Widowmaker

BLAM!

The shot echoed in the air, but the night festivities of Venice almost totally drowned it out. The man dropped, and he was promptly removed from the gate, the nearby partying in the streets not missing but a beat. He would also not be missed. He was even wearing a mask, for God's sake.

Widowmaker leaned back, her eyes staring into the starlit darkness above her, and she breathed out slowly, with a small quiver passing through her full lips.

'Target neutralized.' She uttered simply.

Mission accomplished. How…pathetic. If this was what Akande had planned going forward, Widow might have to reconsider her placement in his ranks. This kill was hardly a taste of what Widowmaker needed. Her temple pulsated, sparked with intrigue, unknowing that the fun was over. Any further stimulus simply wasn't going to occur. The night may have well been over for Widowmaker. She was to ensure the meeting about to take place between Akande and his personal inner circle remain uninterrupted. But even she was aware that the chances of any more Talon members pushing their way inside was slim to none within the time allotted.

Mission accomplished. How…unsatisfying. Widowmaker turned her headset down low, ignoring the conversations still circulating between Sombra, Akande, and now Reaper himself, who was more than willing to fight alongside Doomfist's ideals. What happened from this point forward meant nothing to her. Let them plot. Let them backstab one another. Let them die. So long as she was told who to kill, she didn't care.

Widowmaker groaned silently to herself, shouldering her weapon and standing upright, the ridiculous outfit she was forced to wear to better blend in gripping her arms and legs like some sort of masochist's ultimate fantasy. However, on the outside, she looked like something akin to a black swan. The costume wouldn't be completely misplaced on the stage of a professional ballet production, and parts of Widowmaker's brain sparked when she first lay eyes upon the design.

"Sexy." Sombra had said. She willingly wore her jester ensemble, while Reaper equipped some form of skeletal monstrosity, of course. Akande was merely a masked vigilante; also fairly appropriate.

Widowmaker looked down at those below her, a sector of the city completely alit with joy and celebration. For what? Widow didn't know. And it didn't truly matter. All she knew was that such frivolity meant her mission was that much easier. In fact, perhaps she could simply take out a few more individuals to help sedate her craving. Her chest was beginning to burn, and the poison Moira insisted on pushing through the sniper's veins was acting up again. The waves were even more consistent with every passing hour. Before she couldn't enjoy anything at all, how good would it feel to see how many bullets she could use to kill as many of these simpletons as possible? Even if Widow got "in trouble", it's not as though she would feel anything in relation to such a confrontation. It could be worth it.

Widowmaker readied her sniper rifle, the Widow's Kiss, and aimed amongst the crowd, seeing a small family consisting of a man, woman, and their little girl. What would Mommy and little Suzy think if Daddy's head just suddenly exploded during their pleasant outing? If Daddy's brains showered all over Little Suzy, how loud would she wail? Would her cry change something in Widow's perspective? It would certainly be an interesting experiment to help pass the time and fill the emptiness continuing to spread through Widowmaker's entire body. It would be so easy, too. They wouldn't even see it coming.

And thus, Widowmaker lowered her gun, closing her eyes and biting at the inside of her mouth, drawing blood, but hardly noticing even as it dripped down her throat.

Pathetic. It would be a pathetic kill. If anything, it would negate the nearly useless elation she barely grasped from the mission's objective. At least the man she just dropped worked for Talon. At least he had blood on his hands and was trained, to some extent. He knew what he signed up for. That family? What was the point? There wasn't one, even to the world's greatest assassin.

" – maker…Widowmaker. Do you copy?"

'Yes?' Widow shook her head, the extravagant headpiece a little heavier than she would prefer. Akande's deep, powerful voice was unmistakable. It jolted her slightly, her limbs weighing less now.

"The meeting is about to begin. Good work. I'm turning off my communication device. Use the emergency function, if necessary, but I won't take any risks."

'Yes.'

"Feel free to enjoy the party while I am in talks with the others. It might help push back at the drug until Sombra completes her new mission."

'You must be joking.'

"Heheh. Only partially. Be on guard."

'Overwatch…?'

"Highly unlikely, but I do not lower my defenses. Ever. I shouldn't be longer than an hour or two. Out."

The click in Widow's headset signalled that Akande was truly gone, and she sighed, not confident she could make it "an hour or two" resisting the urge to simply jump off the incredibly high roof she had navigated to, away from anything and everything in order to easily make her shot, hundreds of meters away without hardly breaking a sweat.

Ending it all. Not precisely a foreign thought, but a seldom one nonetheless. Perhaps Talon had manipulated that part of her thought processing as well. Perhaps it was simply animalistic instinct, like her desire to kill, that prevented her from giving in to the "sweet slumber" of death. To an outsider, she may look like a trapped fly, with Talon as the spider, ironically enough. Moira's newest experiment was working, because Widowmaker didn't care either way. So long as she was allowed to flutter about and "pretend" to be the spider, life could be but a dream.

"Psst. Psst. Psst. Psst. I'll keep going, you know?"

Widowmaker rolled her eyes, the motion feeling sluggish as she turned her communicator back up.

'What do you want?' She demanded of the persistent hacker, knowing that, even if she turned off her device, the crazed individual could very well power it back up remotely until an answer was given.

"Aw. Don't be like that. Not when I got a nice little gift on the way for our poor, lonely spider."

'Any gift from you is a gift I can do without.'

"Now, now. Would you be saying that if I told you this? A tiny speed demon is on her way for a rematch. One guess who it is. Ready? Go."

Widowmaker physically lurched forward, grabbing at her chest and huffing, air suddenly difficult to manage in her mouth and lungs.

"Heheheh! Someone just get a little moist from that? Time to change the undies?"

'…Is this a joke?' Widow uttered, glancing from side to side, wondering if Sombra was truly playing the fool, as her garbs somewhat demanded.

"No joke. Sent her your coordinates, like, two minutes ago. She landed in Venice about an hour ago. With her legs and that spiffy piece of tech, she'll be there any second. Have fun."

'Why would you do this? Are you betraying Talon?'

"Oh, please. Don't pretend you even sorta care about loyalty. Besides, how can a girl betray something she's never committed to in the first place? Answer me that."

Widowmaker finally managed to steady her breathing, but she was standing, her rifle at ready and her breaths still coming out in quick rasps. Moira's toxin seemingly repelled, the assassin truly reacting physically against her will. Did she want this dance so badly? The answer was as clear as the night sky and the stars within it. That little girl made Widow utilize every skill in her arsenal to come out on top. It's why she let her live, after all. But to think she would have such a chance so soon?

Something pricked the corner of Widowmaker's mouth, and she sighed into her communicator, a groan fluttering between her words.

'Thank-you, my dearest.' She cooed in her mother tongue, and Sombra giggled awkwardly.

"Damn. Now I'm wet. Hahah! Be good, you crazy kids." And there was another click, but almost as soon as she registered it, Widowmaker forcibly removed the device from her headpiece and crushed it under her heel, licking her lips and closing her eyes, narrowing her heightened senses even further into her ears.

'Well, well. It looks like I will dance tonight after all.'

And, as if on cue, she heard it. Like the wind was being cut apart, she knew that sound well now. It was committed to memory after their very first encounter in the museum, and even further memorized in King's Row. She was approximately eight hundred metres away, by Widow's calculation, but that was nothing for one of Overwatch's best. Sombra hadn't lied. This was happening. Widow took one final breath out and balanced her posture.

There it was again. And again. There would be a pause for a time. Widowmaker had determined during their most recent encounter that there was certainly a limit to the girl's time manipulation. It wasn't endless. She had restrictions. Mere seconds, if the agent timed her jumps and recalls properly, but precious seconds to a skilled killer nonetheless.

Four hundred metres. Three hundred. Two hundred.

There.

She landed atop the roof, somehow heroically, opposite to Widowmaker in a blur of yellow, red, and blue, her chronal accelerator glowing proudly upon her chest. She was in full uniform. It was official business. Perfect.

'Widowmaker…' Tracer started, a strangeness to her voice that annoyed the assassin. 'Or…do you want me to call you Amelie?'

'Does it matter?' Widow shivered, but not from being cold, naturally. 'You've come for revenge, then? You wouldn't be the first, nor will you be the last, surely.'

'If it comes down to it, Luv, but I'm here to take you in alive. Overwatch isn't the type to just kill willy-nilly, and I think, deep down, you're not either.'

A beat, as Widowmaker processed the information. What was this girl going on about? It was time to open her sparkling eyes. It was time to infuriate her so that the dance could commence as it had before.

Why!?

Stop it. That moment meant nothing. This was all Widowmaker had. If she let this chance slip, she would surely regret it forever. No distractions. There was only the kill. If need be, she would end this girl tonight, but even that path wasn't precisely ideal. This dance suddenly became her purpose, and it was simple enough to comprehend.

'I killed your beacon of light, little girl. I've killed hundreds, and I feel nothing. I will keep killing until I can kill no more. That is all I'll ever be, and it's all I wish to be.'

'Funny thing, that, because I just don't believe you. You're not a machine. You only do watcha gotta do to survive. Those guards at King's Row? Injured, for sure. Bloody hell, they were in real bad shape, but not one of them was dead. Not one. I'm not dead, and I'm, like, what, "undesirable no. 1" or what have you?'

Widowmaker was growing more impatient, her body aching, but she couldn't stop staring at Tracer, her beaming visage almost too bright within the moonlight. This child was insane to try and speak with Widowmaker. She was an assassin; a killer. One of Talon's very best. Why was this conversation even happening? Why was she talking when she could be fighting to the death?

'You amused me, little girl. That is all. I thrive in the dance of death, and few can push me as you did that night. I wanted to fight you again. I wanted to feel something again.'

'Exactly.' Tracer shook her head, as if she had the upper hand suddenly. 'You wanted to "feel" something. You've been so warped that only bits and pieces of you have stuck around from your past life, right? Dancing? Why do you say it like that, Luv? Fancy a dance much? Maybe a touch of ballet? I mean, look at you right now. It's like something, way back in your brain, desperately grabs at what you used to be. What you could be again if you let me take you in and have our doc take a peek and maybe even fix you up a bit.'

A knot formed in Widow's throat, and she swallowed over and over until it dissolved at least a little.

Gerard…

Her eyes blinked, and her chest swelled. Moira's toxins attempted to engulf her mind, but the stimulus before her paired with the memory's resurfacing had the upper hand for that split second. Widow's teeth chattered, and she pushed it all away, quickly readying her sniper rifle and firing one shot at Tracer's face, right between her beady eyes.

'Whoa!' The girl's afterimage remained, but she was well out of the way, shaking her finger. 'Little rude to just up and shoot at me before we're done talkin', innit?'

'…You know nothing.' Widow hissed, still aiming her weapon venomously.

'Then help me understand, because I ain't just leaving you the way you are. It isn't in me. It's not how I work. It's not what the people I had to leave behind would want. I joined Overwatch to save those in need, and sorry, Luv, but you're unlucky enough to land on my radar after our last barfight. Do I kinda sorta hate you a little bit? Maybe. But I can't forget the way you looked at me before you let me go. I've never seen a cry for help so clearly. And I'm a hero, so that's a cry I simply can't ignore.'

'Then you're a fool.' Widowmaker needed to convince herself. She began her assault, the Widow's Kiss in assault mode and firing away atop the roof as she backed to the edge. Tracer dodged with ease, of course, but the primary objective was to create space. With Tracer, that was always the best method of attack. Her bursts of speed and twin Pulse Pistols could end even the most powerful of omnics within a single second. Widowmaker could make her shot if she calculated the girl's blinks and recalls appropriately. She would put an end to this "hero's" tale once and for all.

Nobody made her feel…like this. Nobody. She hated it. She hated it. She hated it!

Once Widowmaker felt the ledge on her heel, she jumped backward, turning midair and grappling to the building nearby. She released the hook's hold a second before reaching the new roof, and used the momentum to propel herself upward, landing and rolling behind some cover, lowering her headgear so that her multi-perspective visor could do its work. She could hear Tracer's blipping, even above the crowd's music and foolish antics, and eventually saw the girl's streak of light pass by her upper left sensor. Instinctually, Widow's mind calculated the Overwatch agent's predicted placement with all the variables in place and fired a single shot in what seemed to be nothing but the night sky. However, Tracer's body flailed midair, and she barely landed her jump approximately ten metres from where Widow was positioned, a streak of blood dripping down her left cheek.

'Hmph.' Widowmaker smirked.

She didn't miss when using her gun's sniper mode. In fact, this was perhaps one of the first times ever. One shot, one kill. It's what she was known for. It's the tagline Talon agents had attached to her. There was never a second shot. There was never a chance to think twice about the act. This girl was beginning to annoy Widowmaker. She should have never let her live. This dance was…different. No. Not a dance. This kill. Kill. Kill. Kill!

'Yikes! Almost had me there, Luv! Might have to get a little rough with you after all. Don't worry though, our doc can pretty well fix anything I do.'

'You remember how it ended last time, no?' Widow remained completely still, zooming in with her visor.

'Course I do. Not something I'm forgetting any time soon, trust me. But we know one another's tricks now, so, it should get interesting, huh?'

'I'm counting on it…'

And it began again, Widow firing off a second shot. Some form of impact was made, but it was only a graze, with Tracer practically teleporting out of view. Scoffing, Widow knew retreating anew would spell trouble for her. She couldn't move as fast as the Overwatch agent in midair. Catching her by surprise was the best method of attack at this point. Widow's reaction speed was just a touch quicker, by her calculations, and thus, she ejected a venom mine approximately seven metres behind her. This allowed the time she needed to react if Tracer tried such a tactic. Otherwise, Widowmaker took up position, kneeling with her sniper rifle at ready, her visor working its magic to provide her the ultimate perspective.

'Nobody can hide from my sight…' Widow muttered, and she was in place. This is what she lived for. A target worth hunting. An enemy so capable Widowmaker would be exalted for Tracer's elimination. Unlike the last encounter, which was furious and nearly out of control, both contenders knew who they were dealing with now, and caution was practised with the utmost of professionalism. It was like a master samurai duel of old, where the victor was decided in an instant. This battle would end similarly.

Silence. The music, the cheering, the laughing, the parading; it all faded into a muffled nothingness. Widow was made for this. Her pulse was practically non-existent. Her body hardly moved. She was a statue, all her senses focussed on what needed to be done. She was truly the black widow spider in this moment, her victim merely waiting for its head to be snapped off in less than a second.

The venom mind exploded, yet it didn't detonate. Widow almost turned, but she heard it. Almost anybody else would have overlooked the smallest of sounds, but Widow knew. She remained facing forward, and sure enough, Tracer was already nearly on her. She recalled. Clever, but just not good enough. A third shot. This time, she didn't miss. It wasn't exactly on target, for this spindly girl was good enough to twist her body mid-attack, but it connected just below her ribs. An inch or two more and the chronal accelerator would have been destroyed, taking Tracer into oblivion forever.

Tracer landed on Widowmaker, and a second later, a faint pain burst into both of the assassin's legs. Then, her arms were held on either side of her, the Widow's Kiss sliding a few feet away. Widow's thighs were oozing blood, the liquid seeping down onto the roof below her, trailing into the cracks and slipping away. When was the last time Widow had been injured thus? This was a form of ecstasy as well, nearly. Such a worthy prey.

'Hah…hah…Gotcha…!' Tracer heaved, her own blood seeping through the girl's yellow uniform, just below her bomber jacket.

'Do you?' Widow's eyes widened, and she physically overpowered Tracer, pushing her off and stumbling upward. Although her reception to actual pain was dulled, her legs still didn't function the way she wished them to because of the inflicted injury. Retrieving her gun wasn't an option anymore, so, Widow allowed herself to fall atop Tracer, sitting on her torso and wincing down at her. The agent attempted to lift her guns for a counterattack, but Widow snapped her elbow across Tracer's face, a crack sounding and the girl coughing, spitting out more blood.

'G-gah…!' The Overwatch agent squeaked, a rasp crunching through her throat.

'What was that about "saving me", little hero? Do I look like I need saving? Would a damsel in distress be capable of this?' Widow felt her elbow connect with the girl's other cheek, the contact fulfilling enough as Tracer groaned, blood trailing down her chin now.

However, Tracer realigned her vision, and stared directly into Widow's eyes. She wasn't afraid. If anything, she seemed even more determined.

'Sorry to…queer your pitch, Luv…but right now, I know you need help. I can feel it…on both cheeks…'

'Oh?' Widow's eye twitched, and she shifted her weight over Tracer's gun wound, feeling the blood soak into her leg as she did so. The Overwatch agent clenched her mouth shut, her face turning red and veins protruding from her neck. She was much, much tougher than she looked, Widow would give her that, but fury was beginning to boil. No matter what Moira's toxins wanted, this encounter was stirring something in Widowmaker, and she was not enjoying the dance she had desired so anymore.

It was time to end it. This discomfort was undesirable.

Widow batted away both of Tracer's guns and managed to retrieve her own. Her adversary, naturally, attempted to move as well, but Widow had time to stumble her way to her own weaponry while Tracer was dealing with quite the fresh damage to her person. She tried, of course, because that's how she was, but Widow was upon her, the Widow's Kiss in assault mode and pointed mere inches from the "hero's" forehead.

'It's over.' Widow claimed in her mother tongue. Her legs were shaking, but pure resolution held her in place. Tracer was a good opponent until the end, but she couldn't allow her to live. She really was dangerous…for reasons impossible for Widowmaker to have ever anticipated.

'Gerard…wouldn't have given up on you. And neither…will I.'

'Gerard. That name means nothing to me.'

It didn't. It truly didn't. It couldn't.

'Really, Luv…?'

She didn't even know who that was.

'Truly.'

Just a man. Just a man with loose ties to a past Widow cared little about.

'If that's true, Luv…'

A man. A man who meant nothing. A man who didn't contribute anything.

'…then why do you look like you're about to cry?'

Widowmaker blinked, and a wetness came into contact with her eyelids. It startled her. She actually staggered back. What was this substance? Tears? They were a foreign matter, yet here they were. She was…feeling something? Feeling something more than the thrill of the kill? Feeling…something. But what? What was this? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger?

What…was…this…?

Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger?

Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger?

Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger?

Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger?

Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger?

No. N-no…Not this. Not…any of this…!

Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger? Despair? Regret? Fear? Sadness? Anger?

Regret.

Regret.

Regret.

Regret.

Regret.

Regret.

Regret…!

She could feel it. She could feel the warmth of his neck between her palms. She could hear the gurgling between his lips. She could feel the saliva covering her hands.

He went to sleep next to his beautiful wife whom he loved unconditionally. She had gone to sleep next to her wonderful husband who she respected indefinitely.

They had both awoken faced with total strangers.

A Talon assassin.

An Overwatch agent.

One of them didn't leave that gorgeous mansion.

She could feel the precise instant when his life left him. She could see the way his eyes dimmed. She pretended it meant nothing. It almost didn't. It wasn't meant to. The experiment was a success…but also a subtle failure.

Darkness.