Widowmaker

'A bottle of your finest wine, my good man. I'll have nothing less for this beauty.'

'You flatter me, sir.'

'Hardly. Not even their best will equate to the honour I feel at your acceptance of my offer.'

'It is but a date, Mr. Lacroix.'

'One I dared only dream of during my most reckless of imaginings.'

'A silver tongue, I see.'

'Is it working?'

'It is not a terrible thing.'

'Ah. Then all those lessons of etiquette I endured growing up have proven their worth at last.'

'Please. Relax.'

'I shall attempt as much, but I make no promises.'

'Well, perhaps if I were to – '

'It was a mistake, my sweet. I was under the influence, and it was just a peck. I didn't foresee you being the jealous kind.'

'I-I'm not. I don't want to be. But you, my darling…You make me feel such madness!'

'Angel…'

'Perhaps this was a mistake. Perhaps all of this was just…a mistake.'

'No! No, no, no! Not at all! Amelie! Oh, my sweet Amelie! What can I do to make it better?'

'What can you do? It's simple; just – '

'I had a wonderful evening. I have never felt so spoiled.'

'You've provided me with a year of adoration and affection I will not forget. I hope the fireworks were not too much.'

'Not at all. They were magnificent. Truly.'

'I had difficulty focusing on them with you so close.'

'Gerard; still with the flattery after all this time.'

'It comes with honesty, Amelie. You are more precious than life itself to me now. Living without you is but a nightmare I do not wish to ever experience.'

'Oh? That sounds rather final, good sir.'

'It could be, if you would honour this begging soul.'

'Pardon?'

'Amelie…'

'What are you…?'

'My work forces me to proceed as thus, but in this moment, I see no other option. If you would be so kind, I would be overjoyed if you would – '

A grey ceiling. Grey and decrepit. Widowmaker lay still, unmoving in every regard. Her index finger twitched, feeling an invisible click with no recoil to speak of. She felt numb; more so than usual. She opened her mouth but could hardly register the motion. She bit down on her bottom lip, crunching through the flesh until the slightest semblance of liquid oozing down her chin could just barely be registered by her senses. It was as though her body was made of lead. She was heavy.

"You're awake. Good. If you survived the first dose then we will proceed from here. What do you feel?"

It took Widowmaker longer than it should have for her to understand the voice. She sat up, only knowing she did as much because of her eyes, which burned perpetually. There was an intercom near her room's door. She was in nothing more than a simple, shapeless white patient gown.

'I…don't feel…' Widow managed, her mouth frozen.

"Oh? That appeared troublesome to say. Is it difficult to move?"

Widowmaker lifted her arms, but it was as if they were both asleep. She slumped them to her sides, tilting her head back and staring at the damaged roof once more.

'Yes…'

Silence, with what sounded like a distance hiss through the intercom.

"Very well. I will check back with you in another hour or so to evaluate your status. Do not stray too far. You have another mission approaching, and I will not be held responsible for your body's inability to adapt to a neural manipulation virus appropriately. Good day."

Moira. It was Moira. She might have been irritated, but it was impossible to tell in Widow's current state. She attempted to stand, but her legs cracked and snapped under the weight of her unfeeling form. She collapsed onto the ground and breathed, knowing she should likely be scared, but unable to experience that sensation of emotional sustenance either.

'Why…am I here?' Widow asked the void. Nothing made sense. Nothing meant anything at all. She could only lay and stare, blinking after a minute and simply waiting for the next occasion. Her mind was a thick, impenetrable fog, full of a vast expanse of redundant lucidity. Blinking reminded Widow that she was, indeed, alive, but even that was questioned after the sixtieth blink.

Nothing. She was nothing. Breathing and blinking was all she could do.

The door to her room slid open, and Moira stepped in, her long, white lab coat almost trailing at her heels. She giggled to herself deeply, kneeling next to Widowmaker and eyeing her thoughtfully.

'My, my. I suppose a happy medium will be difficult to accomplish after all. You're no good to anyone like this. I could allow those lusting monkeys prowling about your corridor at every opportunity to have their way with you and I imagine your eye would barely even bat. If you weren't relied on for a multitude of Talon's operations, I would permit just that as an intriguing social experiment. Alas, I am paid very well for my work, and this development is fascinating in its own way as well.'

'Mo…ira…'

'Tsk. You're no better than a vegetable. Are you regressing or recovering? Considering your ongoing state, I might deduce the latter, but you tend to surprise my hypothesis given the chance, so, I shall use some spare time and observe your receptors. You don't leave for your mission until later in the night, regardless. I have a moment to contribute to this vein of research.'

The words could be comprehended, but they meant so little. Widowmaker only stared at Moira, the comfort of not moving her gaze settling into her heart that hardly beat.

'Pathetic.' Moira rolled her eyes and extracted a small device from her lab coat, promptly stabbing Widow's neck with little remorse and injecting a cool fluid into her veins. Widowmaker could feel the hot fire enveloping her from within, and she blinked a little faster now, her mouth twitching in a suggestion of discomfort.

'Your mission tonight is too important for you to be in such a state. This drug will counter the virus I infected you with, giving your body time to adjust appropriately, ideally. The virus will, ultimately, absorb this temporary precaution, but the job is done by that point.'

'Huh…' Widowmaker slumped back, stretching her arms wide on the cold ground. She was already awakening from the null state she was trapped in moments ago. Would she become like that again? Even she didn't adore the idea. She was practically dead, and it wasn't pleasant.

'There. I see the light returning to those biologically enhanced retinas. Good. You've always taken well to anything I've practised upon you. A shame such a trait is a double-edged sword.'

'Don't…do that again.' Widowmaker heard the words hiss between her lips, pushing herself up and glaring at the doctor within her room.

'Pardon?' Moira raised a brow, smirking in amusement.

'I can't…even hold a gun in that state. What good is a weapon if it can't be used?'

'A valid argument, but as I said, there are only minor adjustments needed, and you will be able to function well enough – just without those lingering emotions that prevent you from killing a single, little girl.'

A distant, foreign chill crawled over Widowmaker's spine, clawing at her insides and burrowing into her neck. She thought she felt nothing, but now she knew what a claim could truly mean.

'I refuse.' Widow muttered, standing tall, almost higher than the overly slender Moira herself.

'Oh? You "refuse"?' Moira giggled like a snake would if it was capable.

'I don't wish to be mindless. My emotions made me vulnerable, I understand, but I won't be human at all if you strip me of anything further.'

A long, drawling pause, with Moira tapping her cheek and feigning concern prior to waving her long-nailed, tentacle of a hand in the air, narrowing her thin eyes dangerously.

'Whatever would give you the impression that I care what you think? The less human you are, the better. What do you live for beyond killing? You're Talon's tool; don't think anything but that, "Widowmaker".'

It wasn't a fact Widowmaker didn't know already, yet somehow, she was infuriated. The rage she should have felt was nothing compared to what a normal person's would be, but the genius sniper's eyes widened, and she was grabbing Moira's neck, gripping it's thin circumference within her grasp before her brain could catch up to the emotions that refused to die.

'Heheheh! How riveting…' Moira's grin widened. 'Are you going to kill me, Widowmaker? Are you going to fulfill that promise you made not so long ago? Then what? Escape Talon? Live a normal life? Pity. Impossible on both accounts. You're trapped in a web; you're doing anything but weaving it. Kill me, and another will replace me. Perhaps not as capable, but willing to perform just as many experiments on Talon's favourite toy.'

Another pause, Widow's mind clearing and the urge to snap this woman's windpipe in half overly enticing. However, the cruel reality of her words tore into Widow's chest, and she released Moira, stepping back and sitting on her bed. This notion of emptiness and defeat were…difficult.

'I will not hold that childish outburst against you, Widowmaker, for equilibrium will exist in you soon enough once again, and then we merely wait for the virus to overcome the suppressor currently attempting to save your ego. Unfortunately, it is a losing battle. Tragic, really. You are feeling approximately 40% more human than you have in quite some time, so some unprecedented actions are within the scope of my calculations. It would have been intriguing if you attempted to truthfully murder me, I will admit that much.'

'It will happen in time, Moira.' Widow tried, but even she knew they were empty words.

'I pray it does.' The doctor beamed. 'Now, get dressed. I want to run a physical diagnosis before you are put out in the field tonight. Don't waste any more of my time, my lovely tool.'

'This is Simon. A plain and terrible name. Say "hello", Simon.'

'Hello.'

'Good boy.'

Widow stretched her arms over her head, dismissing Moira's words as her senses continued to struggle to functionality anew. She was wearing a black bodysuit that stuck to her like another layer of skin. She tied her hair into its typical high ponytail, and eyed the equipment within one of Talon's virtual training, state-of-the-art facilities.

'Hello, there.' Widowmaker finally answered, not even looking at the Talon agent.

'Despite his dreadfully boring I.D., Simon has one of the best scores in this V.R. targeting simulator. In order to properly gauge the effects of your new medicine, and to soundly evaluate your state of mind for the upcoming mission, you will compete against him momentarily.'

A rush hit Widow at the thought. This was just what she needed. The kill – even a fake one – would centre her. The confusing thoughts plaguing her were distracting, the simplicity of her wrath far safer and comfortable to the young woman. She didn't want to think about her existence and purpose beyond the kill. She pushed back at her mind's muddled wavering, and began equipping herself with the virtual reality pieces, impressed that the sniper rifle held detail in its weight to better train inspiring candidates. It was no Widow's Kiss, but it would do.

'Well, someone's eager.'

The condescending tone didn't even bother Widow. She turned on the headset and selected the necessary options with her V.R. glove.

'Two player. Target practise. Expert mode. Waiting on player two.' Widow murmured, her heart beginning to make its presence known even through the modifications done to her ages ago.

'R-right.' Simon could be heard moving, presumably making the correct selections in order to link with his opponent. An icon popped up in front of Widow, asking if she wished to accept the challenger, and she smirked, confirming the choice.

'She is the best Talon has to offer, Simon. Do not feel bad should you not be capable of keeping up.'

The world formed around Widow, as real as real could be. She heard Moira's footsteps distance themselves, and the arena was complete. They were in a simulation of King's Row – likely Moira's tinkering instigating as much in the name of a cruel joke. Widow didn't care. As realistic as this toy was, it was nothing compared to the real thing. Child's play.

"Attackers incoming." A mechanized voice announced.

'Good luck.' Widow mocked, and before Simon could reply, the game began. Widow could sense the targets before they even appeared. She had already taken in her surroundings and ran simulations through her brain, anticipating the perfect points for her assailants to launch their fake attempts at murder. Widow moved like a machine, her actions not wasting a single motion to maximize her energy and effectiveness. More points were awarded for headshots. Widow didn't see anything but golden numbers appearing to indicate a successful critical blow. An intoxicating "ping" went off when virtual brains exploded, and the more intense the session became, the more elevated Widow's mindset.

"Ping." "Ping." "Ping." "Ping".

"Doub – tripl – quadru – quint – "

If the kill occurred within two seconds of the previous, a chain was initiated, and the points were multiplied accordingly. Because it was "expert" mode, the rate at which the targets appeared eventually reached inhuman expectations. Fortunately, Widowmaker wasn't quite human anymore.

"Ping." "Ping." "Ping." "Ping." "Ping."

"Boss incoming."

'I think I feel something…' Widow practically groaned despite the silliness of the game's indicators.

A blur flashed past Widowmaker, and she knew Moira would try such a thing. It was just how the woman operated. Surprisingly, the graphical recreation of Tracer was fairly decent, and the "boss" jetted around the screen as the Overwatch hero would have. But after approximately five bursts, Widowmaker waited for the slight pause in the girl's actions. If this was an attempt to train Talon agents against one of Overwatch's best, it had to be as accurate as possible. Tracer's "blinks", as they were called, were limited in quantity depending on how far and frequently she used the ability. A form of recharge was necessary, and the second Widow sensed the miniscule slowdown in the girl's actions, she heard the final "ping", and the game ended with a high score that absolutely demolished whatever Simon had managed before or now even.

'Unbelievable.' Simon took off the headset, breathing heavily. 'You really are a monster.'

'Hmph.' Widow huffed with just a slight pinch of pride. She didn't particularly fancy being called a "monster", but she was feeling less and less, the game only serving to entice her lust for real combat and killing.

A slow clap approached, and Moira looked sincerely pleased for once.

'Impressive, indeed. Not a single miss. That score will serve as a benchmark for anyone claiming they have skills comparable to Talon's favourite assassin. Well done, Widowmaker.'

'You see? Your adjustments aren't necessary.' Widow finally had the high ground, but why did it feel like Moira was still looking down on her.

'Should virtual reality reflect physical reality, your words would carry weight, yet pixels and computer graphics cannot possibly compare to the field. Do the same to that little girl during your next mission and you may have some semblance of footing before me, otherwise, the drug continues to work its way through your biological makeup, and I believe Talon will be quite pleased to see what sort of tool I present within a week or two.'

Widowmaker blinked, but beyond that, she refused to answer. She, instead, stripped the equipment off and allowed it to collapse to the ground. She then walked away without another word, her hips swaying seductively amidst her brain's inability to cope appropriately.

'Clean this up, Simon. Thank-you for your time. Your score was quite good, truthfully. She was something of a "hack", one might say.'

'Yes, m'am.'

Widow walked through the halls of Talon, her eyes lashing about and her stoic face twitching. What was she feeling? Why was she feeling? She should be normal again, but this…This was something else entirely. Her world was narrowing into a dark tunnel, and her mind filtered thoughts of purpose and mortality. The kill was all she wanted, and the drug Moira gave her should have settled the anxiety, but something was happening, and she hated it.

Widowmaker stumbled into her room and slammed the door shut, leaning against the barricade and staring up at that disgusting roof again. Her room was more akin to a cell, and that shouldn't have bothered her, but it did now. Her bed was small. Her clothes were limited. Her food was boring. What did she do in between missions? How long until she departed? What had Moira done to her?

"Widowmaker." A voice spoke through her intercom, and the sniper held her breath. It was the leader of Talon. The distorted sounds were unmistakeable.

'…Yes?'

"You will be rendezvousing with Doomfist during your next mission. The details of your task are outlined in the following e-mail. Review it and prepare yourself appropriately."

'Yes.'

"Your dress will arrive soon. Don't disappoint me."

'Affirmative.'

A mission. Good. Enough of these pitiful thoughts and ideas. A kill. It's all she wanted. She would bury herself as well. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else –

Widow didn't move, finally registering the words that had just been spoken to her.

'A dress…?'

He never cried. He refused to. He claimed it would emasculate him. How very like the man. But the moment – the second – Amelie stepped out into the aisle for all to see, hundreds upon thousands of dollars worth of pure white material enclosed around her, he cried. He sobbed. He claimed he was never happier. Amelie believed him. She believed him because she felt the same.

She felt the same.