Widowmaker

"Report." The cold, distorted voice demanded through a small computer. Widowmaker was seated by herself in what could be called an interrogation room. The voice was familiar, although one that few were allowed to hear. Only the most elite of Talon agents spoke with the perceived leader of the organization. His or her face was completely unknown. His or her existence was sometimes even questioned. The leader of Talon was an idea, and one born from necessity, much like that of any God.

'Mission accomplished.'

"That much is evident. Were there complications?"

'Overwatch agent "Tracer" attempted to interfere. She was dealt with.'

"Dead?"

'…Presumably.'

"The question is binary. Rethink your response. What is the answer?"

'No.'

"Why?"

Something in Widow pinched, but it was so brief, and so numb, she questioned the sensation's existence to begin with. "Why?" indeed.

'She amused me. I didn't want to break my toy just yet.'

"Amused? Did I hear you correctly?"

'…Yes.'

"For one to be "amused" one would require a semblance of emotion. One would be required to "feel" something. Are you claiming you felt something during your mission today beyond the notion of success at completing your life's purpose?"

'Vaguely. As my name suggests, it is the excitement of the kill. Just as the black widow "feels" nothing, truly, that does not mean there isn't a level of elevation prior to its strike. It is an inevitable adrenaline rush that all hunters experience. I simply chose to create a source of entertainment for future endeavours.'

There was a long pause, Widowmaker sitting perfectly still with a posture that any artist would kill to capture in a mold. Her mind was quiet, lulled into boredom and distance. There was a fog in her eyes, a disconnect from reality like no other. Hours could have gone by, and only her stomach would have hinted at the need for sustenance.

"Take off your clothes. Take everything off." The practically mechanized voice demanded suddenly. The only lapse of time between the demand and Widow peeling her skin-tight outfit and equipment away from her idealized form was the instant required for her brain to register what was asked of it. After no more than thirty seconds, Widow stood completely naked, her blue-toned skin alien despite the nude proportions a Goddess would be envious off. Her dark violet hair hung about her shoulders in a mess, her ponytail undone, locks of the unnatural mane resting upon her unbelievably shaped derriere.

Widowmaker nearly sighed. Shame wasn't a word she understood anymore. She comprehended the allure of sexual activity and the drive it provided for most human beings, but she wasn't human anymore. She cared not for her body beyond its capabilities as a weapon. Desire didn't register within Widowmaker. Despite the few Talon agents brave/stupid enough to attempt to "flirt" with Widowmaker in any way, the infamous sniper found a rock on the side of the street just as appealing.

"Good. However, you are to kill any Overwatch agents on sight from this point forward. Your mission's success appeals to my tolerance for your slight misconduct. Nonetheless, a checkup with Moira is called for. She has been notified. See her immediately. Go as you are. Do not deviate from your primary role again. Understood?"

'Is this supposed to be a punishment?'

"If you are as you should be, it is nothing more than liberation."

The computer flashed off, and Widow was left with the sound of the steel door's latch snapping open. She turned to the camera in the top righthand corner of the room and pointed at it, jerked her arm up as if she shot the piece of technology, and then made her way out of the room. She knew the surveillance team was getting off on her at this very moment. A gaze from Widow's cold, dead eyes might cease any further self-pleasure, or at least make it slightly less desirable…not that Widowmaker truly gave a damn.

Doctor Moira's sector of Talon's current main base of operations was a fair distance away. Widow was only reminded of her lack of clothes whenever a less than disciplined Talon agent or grunt couldn't resist the urge to ogle her. Not a singular person said a word, and the assassin preferred it that way. Only the new recruits really dared to converse with the woman ever. Even completely naked, Widowmaker traversed her terrain with a level of confidence and elegance that generated an impenetrable shield about her person. She didn't care whatsoever, and such a statuesque persona couldn't easily be penetrated.

"Why would you do this?"

The words echoed alongside the face that delivered them. Another poke, but was it even real?

Widowmaker rounded a hall and eventually found her way to the beginning of Moira's own personal wing of Talon's base. The woman was one of Talon's most dangerous members, capable of experiments that directly refuted whatever "greater plan" there was for humanity as a whole. She pushed the boundaries of genetic understanding, and manipulated the concept of life on a whim. Moira was one of the few individuals within Talon that Widow didn't look down on. She was a genius, only ever legitimately being matched when spoken of next to Angela Ziegler. Even then, their fields of study were similar, but vastly opposing at the same time. Moira was a key player in Widowmaker's development, after all, which spoke volumes for her motivations as a "doctor".

Widow approached Moira's office, and before she could knock to notify her presence, another latch snapped loose, and Moira's voice fed through the intercom.

"It is unlocked."

If Widowmaker was akin to a spider, one could easily compare Moira to that of a snake. She gave and took life with the venom that was her practise. Quite literally, she was capable of at once healing and killing with but a flick of the right arm when fully equipped for combat…which was rare. Moira's voice slithered through the speakers in its at once calming yet condescending tone, and Widow felt her lip twitch as she pushed open the door. The doctor was sitting at her desk, but didn't look up, scribbling away at a massive collection of papers. She worked two pens at the same time, choosing old methods for documentation rather than using digital information when working through formulas and theories. She seemingly split her brain's processing into two areas of deliberation, a feat impressive in its own right.

Widow remained at the entrance for nearly two minutes before Moira finally looked up. She gave a slight roll of her eyes when her patient's lack of clothing became apparent, and nodded to the spare lab coat hung on the back of the door from whence Widowmaker came.

'Put that on and sit down, if you would be so willing.'

Widowmaker didn't care either way, but assumed some annoyance on Moira's part, and thus, did as was suggested, pulling the white jacket tight before seating herself.

'One moment.' Moira muttered, finishing her work in another few minutes. She stacked the papers together and piled them on either side of her desk prior to placing her hands together and resting her long, sharp face upon the back of them.

'Widowmaker. Are you being a naughty little girl?'

If even Widow's innate reactions coursed with a semblance of irritation, she could imagine how others felt in this woman's dominating presence.

'I don't understand what you mean.'

A beat, and Moira slid her chair to the left, tapping at her computer and bringing up a projection that was apparently the file report of Widowmaker's mission statement. Not only that, but a few videos were playing, clips of Widowmaker in action at King's Row. She was recorded. Talon was keeping a very close eye on her. It was understandable, however, for the mission was of great import. Widowmaker recalled the quick scenes that were captured. One, in particular, beyond the satisfying way she dismantled half a dozen guards within minutes, displayed her and Tracer combating near the end of Widow's mission.

There was silence other than the light buzz of the electricity required to power such machines. Widowmaker's blood vibrated, and she waited for Moira to speak. Finally, after too long, the doctor did.

'Seven.' Moira uttered matter-of-factly.

'Pardon?' Widow responded as was expected of her, lacing her question with her native language's French accent.

'I am no expert, I will admit, but I personally count seven times you could have killed that girl. Here.' Moira paused the video displaying the fight, enhancing the size of the image and pausing in between seconds of footage. 'Here. Here. Here. Here. Here. And…here. Do you disagree?'

'I do.' Widowmaker shrugged. 'I count fifteen opportunities.'

Moira chuckled, her brow furrowing but still slightly relaxed in amusement.

'Of course, you do.' Moira's heels clicked on the floor as she crept throughout the darkened room. 'Thus, the question we all want answered is: why?'

'I explained "why?".' Widowmaker's temple throbbed, and the girl's desperate expression screamed into her ear once more. 'Our leader surely informed you.'

'He did. It's why my time is being wasted now. He suspects you're in need of some…tuning. He desires my professional opinion.' Moira tapped at her chin, moving to directly in front of Widow now, looking down at the woman with her slits for eyes. 'There was an incident shortly before your departure, yes?'

'Perhaps. I do not remember clearly.'

Moira's grin stretched to her ears.

'Naturally. How pitiable.'

'Do I require treatment, or can I go now?' Widowmaker finally asked, bored beyond reason.

'Not yet. I want some answers to just a few questions first. Do you have time?'

It was a rhetorical question.

'How do you feel?'

'I don't feel; that's the point, isn't it?'

Moira shook her head.

'Your emotions and physical receptors to discomfort have been dulled to near extinction, but not even I can eliminate them altogether lest you become an omnic completely. You "felt" excitement at being met with true adversity on the field of battle, correct?'

'…I suppose.'

'And that is, presumably, why Tracer lives to fight another day. Is this also correct?'

'Yes.' Widow thought about fighting the Overwatch agent and her chest fluttered, if just barely. 'Yes, it is.'

'Ah…' Moira's eyes widened, as if she realized something. 'You're a predator, indeed. Perhaps that is all there is to it, but I am…unconvinced. The human psyche is a resilient beast, primarily when handled by the well-bred. You were worth the effort, but goodness me, you're quite the test subject when all is said and done.'

'…And this means?'

Moira rolled her eyes, and then she placed both hands on either side of Widow, her forked tongue practically tickling the sniper's neck. She was wrapping her body all about her patient, constricting her in place without even actually touching her. She moved her lips to Widow's ear and manipulated them slowly, hissing a singular name into her sense of hearing.

'Gerard.'

Widow almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the gesture, but then a sharp pain stabbed into her temple, as though Moira was digging a knife into her brain, and the stone-cold assassin's eyes flickered, nausea overtaking her, as it had before without her recollecting.

'Now…how do you feel?' Moira went on, but Widowmaker could barely make out her words. Her mind was on fire. It hurt. This was pain. This was discomfort. This was something Widow was too unfamiliar with. Her neck tightened, and she grit her teeth, gripping at the chair with white knuckles.

She knew that name. Deep in the locked-up memories she thought were gone forever, she knew the name Gerard.

'Who…is that?' Widow grunted, hating this level of vulnerability.

'Answering my question with another question? Not quite. However, I am willing to make my own deduction. You're in evident pain. How…troublesome.'

'Who is he? Why…do I know that name?' Widow hissed anew, an emotion swirling within her veins that urged a sense of aggression she didn't think she could harness anymore.

'It is irrelevant to your current circumstance.' Moira sighed, playing with some vials and what appeared to be medicine of some descript. She handled her equipment with all the gentility of a mother, observing her work lovingly. 'This is a new string of your prescription. The goal is to eliminate these silly outbursts in the future. They're becoming tiresome. I have more important tasks to contend with beyond your petty emotions that refuse to die.'

Widow blinked, shaking her head and breathing heavily. The rush of sensations was overwhelming, and she knew she was blacking out. She fought her body's desire to somehow adjust to the flurry of receptors long dormant becoming so active so easily. Widow stumbled into Moira's desk, pushing at the papers, her lap-coat loosening open. She felt the wave of embarrassment, tugging at the jacket while also trying to focus on Moira.

'Who…the hell…is Gerard?' She repeated, the black specks becoming more prominent as the ringing in her ears reached a fever-pitch.

'Your husband.' Moira's words slurred in deep caves of darkness. 'Your late husband, more accurately.'

'What…?' Widow's eyelids weighed her down, and she didn't even realize her knees had buckled under her, bringing her to the ground. Her heart quivered, and a blitz of images flickered too quickly to make anything of. All they did was stir a discomfort like nothing before. Widowmaker wanted to vomit.

'Did you not hear me? I said Gerard is your late husband.' Moira readied what looked like a tiny gun, loading it with the new medicine. 'You killed him. Don't you remember? Hm. I suppose not.'

'Killed…my husband?' Widow's eyes began to water. She was losing it again. She wasn't built to handle such thoughts, feelings, and emotions anymore. They were as foreign as a virus. Her body rejected it all. Yet, at the same time, she also wanted this discomfort. It proved…

Something pricked Widow's neck and a cold fluid numbed everything else.

'A pity you won't recall a single part of this conversation tomorrow. Stubborn woman. Gerard had to marry someone with so much…passion. A normal human would be a vegetable by now, but your usefulness is nearly voided by the trouble it takes to refine Talon's favourite tool. Alas, one cannot question the effectiveness of such equipment; that I shall not argue.'

Widow's face slammed into the ground, but her voice scratched to the service, climbing through the glacier that flooded her insides.

'I'll…kill…you…' She grunted, and Moira laughed heartily as well as sincerely.

'Oh, I would love to see you attempt such a feat, little spider.'

'My dear, never before have I been so mesmerized. Not only did you dance with the precision expected from that of a professional, but the pure emotion you evoked…my heart continues to beat against my chest in elevation.'

'Good sir you honour me with your praise. Thank-you very much.'

'I have seen your dance for quite some time now. I apologize if I appear nervous. You are something of a celebrity to me.'

'Oh?'

'Even now, I am stunned by your beauty. This is a meeting I will not soon forget. I appreciate your time.'

'…What is your name?'

'My name? It's…Gerard. Gerard Lacroix.'