Widowmaker

'Why are you so agitated, my love? Work is more trying than ever, and you know there is little I can do about the demands of my job. We are closing in on a big case, and my contributions are imperative.'

He was right. She hadn't been fair then. She knew it.

'Indeed. So consumed by work evermore. Why, a marriage between you and this "work" of yours would be far more fitting.'

'My angel! You know this not to be true. I work to make a life for us! Look at our estates! Look at everything we have! But even more so, you know my occupation is important. My place in Overwatch is more vital than ever before. We are closing in on the end of a major investigation. With that concluded, I promise I will attempt to use more vacation days for you and I.'

She softened, knowing his words to be nothing but the truth. She was cruel to make her husband defend himself, but she was growing mental due to her circumstances. Circumstances she was unsure whether or not she should reveal. Agitation came quicker, and her ballet instructor had noticed almost immediately that she couldn't perform as she was known to. She would have to take a leave from the stage. She may never reach the pinnacle of her talent again.

It was so very terrifying. It was unplanned. It was foolishness in a time of discord and apprehension. Everywhere. It would become too obvious given enough time.

'You promise?' She could only ask.

'Cross my heart.'

She finished the rest in her head.

'Sir, the physical results.'

'Hm.'

'Is she awake?'

'Yes. But she is numb. She can barely understand what I'm saying. The neural reconditioning is already on its way. That woman is a monster. I'm confident it's only a matter of time before she joins us officially.'

'Dr. O'Deorain?'

'The very same. Hm. What is this?'

'Precisely what you observe it to be.'

'How irritating.'

'It's only in the early stages, but best to be rid of it now, correct? She'll hardly know the difference before it's too late.'

'Well, I suppose that's the only way.'

'What is this measuring?'

'To an extent, her emotional capacity. I'm merely gauging her initial reaction to the adjusters. If she is to pull off her mission, an element of dulling will be required.'

'The numbers are reading quite high, from what I can tell. Is that normal?'

'No. She's troublesome in that regard.'

'Fascinating.'

'To an outside source, perhaps, but it makes my life difficult.'

'The advantages of leading such a project.'

'Feh. Don't misunderstand. That woman is heading all of this. I'm just an extension of her will. I could never orchestrate something so elaborate.'

'…I see.'

'Get me my tools. I'll perform the operation now.'

'While she's conscious, sir?'

'While she's conscious, yes. Best perform an appropriate test to determine how the process is coming along.'

'Sir…'

'Oh? You discovered your conscience suddenly?'

'…No, sir.'

'Good. Off you go. … And you, my lovely experiment? What have you to say for yourself, hm? You wound me. You truly do. I can only perform the task at hand as punishment. Never do this to us again. Never.'

'Another headache, my love?'

'Yes. I must apologize. How frustrating, I'm sure.'

'Not so much frustrating but concerning.'

'Where is my medicine?'

'The same medicine that only puts you into a minor coma? My love, it does not work.'

'Then what am I to do?'

'Your appointment with the best doctor Paris has to offer is tomorrow. He will be doing a thorough examination. I won't be leaving until I know everything has been done. We will find out what ails you so.'

'Gerard…'

She closed her eyes on their bed, rubbing her stomach and feeling the nausea coming again. Her husband was a romantic, but ever since her rescue from Talon, she felt unlike herself. She couldn't kiss Gerard the way she used to. She didn't sense his presence the way she could in the past. He made a couple of advances here and there, when it was just the two of them in bed, and yet, she couldn't respond in kind. Even when she attempted to play the part, as was her career, her body betrayed her, showing not a single sign of welcoming, her husband denied lest he wish to hurt her.

What was happening to her? It was as though she were walking through water, sounds and sensations losing their relevance with every day that passed.

He touched her shoulders in that moment, massaging her gently and kissing her neck the way she used to like. He took the strap of her dress down to her elbow, and continued to caress her, possibly recalling when she would get goosebumps from his breath and groan in anticipation of more. She tried to feel his affection. She leaned into it willingly, but was careful, unsure how close or far he was.

'My love…'

'Gerard…' She said his name, but didn't feel his lips until a moment later, her balance thrown. Ever the romantic, believing love could change the world. He was so wise at times, and so childish at others. She pressed her hands upon his chest, her insides twisting in discomfort. She felt like she was going to cry, but couldn't.

'I will get your medicine.' Her husband left the bedroom, clearly a touch frustrated. He thought he had lost her. It was flattering he wanted to make love to her so desperately, but her mental state was suffering, and his patience was so committed.

She looked into her mirror. She wondered who looked back.

The rest of the night was solemn, but hopeful. Gerard catered to his wife, offering comfort in any way he could. He was putting all his faith in the power of the doctor he would take his wife to. He lay beside her, naked save for a flattering pair of boxer briefs, tightly bound to his muscular form. His arm was under her, but she sometimes forgot.

'If we don't get answers tomorrow then I will make contact with Dr. Ziegler. She's still quite young, but individuals in the field are calling her the prodigy of our century.'

'My.' She tried to sound enthused, a pinch biting her brain.

'Indeed. Apparently booking any form of meeting with her is next to impossible outside of her personal inner circle. Her advancements in nanotechnology is astounding. Her papers are cryptic to any but the greatest minds. Truly a master of her craft; much like you and dancing.'

'Ah. Yes.' She answered, something tugging at the side of her mouth. Dancing. She loved dancing. She…loved…dancing…

'I'm sorry. I do not mean to disturb you while you rest. It is still bothering you?'

'…Yes.' She slurred.

'Then goodnight, my love. Tomorrow, we will get our answer one way or another. Wake me should you need anything at all.'

The ceiling blurred, and she heard a giggle escape her lips as words fell out of them simultaneously. Instinctively, her heart toppled into her throat, and the burning in her vision escalated. It was her last chance. Somehow, she knew. She was fading. Dying? Was she…dying?

'Gerard?'

'Hm?'

'Would you…ever want to start a family?'

His voice rumbled in an elated chuckle, perhaps seeing light at the end of the tunnel truly now.

'Of course. It would be a dream come true; much like when I took you as my wife. I sometimes wonder if my blessings will be horribly balanced out someday.'

'Would you want…a boy…or a girl?'

'My love, I do believe you are sleep talking.'

'Gerard?'

He didn't hear the desperation in her voice. She couldn't explain the way her mind was being filled with vile poison. Voices infiltrated her senses, whispering murderous suggestions. The idea didn't sound so insane.

'Either would be fine with me. So long as he or she was ours.'

She didn't have an answer for him. He may have assumed she fell asleep. He couldn't know her eyes were transfixed on the ceiling, its maddening design leaking into her mouth and filling her veins with destructive matter, clogging her arteries and seizing all of her muscles.

'Gerard…'

'You sound so tired, my love. What is it?'

'Gerard…' She wheezed.

'Hm. Now I know you're sleep talking. You're hardly stirring.'

'I…didn't know how to…tell you…' Like pushing bricks through her mouth. The words were losing their meaning. She couldn't feel her body against the mattress. Where was she? What was she trying to say?

'Uh…I…uh…I'm…'

Was she even saying anything? A mass rumbled beside her, puncturing her bowels.

'No. Don't. You'll hurt the…uh…uh…'

Silence in her reality; screaming in theirs. Ah. This sweet release. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

'Listen to me. Listen…This is…'

Her stomach twisted, and she held it fast.

'Shh. There, there.'

Hollow eyes. Bloody equipment. A murderous endeavour. A murderous intent.

She was nothingness. She was lifted by invisible strings, plucked from her life and skewered mercilessly into another. Her eyes flashed in the night, and she sat atop him, her dreams floating into the melting ceiling.

'Oh? Is it finally time?' His voice may have been groggy. How long was he asleep? Who even was this man? Was he going to hurt her, too?

'I have waited for this. Fatigue at work is a small price to pay in exchange for – Gah…!'

It was a thick neck, but strength unlike any she knew beckoned her, stroking her arms and tracing the tendons stretching within. He fought back, like the animal he could be, but her nails were long and well groomed. Liquid splurged onto them, and his ability to provide any form of contention evaporated into the oozing platform above his bloodshot eyes.

Ah. Tears. Why? Why tears? Why was her face soaked? Why did he stop struggling? What was this nightmare? She heard something collapse onto the ground, and she stumbled, holding her groin and breathing heavily.

'There, there. There, there.'

A hollow carriage. A hollowing heart.

Her voice was coarse, and she tasted blood. A screeching deafened her senses. When would it stop? Who was being tortured? Her mind reconfigured itself as best it could. Widow closed her mouth, and the screaming ended.

"Dr. Ziegler?"

'I'm fine, Athena.'

Widow's eyes blurred into focus, and she saw the blonde doctor codenamed Mercy staring at her. Two men were nearby with guns at ready, both pointed at the bound Widow in what she now knew to be a bed within a lab of some descript. She was captured by Overwatch. Caught by the foolish, foolish girl. Her prey. The hunted became the hunter. How humiliating.

'Amelie? You were having a nightmare. Your neural waves went completely erratic. Your mind is contending with quite the toxin that actively attempts to break apart any hint of the basic elements that make up our ability to feel human emotion. I have successfully administered further temporary relief, but your inner psyche – the one that has been savagely suppressed for so long – is beginning to resurface, and with it some rather unpleasant memories based on the numbers I am reading.'

Widowmaker closed her eyes, a wave of sickness slamming into her person. She controlled her airflow, and narrowed her thought patterns, but images and sensations were infiltrating her to the core, and one notion had the force of a titan: the sight of her husband's dying visage as she pierced his neck with her fingers and collapsed all the muscles around it into themselves.

Then, the other realization finished any hope of resisting.

A horrendous smell filled Widow's nostrils as the projectile spewed from her mouth upward only to splash back down all over the assassin's upper half.

'My goodness!' Angela exclaimed, hastily using the readily available clothes to clean Widow's mess, the stench instigating yet another violent reaction that made the two Overwatch agents step back, but hardly fazed the doctor woman. She simply hummed a small tune as she worked, the gentility of her touch helping, if however minorly. She tossed the cleaners and extracted more, a soft, lavender scent filling the room now and Widow's sense of smell. She changed her gloves, switched out her lab coat, and finished by dabbing Widow's cheeks all the way down to her neck, salty tears practically streaming from her traitorous eyes.

'You have been through a great deal.' The doctor commented, shooing the guards away, at last. A door slid open then closed, the women left alone. 'And from what I have determined thus far, we are hardly through the worst of it. Neural tampering is dangerous to begin with; aggravating the brain further carries a formidable number of risks.'

Mercy was persistent, not tiring from the act of drying Widow's face as the damp intruders wouldn't let up.

'That isn't even mentioning the physical enhancements so crudely implemented.'

Widow's lips trembled, and her stomach ached. Emptiness. This emptiness was so raw and real at last.

'However, for now, you will take a moment to recover while I formulate the most effective way to handle Talon's – or more specifically, Dr. O'Deorain's – horrendous work. The medicine being fed into your I.V. serves as a constant combatant against the formidable toxins consuming your concept of humanity. In time, my personal remedy will remove the threat of losing your mind completely, but the core destruction to your levels of self-identification remain. There is the beginning of my work. Unfortunately, the chance of you losing control and submitting to the alternate persona remains rather high, and therefore, you must remain bound. My apologies.'

The tears wouldn't relent, and Widow could only stare at the ceiling with a stoic expression lest she break down completely.

'I…don't want to feel this…' She whispered, the mere act of talking – of admitting survival when her husband could do no such thing – ripping her heart in two.

'I can only imagine. Your readings nearly compromise my machinery, and that is quite the feat. What you went through…I cannot hope to fathom, surely.'

Widow clenched her eyes shut, the tears soaking into her long lashes. She cracked her teeth together, twitching in an attempt to do no more emotionally.

'A damn, when broken, can never perform its original function anew. You are in my care, Amelie, and there is no need for airs. Please, it is often better to release such pent-up feelings. Indeed, I can only encourage the act.'

Widow wouldn't do it, however. Not for the enemy. The…enemy? This woman was trying to help her, so, how was she the enemy? Who was the enemy? All concepts jumbled together, and Widowmaker shook her head. Why was she here? She deserved to be killed, and yet, these Overwatch imbeciles wasted such time and resources on her for…what exactly?

'Why?' Widow squeaked, her voice still rough, and the idea of speaking turning her innards all over again.

'Why?' The doctor smiled gently. 'It is what I do, Amelie. I have been blessed with the power to heal those who would accept my offer. However,' She paused, a shadow passing over her angelic features. 'I…find myself struggling immaturely due to the pain you have – no matter how victimized you were – caused someone rather dear to me in recent weeks. Quite human of me, I suppose. Lena – or perhaps you know her better as Tracer – practically begged me to assist her in this fool's errand so, should I succeed in reverting you to normality to some degree, please offer her the thanks she deserves for having a bigger heart than I in these circumstances.'

'I…have killed many.'

'You have. Claiming insanity would help your case immensely, but the fact remains that you are responsible for the deaths of dozens, perhaps hundreds, and the impact of those deaths ripple through countless lives. There is the assumption that you will use your skills to help Overwatch should I successfully help your case. I encourage you to consider that outlet as a method for redemption. That is all I wish to burden your mind with at the moment.'

'I killed…' His expression of horror and agony flickered through her subconscious, and she clenched her hands into a fist, breaking her own skin and feeling blood soak under her nails. 'H-hah…I…'

Dr. Ziegler tapped some buttons on the machine connected to Widow and then replaced her fluid pouch.

'Small sessions at a time, Amelie. You need some rest now. We'll build you up slowly. Please calm your thoughts as best as possible. This is a safe place. I only wish to help you.'

'Kill…' Widow heard a voice speak through her numbing lips.

'No. That isn't who you are anymore.'

'Kill…you…' The words stumbled out more.

'As unsettling as that sounds, I imagine even you cannot break free from those bonds. Now, rest; doctor's orders.'

'No…rest…' But Widow had little choice. More toxins. More medication. More experiments. They claimed to be different, but the assassin knew better, and hoped for nothing.

'S-sir! It was a success? Oh! There she is! You're sure to be promoted now! Sleeping again, is she? Hahah!'

'Settle down, good man. And yes; the mission was a resounding success. No more dogs sniffing around the organization for a time. He was a troublesome man, but Talon's lethality, when angered, astounds me still here and there.'

'Using his own wife against him? How cruel…but how brilliant as well! Pity. She is so very beautiful, isn't she?'

'…She is that.'

'So…what now?'

'I have been given a strict outline as to how best prepare her for physical enhancements and manipulation. Dr. O'Deorain will be performing the bulk of experimentation, of course.'

'Ah. That makes sense.'

'…'

'…'

'Would you be so kind as to take these reports to our talented doctor? She has blessed us with her presence in the facility, and I'm sure she would appreciate the updated information on our patient's mental state.'

'Why are we not simply sending them digitally, sir?'

'Dr. O'Deorain is particularly sensitive regarding this procedure. She wants no chance of the data being leaked. We go manual for much of the sharing of numbers.'

'Ah! Of course!'

'Thank-you.'

'I'll speak with you again soon, sir.'

'…There. Alone at last, my lady. We've spent so much time together, and I've done so much for you, yet where has my repayment been? Now, I must give you up. And for what? One can't help but feel sour. Hm? What's that? Your gorgeous eyes tell me there is something you're willing to give? Now that your husband is gone you're free to do as you desire? No. I could never. Please. Don't look at me in such a way. I want to. Oh, any sane man would. But it is simply wrong. How is it wrong? Well…you have a point there, don't you? If you're granting permission, then who am I to hesitate?'

'…'

'So be it. I will make you wait no longer. Pardon me, Amelie Lacroix. I am not worthy, seemingly, but…my lord. You truly are a specimen of perfection. Before you are defiled beyond recognition, allow me to bless you with one final moment of authentic intimacy. If you're fortunate, perhaps we will fill that void I created in your womb together? Wouldn't that be blissfully ironic?'

'…'

'…You're right. Yes, you're right. I would have to gouge that filthy parasite out as well.'