Widowmaker

Blink.

'This is the last session we'll have together for a few days, Amelie. Although I've made minor progress in relation to your brain and what I may propose I operate upon, it is still a rather delicate procedure I would prefer your consent on since it could negatively impact your ability to function on a basic level. Do you understand?'

Widow eventually nodded slowly, disliking the way Mercy stared at her until a response of some form was given. The necklace Tracer had bestowed upon her made the need for limb restriction unnecessary for now, it seemed, so that was somewhat agreeable, at the very least.

'Now, Lena informed me that you continue to suffer because of the returning memories that took place before becoming known as "Widowmaker". Would you like to discuss those with me? I won't pry, of course, but saying what you're feeling aloud can be therapeutic all on its own, you should know.'

'I feel nothing.' Widow claimed, but Mercy only sighed, arising from her rather elaborate chair and tapping at a few of the projected monitors, the multitude of charts and graphs being developed in real time due to the wires connected to Widow within the facility staggering.

'Although I agree that such a claim would truly make life easier and more productive in some regards, it is undeniable that feelings – as unique as they are to our race – instigate progress and development beyond projected parameters. You would do well not to ignore yours during this trying time, Amelie.'

'I'm Widowmaker.'

'You're Amelie. Widowmaker is a monster's name. You are no longer that.'

'You're wrong.'

'I would truly beg to differ, my dear.'

Widow flinched back, Mercy's accent and delivery of French near perfect. She was…quite the woman. A small wonder Talon wanted to capture her and likely twist her mind to be used for their own divine purposes. She would have been a great asset to the cause. What cause? It didn't matter. But why did she fight? So she could kill. But killing was wrong. She had killed…!

'Massive spike in brain activity. Fluctuation in communication between thought patterns. Obvious interference. Hm. A parasite? No. Redirection? Somewhat. Confusion builds upon the present, past, and future perception of the subject. Emotions becoming…erratic, but stabilizing by the second. Intriguing.' Mercy made some scratches in a little notepad, the prehistoric way of marking down information odd for someone of her calibre, but then she tapped away at the keypads, her speed and precision dazzling as her eyes flickered back and forth, the doctor capable of multitasking throughout three different reports simultaneously.

'You did ballet professionally prior to being captured, Amelie?'

'…Yes.' Widow sighed.

'From what I understand, that is a dance almost exclusively dedicated to depicting emotion and story through elaborate movements only the most skilled individuals are capable of. Is that correct?'

'Mere floundering about before ignorant, sex-starved fools.' Widow muttered.

'Is that how you feel, or is that how Talon wants you to feel?' Mercy swiped a monitor so it was facing Widow, indicating a red line that spiked presumably when she gave her answer.

'It's how I "feel".'

'Again, I beg to differ. Watch the crimson line closely, Amelie, and answer my next question. What is Overwatch?'

'The enemy.' Widow's words slipped through her mouth before she could think upon her response further, and as she did so, the line upon the chart skyrocketed once again.

'Finally, – and do pay attention to the chart, please – who murdered your husband? You or Talon?'

Widow's eyes widened, and she flinched forward, the electrical shock feeding through her veins and causing her whole body to spasm. She sat upright, and reached for Mercy, but she was too weak still, and the multiple doses of electricity from what felt like so long ago appeared to build on one another, making for more painful punishments progressively.

'I…did…!' Widow bit through her lip, an incredible pain crunching in her jaw.

'Incorrect again, Amelie. Talon killed your husband. Not you.'

'You don't know anything about him!'

'I know you loved him fiercely, Amelie. I know they took your child from you. I know he watched you dance for years before finally approaching you. I know he would have done anything for you; even die for you.'

'Shut up!'

'I know Talon is the monster; not you. They used you to do something nobody should ever have to endure. Indeed, having someone I care about now only makes me that much more sympathetic. If I were forced to…' Mercy hesitated, her expression faltering as she wiped her swelling eyes.

'Forgive me. I did not…expect to be so affected…by the mere thought. Ahem.' The doctor sniffed, and Widow observed her carefully, the strong, unflinching persona broken for just enough time to make her a different being entirely.

'T-that is,' Mercy continued, calming herself with great resolve. 'Overwatch is not your enemy; Talon is. They took everything from you, and with my help, we will give you the opportunity to avenge your husband and…and your child.'

Widow clenched her eyes shut, grunting within her mouth and wiping at the tears forming under her lids.

'Please…no more…'

A beat, but then Mercy stood and brought a small container to Widow, shaking the capsules contained.

'I understand. These are portable versions of the medicine I have been injecting you with to help cleanse Dr. O'Deorain's toxin from your system. I recommend taking one in the morning, before a meal, and one at night in the same fashion. From what I have concluded, Moira's toxin worked in conjunction with her more elaborate manipulation of your brain's processor, extending the robotic tendencies into the rest of your system over a period of time. I will need to perform a deep dive operation to fully comprehend how best to counter Dr. O'Deorain's work, but until then, please continue to take these during my absence.'

'And if I don't?' Widow sneered.

'Then you become a monster again; one capable of murdering her own husband without a hint of remorse until now.'

A shock jolted Widow and stayed her hand from breaking Mercy's nose.

'Very well.' Widow took the medicine, placing it beside her on a small table.

'Lena – or as you know her better, Tracer – has volunteered to be your primary caregiver while I am away. When I return in approximately three days, I would like your answer regarding the operation. Is that reasonable?'

That stare again. It was a powerful weapon.

'…I suppose.' Widow considered the doctor's information a little further. 'But why that girl? She's an annoyance.'

'The one person willing to risk her life to help you is an "annoyance"? Odd way of observing your surroundings, Amelie.'

'It's only for her own self-satisfaction.'

'That is inarguably false.' Mercy snapped back finally, actual anger in her voice, which nearly startled Widow. 'I have never met a more selfless individual in my life. What she has already done for you…' Mercy shook her head in frustration. 'Well, I do believe you owe her more than a mere word of gratitude, in my professional opinion.'

Widow furrowed her brow pridefully.

'I never asked for her help.'

Mercy shook her finger, "tsking" all the while.

'That might be a discussion worth having in the future with your saviour, for according to her, your scream for "help" couldn't have been louder.'

Blink

When Widow wasn't being facilitated, or sometimes even if she was, her arms and legs were bound. When Mercy left for her mission, the doctor had been sure to relocate Widow to a new room, this one reserved for other individuals that were bedridden for one reason or another. It was very much like a small hospital, and hearing the hustle and bustle of Overwatch medics and soldiers who were hurt to some degree helped Widow not focus so harshly on her own conflicting thoughts and memories. Her bed was covered by curtains, and she was provided a television to watch or use to listen to music. She generally opted to just sleep, but on a rare occasion or two, she observed what the entertainment had to give her.

Food was displayed before Widow when it was time to eat, her hands unbound but a number of grunts present to facilitate the assassin's basic function. During her dinner the next day, one of the Overwatch agents finally said something to Widow beyond cordial greetings or instructions to hurry up and finish her meal.

'Talon killed my brother.' The man stated quite clearly, and immediately, one of the other agents grabbed his arm, the gesture being shaken off as he stepped forward, closer to Widow, a fork and knife in her delicate looking hands.

She didn't feel the need to respond in any way, and simply ignored him.

'Why we're helping one of their deadliest members is beyond me.'

Widow looked up, met his furious eyes, and grinned, blowing him a small kiss.

'You bitch…!'

The punch hurt. It actually hurt. Like the shockwaves before it, Widow tasted blood, and it practically unsettled her. The other men escorted their brother out, leaving only a primary agent assigned to Widow for this meal, and another agent.

Widow's lip was cut, and her tongue may have been bit down on as well. Not a single napkin was offered, and the rest of her food had a unique taste to it. The rest of mealtime was executed in a heavy, piercing silence.

Blink

Soap operas. She recalled finding some bizarre pleasure in such trash. Widow discovered the channel that played favouritism to such a genre, and she watched a multitude of episodes following her breakfast the day after a subtle bruise was planted on her left cheek. Before the woman knew it, and upon learning that David's fourth wife was, in fact, the daughter he had abandoned once he was told his first wife was pregnant, it was lunch time, and Tracer entered with a large tray and bag, her clothes casual but sporty at once, as though she was ready to play a game of basketball or the like at any given time.

'Heya, Luv! Feels like it's been a while, huh?'

Widow exhaled sharply, a strange murmuring passing through her veins at the sight of her "saviour", as Mercy had so brutally put it.

'Not long enough.' She answered lowly.

'You're lookin' pretty good though! Combed your hair, yeah? Brought you somethin'! More clothes. They're comfy things, but a little more flattering, I think. Hopefully I got your measurements right. If not, I can always do some exchanges.'

'Really now?' Widow shook her head, disgusted by the way she found a touch of fulfillment in the fact Tracer was actually acknowledging her existence as a human being. Being ignored so blatantly, or better yet, being openly hated was weighing on Widow. If she still lacked most of her emotions, such silliness wouldn't bother her, but…

'Oi! What's this? Cheesy acting, innit? Looks real old! They only give you one channel in here?' Tracer indicated Widow's program, and the older woman sighed, turning it off in frustration and, perhaps, slight embarrassment.

'It's none of your concern.'

'Guess you're right there.' Tracer plopped herself in a chair, hastily releasing both Widow's arm and feet binds. The assassin stretched tall, not having any such luxury with a single one of the other "caretakers". She felt Tracer's eyes on her for a moment, but by the time she turned to the other girl, she was already poking through the computer, obviously not finding what she had hoped to.

'Alrighty. I brought you a sandwich, an orange juice, and some cookies. What are we, in high school again?'

'It's fine.' Widow snatched the bottle of orange juice, rather parched since her morning meal "accidently" lacked any form of beverage. She downed almost the whole container of the good stuff, noting Tracer's curious eyes again.

'And I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get in over here. Some major stuff coming down the pipeline, especially with Ange going to a big science thingy that could reveal a whole buncha bugs under a rock. I have to help with a lot of the future missions. We also had to welcome a couple of more Overwatch members as well. Lucio is finally here, which means I managed to complete one of my official missions, and the other is a sharpshooter that I haven't talked to that much, but apparently he's super – '

'You truly ramble, don't you?' Widow tasted her sandwich, still amazed by the returning sense and what it could offer here and there.

'Only because you don't. Girl can't just sit here and stare at you.' Tracer laughed, scratching the back of her head. 'Well, not that it would be terrible, mind you.'

'Disgusting.' Widow chided.

'Still think so, huh?'

'Without a doubt.'

'You mentioned maybe given it a go though, right? Remember that?'

'I do. I also recall suggesting I would kill you immediately after, however.'

'Ahah! And there's the question: Would it be worth it? I'm thinkin'…maybe?'

'Lunacy.' Widow grinned a little, and Tracer giggled. There was a pause, and then the hyperactive girl went on again, of course. But what she said next did surprise Widow to an extent.

'Hey, so…um…about the other day; I'm still feeling pretty crumby about it. I mean, I was just trying to help, but the more I go over it, the more I think I wasn't considering your feelings at all. It was…really cruel of me to think showing you a pretty sunset would fix anything.'

Widow didn't have a response. She really didn't. Perhaps this little girl wasn't a complete imbecile. She allowed her to go on.

'So, yeah. I'm sorry. I really am. You've been through hell. I…didn't have a clue. I got all the facts now though, and…gosh, I feel like a real bloody idiot.'

Widow exhaled slowly, closing her eyes and wondering what had come over her.

'You…didn't know. That's all.' She mumbled. 'It is my problem to work through.'

'But it doesn't have to be, Luv! I'll do what I can, okay? Just say the word and I can – ' Tracer stopped, squinting and moving in closer to Widow. 'Bloody hell…! What the actual hell happened to your face? I couldn't see it because of that fun skin colour of yours but…that's a bruise, innit?'

Widow turned so the injury was out of view, scowling all the while.

'It's nothing.' She mumbled. She deserved as much. She deserved more than a little bruise. She had killed so many. The urge to rip at her own wounds upon her arm tickled her fancy, and the filthy tattoo given to her by Talon only made the rage worst.

'It ain't nothing, Luv! Someone here do this to you?' Tracer pulled open the curtains, her voice suddenly bursting from her chest. 'Anyone know who hit one of our patients? Huh? Speak up!'

Widow heard some footsteps approach Tracer, and the girl exited the little room for a second, a small conversation occurring prior to the furious girl returning.

'It ain't goin' unpunished. We do not hurt the wounded here. If my rank is good for anything, it's good for this. He's going to the bottom of the barrel…if he's lucky. He's outta here if I have anything to do with it. Overwatch is made up of heroes, not scum like that who would hit a bound woman. Bloody hell!'

There was something to be said about the way Tracer got so riled up. Chivalry? Is that what she was displaying? Gerard was a professional on such things, in most cases. It was an attractive trait; one of Widow's favourites. She sighed inwardly, finishing her sandwich.

'I'm sorry, Amelie. Really.'

'Do not call me that if you are sorry. I'm Widowmaker.'

'Really?'

'Yes.' Widow insisted, meeting the Brit's comical stare and putting an edge to it.

'Fine. I'll give for now.'

'Good girl.'

'Oof!' Tracer shivered. 'Somethin' kinda kinky about you saying stuff like that!'

'You're despicable.'

'But you're finally talking to me, so, that's a start.' She giggled, and Widow rolled her eyes.

'What choice do I have? You simply drone on and on lest I do engage on some level.'

Widow finished her meal, thankful for the nutrients. Her strength was building back up, and she cracked her neck as she stood, looking to Tracer's bag.

'You wanna change now?'

'Perhaps.'

'Kay. I'll wait outside.'

'Oh?' Widow raised a brow. 'Trusting, aren't we?'

'Meh. That necklace works, don't it?'

'…Rather well, yes.'

'Heh. Sorry. Gotta do it though.'

Widow flicked her head toward the curtain, and Tracer was gone with a flippant wave. Widow then extracted the clothing provided, and was shocked with how well the stretchy pants clung to her lower half in all the right places. It was similar to her default Talon gear in its elasticity, which gave a cruel sense of comfort. The shirt was a simple tank top, black in colour, naturally, and once more, it fit perfectly, which began to creep Widow out.

'All done?' Tracer inquired.

'…Yes.'

The girl entered again and whistled, observing Widow putting her hair into an overly long ponytail.

'Jesus murphy, lady. You clean up nice.'

'Enough of your attempt at flirtation. It's becoming more than slightly tiresome.'

'But you like it, don't you?' Tracer winked, and Widow crossed her arms, snapping her head to the side.

'Are you completely mad? Do I seem to derive any pleasure from your hollow compliments?'

'Uh…yeah. I can tell. One of my many super talents.'

Widow's eye twitched, and she decided to leave the pointless conversation at that. What did this child know about anything? She could fight, Widow would give her that, but that's all she could do well. This "super talent" she spoke of was simply nonexistent.

'Anyway, I was thinking of taking you out again if you're up for it. What do ya say? I still think being up and going is some of the best medicine you can take for mental stress, you know? I'll escort you around and we can just kinda relax together.'

'Ugh.' Widow groaned. 'Doesn't Overwatch have a more pressing task for you? The second Omnic War is nearly upon us, and Talon likely hasn't stayed quiet since my disappearance. Yet, here you are, babysitting a murderer with the selfish hope of turning a mad dog against its previous owner.'

'Oh, now that would be great, but I just wanna help while I can, because I am one of the best here. Heheh! I'm hopin' I don't get put back onto the field until Ange returns for you, but like you said, things could get messy real quick anytime now. I've asked to be assigned missions only I can do so I can help you out. This is a rough time, yeah?'

Widow wouldn't deny it. Tracer provided an adequate distraction, but when left with her thoughts and memories, Widow could feel her whole body sinking into the mattress, the sheets engulfing her and filling her mouth with suffocation. Another breakdown felt so close, but with this pesky girl nearby, the world seemed just a little less bleak.

'…Do what you will.'

'Plannin' on it.' Tracer giggled, and she took Widow by the wrist, practically dragging her out of the public medical wing.

Blink

'This here is the shooting range! What do you think?'

'I suspect you're insane.' Widow blinked, the sounds of a gun being fired deafening in between conversation. 'You would bring me here of all places? I could end you in the blink of an eye.'

'Ange actually suggested it in one of her e-mails. She said familiarity my help calm your nerves. Your body's conditioned to, like, want to pull the trigger. We can't just cold turkey you from that. She thinks it could make the adjustment period way worse. I got the place booked anyway. Another high rank perk. Heheh! I hear one guy left though, so, just give me a sec.'

Tracer dashed off to where a rapid number of rounds were being unloaded, the succession of the attack rather impressive, especially if any of the bullets were landing. The gun sounded very old, however, perhaps even a relic of the days before pulse rounds were primarily used. Widow shivered, but not in a horrible way. Like an addiction, she craved the feeling of a gun in her hands and the trigger being pulled. Mercy was correct, it appeared. This itch could finally be scratched, and with that, maybe – just maybe – Widow could find a bit of peace temporarily. Again, it was, at the very least, a decent distraction.

'Oi! Look who I found! One of the best shots we got!' Tracer displayed a rustic looking man ripped straight out of a Western film from eons ago. Gerard loved such flicks, and although Widow had, at one time, teased him for enjoying such folly, part of her had found it also incredibly endearing. Her grown, mature husband always got rather wound up during the inevitable bar fight scenes, and he would hoot and holler with every glass broken and chair shattered. The memories were fresh, and Widow breathed out shakily, attempting to gather herself.

'Good evening.'

'Hey there, little lady. Evening. Name's Jesse McCree. Heard yer a bit of a space case thanks to good ol' Talon.' He tipped his hat and gave a respectable bow.

'…That is one way to put it.'

'Yeah.' McCree adjusted his belt, playing with a toothpick in his mouth and swishing his jaw around. 'Not much to say that hasn't been said, I'm sure, but know that yer husband there was a good man s'far as I knew. Worked hard and got results. Real respectable like.'

Widow closed her eyes, fighting back the irritating emotions that wished to overtake her. This man's accent, paired with his outfit, combined with the images of Gerard pumping his fists in the air at a poorly done barfight hurt; it pained her to consider. She shrugged the barrage away, scratching her arm.

'Listen,' McCree went on, softening some. 'I know a thing or two about redemption, so yer not gonna get a hard time from me. But Tracer here seems to think you got yerself a good shot, and I can get real competitive like when it comes to that kinda thing, so, what do you say? Wanna have ourselves a friendly duel with the fancy scoreboard here?'

Widow's vision returned, and she gave Tracer a look, the younger girl nodding excitedly.

'If you "agents" truly believe it is wise to provide Widowmaker with a firearm of any kind, then so be it. I won't reject your challenge. However, be aware, it may be the last mistake you ever make.'

'Think she's threatenin' us, Tracer.'

'She likes to act tough.'

'From what I hear, she is tough. Gave you a run fer your money, didn't she?'

'Wish I could say that's rubbish, but…'

'Are we doing this or not?' Widow huffed, her hands on her hips.

'Oh. I think I like her.' McCree grinned. 'Gerard always bragged about havin' the prettiest thing fer a wife, but I thought he was jus' talkin' outta his ass. Turns out he was right…blue skin and all.'

'Jesse…' Tracer warned, but Widow lifted a hand to her, not hating hearing such flattery coming from her husband's past. It touched the wound, but not too undesirably.

'Hand me a gun.' Widow changed the position of her outstretched limb. 'I'll show you he fell for more than just a "pretty" face.'

'Heheh. Liken' you more and more, sweetums.' The "cowboy" accepted.

Both competitors were in position within seconds, and although standard protocol dictated eyewear to be required, neither contestant deemed it necessary. Widow readied the standard practise rifle in her hand, gauging the weight and kickback with two shots before giving the thumbs up.

'Maybe one of Lucio's newest tracks will help spice things up!' Tracer called out, and she must've connected her phone to the speaker system, because sure enough, a somewhat bass-heavy song came on, the electric rhythm nearly off-putting at first, but soon thereafter speaking with Widow's soul, her hips swaying ever so slightly in conjunction with the high-energy song.

'Holographic targets pop up at random, the next target only showing up when a successful headshot is made. This round is about speed and accuracy. It's the hardest course our shooting range has to offer. I kinda suck at it, but it's perfect for your style of shooting. Ready?'

Widow breathed out, a small moan escaping her lips with anticipation. Her eyes widened, and her body buzzed with rapture. The music caressed her form, stroking her waist and shoulders, a strange, familiar infatuation making her narrow her focus and become razor sharp.

'Go!'

A buzzer sounded, and Widow didn't blink, moving from one target to another as if knowing where they were going to appear. The satisfying clicks signifying her headshots shocked her groin, and she licked her lips in between her eighth and ninth shot. This went on and on, and Widow synced her movements with the music, synthesizing everything with the beat right down to her inhales and exhales. The world imposed around her, and she pictured Gerard watching her, as he had during so many of her ballet performances. He was proud. He was ever proud. He was proud of her talent and dedication. He never failed to introduce Widow with the most ridiculous grin. She was ever embarrassed, but she would kill to see that smile again. She wanted to feel his hand on her shoulder, rubbing her waist and moving down to her derriere when he suspected nobody could see him. Widow had always given him grief for going public with his displays of affection, but part of her revelled in his complete infatuation.

He was proud. He was so proud of her. He was proud of not only her beauty, but her intelligence, her strength, her will, her grace, her consideration, her emotion.

As Widow shot down one after another, her heart turned, and she saw Gerard in one of the holograms. His neck was bleeding, and his eyes were terrified. He was ashamed.

Would he be proud of this talent for death and destruction? Never.

'And finished!' Tracer hollered, the buzzer sounding behind her. 'Survey says…'

'Heh. Looks like I won this little thing, my lady.' A voice commented. It was gruff and filled with smoke.

'What happened, Luv!? You were in the lead, but then, at the end, you kinda stopped or something!' Another squeaky one added.

'Not bad. Not bad at all. Maybe she's still tired? We'll give it another shot someday. Best clean up now. Torbs will have a hissy fit if we don't.'

Enemies…

'Aw, rubbish. My money was on her.'

Overwatch. Enemies…

'Course it was.'

Kill them all.

'Hey! Don't say it like that!'

Kill all Overwatch agents on sight.

Widow fired once, but upon the attempt to shoot again, electricity paralyzed her, and she convulsed on the ground, the wave of lightening rendering her immobile completely.

'Jesus…!' Tracer blinked, her body still blue from the quick dodge.

'Lena!? What the hell was that?' McCree asked, not at all sounding impressed.

'A work in progress.' Tracer responded, kicking Widow's gun away and slapping her in the face. Slowly, the abuse hurt more and more, and Widow coughed, spitting out some built-up saliva. 'You there, Luv? Who am I?'

Widow grunted, but managed to prop herself up with her elbows, still choking a little.

'…An annoyance.'

'Welcome back, Luv.'

Blink

'Ange said that might happen. Don't worry about a thing. I turned your necklace on again the second the match was over.'

Widow was back in her bed within the medical wing, but still unbound. She travelled with Tracer in silence once she could walk, but the girl just acted as though nothing had occurred. As if, in a fit of insanity, Widow hadn't tried to kill her. Her hands were shaking. They wouldn't stop shaking. Finally, Tracer placed her own hand atop Widow's and Widow, to her surprise, didn't brush it off. The warmth calmed the anxiety. She was scared of her own body and what it could do. With Tracer's grip so close, maybe she could stop her if such lunacy controlled her again.

'It's okay, Luv. All part of the healing process. You did really well, all things considered. High risk high reward, as they say. That's my style, if you didn't know already.'

'You're…such a fool…' Widow whimpered, but it wasn't what she really wanted to say. Her mind was muddled, and her forehead throbbed.

'Yeah. I know.'

'Why…?' Widow continued.

'Because I'm a hero, Luv. Because I can. Because I promised someone important that I could help change the world. That's all there is to it. I'm a simple girl.'

'I tried to kill you…'

'Widowmaker tried to kill me. Amelie is shaking in my hand because the very last thing she would ever want to do is hurt someone. Amelie is a soft, caring, smart, athletic, strong, dramatic woman who can be a little prickly but is also definitely someone I wouldn't mind getting to know a little better.'

Widow shivered, blinking back the tears forming in her cybernetic eyes.

'Ever the fool…'

Tracer simply grinned, and she placed her other free hand on Widow's face, holding her cheek so very gingerly. It was impossible to flinch away from. It was as though Tracer's sincere passion and desire to help was sedating the cold science burning Widow's soul from the inside out.

'I'm gonna get you something to drink. Got any requests?'

'…Green tea. A croissant wouldn't be turned away either.'

'You got it. I'll be right back, kay?'

'Fine.'

'I have to bind you though, alright? Sorry.'

'…Please do.'

'Really?'

'…Really.'

Tracer retracted both her hands, and Widow felt a chill run her spine. The bubbly girl waved as she left once the binds were in place. The silence of the room pounded in Widow's brain. She was more confused than ever before. Feelings she didn't know she could still have throbbed within her chest, and she controlled her breaths, disallowing her brain from processing more than absolutely necessary.

However, her momentary ray of hope was snuffed instantaneously the moment the singular projected monitor in her room switched from her basic stats, from Mercy's last evaluation, to a purple hued screen with a terrifying message that was clearly hacked into.

wE mIsS yOu SpIdEr TiMe To CoMe BaCk AnD pLaY

LolOLoLoloLOlOlOlllOlllOOOOlllOOOOLLLLLLooo