Advocate Interrogation Facility.Widowmaker stirred as she sensed movement in the cell. Tracer had fell asleep on her, having been taken for yet another interrogation. Three weeks ago, she'd not have hesitated to put a bullet squarely through her- admittedly pretty- face, but now... she didn't know. She couldn't feel anything, but something inside her told her that the girl using her as a pillow, who was half a decade her junior and a nuisance to fight, was no longer her enemy. Perhaps, even a friend?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp stinging in her thigh, followed by burning. Not a fire, but almost like acid. It felt like something was dissolving her leg from the inside out. Tracer jolted as the same thing happened to her. Her eyes shot open, as she begun to cry out in agony. Widowmaker didn't flinch much: it hurt worse than anything she could easily remember, but she could more or less tolerate it. The one advantage of having no emotions nor feelings- for now anyway- was that pain was also dulled to an extent. As Tracer continued to writhe in unbearable pain, the cause for their new misery became clear. Widowmaker almost huffed with laughter.
These morons had become so agitated with the lack of information they were getting out of the pair that they had decided to resort to even more cringeworthily clichéd techniques. This one being the use of scorpions. The idea was straightforward enough: allow the venomous scorpions to sting their victim, and inject the antivenom a short time later- long enough that they would be in incredible pain, but short of causing permanent damage. And sure enough, as she pondered this, the cell door swung open and a guard stabbed an injectorinto her leg. As it emptied into her she felt the burning sensation die down. She saw Tracer stop writhing, as though the invisible blaze covering her had been smothered by a blanket. The scorpions were removed and as quickly as they had entered, the guards left.
Tracer crawled back over to where Widowmaker still lay against the wall, still panting from the agony. Once she had recovered, she put her back against the wall, smirking.
"Quel est dróle, chere?".
Tracer almost giggled. "I'm going to make a complaint to room service. They really need an exterminator." With that, she lost all composure and started laughing. Even Widowmaker found that somewhat amusing, bringing a rare smile of sorts to her face. The thud of boots filled the corridor again.
"Ah, bollocks. Here we go again..."
The guards strode in, deciding again to snatch Tracer up and drag her from her companion. As the cell door slammed shut, she frowned. Surely by now, these morons knew that Tracer had no information of real value. So why did they continue to interrogate her, leaving the real prize for information in a cell? Soon enough, the door swung open again, and Tracer was thrown back into the cell. Unlike most times, however, she lay where she landed. A brief inspection from where she was sitting revealed to Widowmaker that the guards were no longer showing constraint. It looked like they had taken a baton or similar to Tracer. Her arm looked broken, and judging by the blood seeping out of her abdomen, they had caused some pretty severe injuries there as well. Her chest barely rose or fell. Merde, c'est pas bien. Broken ribs at best, a punctured lung at worst. The gash on her head and hair matted with blood explained her lack of movement: she was probably either concussed or out cold. She moved herself across to where her broken companion lay, still unmoving, and cradled her in her arms.
"C'est bien, chére, I'm still here for you." She stopped herself short of the next sentence. It'll be alright, she was thinking of saying. How could she be sure? They'd now been here a week, maybe two, and there was no sign of anyone coming to save them. Surely, someone was coming?
She sighed, lying down around Tracer, and closed her eyes. She knew she had to keep her mind focused. Hope was the most destructive force a mind could suffer. Hope could break her if she wasn't careful, and breaking here and now would be worse than a thousand deaths.
