn't mean she couldn't comprehend such vulgar rhetoric.

'Are you suggesting that you could ease the longing boiling within my womb?' She stepped in close, her face mere inches from one of the men's. Despite her blue skin, Widowmaker was a picture of otherworldly beauty. Her tight, somewhat exposing, dark purple bodysuit didn't exactly help matters, primarily when paired with her perfect form that accentuated every feature a woman could dream of. However, the man couldn't enjoy the intimate notion, for even he could tell that danger was close. Indeed, it was primal, and he backed off skittishly, perhaps aware that Widow was seconds away from breaking one of his arms…or worse.

'Let's go…' He muttered, shrinking in size next to his comrade as they skulked away.

'Goodbye.' Widow sighed in French, proceeding back to her temporary room. More grunts passed her by, and while they looked upon her with awe and intrigue, as was always the case, no others attempted to make contact. It was as it should be. Widow was surprised those two men had the gall to speak with her. Were they new? That was the only explanation. It was amusing enough, in the end.

Widow found her room, assuming this to be the best place to "prepare her body and mind". The door slid open easily enough, but when Widow took a single step more, she stopped at the entranceway, her eyes snapping to her left.

'What might you be doing here?' She asked before seeing the shadow that lurked in her tiny space. The mass of darkness shifted, almost transforming as it moved from a ghostly cloud of black smoke into a humanoid shape from every child's nightmare. Reaper huffed deeply, his nearly deranged, deep vocals vibrating the confined space. He shut the door behind Widow, crossing his arms as she took a seat on her bed.

'You've been given your mission?'

'But of course.'

'And?'

'It will not be a problem.'

'Security will be on full alert. Talon's existence remains on everyone's mind. They'll be expecting something considering our recent activities.'

Widow shivered. The more difficult the kill, the more she felt something.

'All the better.'

'Tekhartha Mondatta supports harmony between humans and omnics.'

'I couldn't care less what he supports. If he needs to be killed, I kill him. The details are irrelevant.'

Reaper shifted in space. Even with a mask, Widow could tell he was irritated for some reason.

'Overwatch will be there.'

This perked Widow's ears. Not only that, but the name of the "heroes of justice" never failed to pinch deep in her soul. It hurt. She didn't like it.

'Overwatch is dead.'

'No. Not in the slightest. As our actions escalate, so will theirs. Overwatch is coming back.'

Widow thought about it for a moment, but then shrugged.

'Why do you tell me this?'

'Because if they're present, your kill becomes far more of a challenge. This mission must succeed if we wish to move forward with Talon's endgame.'

'Again, why tell me this? I only desire to kill. Talon means nothing to me. We use one another. That is all. Give and take. They provide me with such facilities, I kill whomever they wish.'

Reaper grunted, allowing himself out.

'Overwatch has enlisted the only ones capable of stopping us. Be cautious.'

Widow didn't feel the need to answer. Reaper's presence finally disappeared, and the woman lay back upon her bed, staring at the perfectly smooth ceiling. She rested her hands upon her chest, and felt her heartbeat, it's rhythm alarmingly slow.

Reaper's words of caution were wasted on Widow. Overwatch didn't frighten her. If anything, she was hoping to encounter an agent or two. That would give her even more ecstasy. Her finest kill couldn't come quicker. She practically wanted to contact Overwatch herself and flaunt her mission in their miserable faces. Overwatch couldn't stop her. Overwatch was nothing more than –

Something pulled through Widow's brain, as though a string was wrapped around her mind and compressing her thoughts. A white-hot pain shocked her nerves, and the floor slammed into Widow's face before she could comprehend what was happening. A ringing sounded within the woman's ear, and her teeth grinded in agony.

A face was filling her thoughts. Black hair. A tiny mustache. A confident smile. Images flickered. Blood. Screaming. Gouging. Stabbing. Prying. Ripping. More screaming. Laughing. Her feet hurt. Her toes hurt. Her back hurt. Her stomach ached. A spider crawled into her nose and laid its eggs within her skull. Widow reeled upon the ground, bashing the side of her head on the concrete and digging her nails into the granite until they snapped and trailed streaks of dark blood. She felt Reaper's presence again for a split second, but the images infiltrating her sense of self were too prominent. She held a bar, and her spine was snapping. A rope throttled her neck.

The door slid open and a group of Talon's medical team poured into the room. A cold substance touched just below Widow's left ear, but she shrugged it off, easily combating each and every individual that attempted to deal with her outburst. Widow fought with the onslaught of images as her mind lost all semblance of reasoning. What was she doing here? Why did she listen to Talon? Where was she? Who were these men? Why was her skin blue? Did she always have this tattoo?

'Reset her, please.' One of the men in the very back sighed begrudgingly.

Reset? Widow's eyes stretched open, and the pause in her resistance was all the men needed. A pinch pierced her neck, and a chemical swirled through her nerves. Blackness came, and it came with a hint of relief.

'Oh, sweet child. A spider is nothing to fear. It is certainly not worth breaking your posture over.'

'But…'

'There. See? A flick and it is gone. The only reason you should dislike a spider is because it feels nothing. It is the complete opposite of what your dance encompasses.'

'Pardon?'

'Emotion is what moves the human spirit. It is what connects us all. Your dance transfers the complexity of feelings without a single word. A spider could never do such a thing. They are emotionless, pathetic creatures, living on pure instinct and nothing more. If you fear a spider because it embodies everything you should not be while learning my ballet, then I forgive your apprehensions. Otherwise, straighten your neck. Bend your back. Further. Further. Further.'

'They…truly feel nothing?'

'Nothing at all, child. Even as they consume their prey or are crushed alive, not a semblance of emotion passes through their mind.'

'That is utterly despairing…'