Note: We're back. Sorry for the wait. Hopefully we can wrap the story up by the end of the summer.
Widowmaker did not sleep often. When she was normal, she remembered the feeling of bliss that came with sleep, the deep peace associated with slumber. She faintly recalled lying beside her husband, and being happy as they drifted off together. Those memories, however infrequently, would shift to the forefront of her mind at the most inopportune times, and whenever it occurred, she immediately became repulsed. In her current state, she could not fathom the idea of sleep; a process in which her entire body shut down, and all her muscles ceased to function, and her mind became dull and unalert. Sleep was a waste of time; valuable, precious time that she could have used hunting down those who opposed her, or training harder to defeat her enemies. Sleep was a poison, an unnecessary, intolerable act of which she wanted no part.
She was thankful then, in a way, that her physical enhancements eliminated most of her otherwise-distracting needs. Her body's involuntary actions had been reduced to such a fine point that she could conserve energy normal humans would waste without ever realizing. Food and water were afterthoughts, consumed only at the most occasional intervals. Sleep only came to her in brief flashes, and when it struck, it was dreamless and dark. During the late hours of the night, when the other members of Talon slept in their rough, cramped beds, she would remain awake and continue her work. Whether she tinkered with her weapons or studied her future targets, she made sure that not a single moment of her time was wasted.
So why was it that on that night, she wanted nothing more than to fall asleep?
Widowmaker had her own space in Talon headquarters, a private location where she could separate herself from the rest of the filth that made up their operation. In there, she found herself on her bed, her headgear placed off to the side and her hair flowing down past her shoulders. She blankly stared at the ceiling. Normally, her mind would be focused on the repugnant texture of the mattress beneath her spine, or the distracting ambient noise that permeated the atmosphere. Instead, her mind wandered aimlessly, drifting from one disconnected thought to the next. Despite her best efforts, she could not focus, and every few seconds, her mind returned to that damned hacker.
She did not fully understand what it was about Sombra that disgusted her so thoroughly. Perhaps she was disgusted by Sombra's appearance. As a sniper, she was predisposed to despise anything that stood out from the shadows, and so when she first gazed upon the hacker, with her flamboyant hair and bright neon outfit, she instantaneously felt her stomach churn. Perhaps it was her attitude, so careless, so immature, so unconcerned with any consequences of her actions. The woman acted like she owned every room she ever entered. She never followed instructions, she never respected her superiors, and she never treated their mission with the sincerity and the integrity that it deserved. Or perhaps it was her smile that truly disgusted her, always disingenuous, always coy and clever, hiding just as much emotion as it gave away. That smile occurred when Sombra knew something she should not have, and when she sensed weakness in her foes that she could later exploit. Whenever it appeared, followed shortly by a quip or cackle, she always felt like the hacker was toying with her, deceiving her, planning on which way to drive the dagger into her spine.
There were so many other traits that disgusted her. Her tone, her sarcasm, her track record on missions, her lack of background information, her limited worldview, her obsession with cats, her narcissism, her odor, her accent, her creativity, her political views, her energy, her talent, her mindlessness, her cockiness, her deceptions, her eye color, her computers, her ruthlessness, her cunning; all of these traits and any more she could possibly imagine were crammed inside of one putrid, spiteful, worthless sack of human flesh and bone, and the very thought of having to stand beside her drove her to the brink of insanity.
And Sombra knew it, too. How could she not? With her persistent teasing and prodding, she seemed dedicated to pushing Widowmaker to the extreme, and worst of all, the hacker knew she could get away with it. Talon needed Sombra more than anyone else to achieve their goals, and that very idea made Widowmaker sick. She could not wait for their mission to be finished so that she could kill the woman and be done with her for good. She could not wait to place the reticle of her sniper rifle directly between those big, unassuming eyes, and launch a single bullet directly into her skull. She could not wait to hear her last gasps for breaths, and the squelch of blood flying from the gaping hole in her head. It was like a fantasy, though she would be hesitant to use a term with such romantic undertones. It was merely business, business that should have been conducted long ago. It was the only reasonable solution considering Sombra's own brutality, the same brutality she had been exposed to weeks prior when the hacker tortured Lena right in front of her.
Then, there was that woman again, prying into her mind. Lena. Lena Oxton. Tracer. Only Tracer. That was the only name that mattered. Lena Oxton was a memory; no, a fragment of a memory from an irrelevant life. There was no need to keep the concept of Lena Oxton alive. It would only bring compassion and empathy, and those were thoughts she could not afford to have. It needed to be Tracer, the cursed speedster who always got in her way. That girl needed to be remembered as distrustful, not kind, troublesome while not passionate, annoying while not clever. She wasn't a human, she was a target. Not that being a human mattered regardless. She wanted Tracer dead. Tracer was the enemy, and she needed to kill her. It was good then that Sombra hurt her. She deserved to be hurt. She deserved to die.
Right?
Her face when she died for the first time. That blank expression as her torso was blown to pieces. That hollow look in her eyes as her blood poured out of her, flowing freely like the sea. That final, fleeting moment of shock before she accepted her end. And then the terror in her eyes as she was brought back, and the haunting realization that she would have to endure it all over again. It was never supposed to be like that. When Sombra told her about what she did after, leaving Tracer stranded within a single moment of time indefinitely, laughing about how the woman was driven to insanity by her actions, she knew that she should have been satisfied, but instead she felt like she had been punched in the gut. Everything felt wrong, and she did not understand why. She was designed to be coldblooded, emotionless, and yet all she could do was picture the woman she wanted nothing more than to hate screaming and crying in an abandoned alleyway, begging for death. And she felt sorry for her.
Widowmaker sat up on her bed. She needed to fix this, this horrible thing that was wrong with her. It was Sombra. That was the only explanation. Ever since that woman came into her life, she was constantly confused and irritated. To cure the symptom, she had to eliminate the cause. She grabbed her helmet from its resting place beside her and picked up her rifle, storming angrily out of her room. Knowing Talon headquarters like the back of her hand, she snaked around the compound, marching through the darkness without hesitation. She passed a few guards on patrol, and each quickly looked away, avoiding the eye contact that would certainly incur wrath upon them. Her target: the weapons storage on the ground floor of the base. A five-minute walk, though each step felt like it took an eternity. When she finally arrived, she found two guards standing watch outside, lost in casual conversation as she approached.
"There's no way that'll end well for you," one guard said with a sigh.
"You really don't think I have a chance?" the other asked with waning enthusiasm.
"Sombra is so far above your league, she might as well be in outer space," stated the first guard. "Seriously, have you even seen her? Beautiful, talented, and smart, above all else. You don't deserve to walk the same planet as her."
"I get that, but still, that's pretty mean—Oh, ma'am! We didn't see you there," the guard said with surprise, snapping to attention. Widowmaker scowled as she walked past.
"Is he in here?"
"Yes, ma'am. Of course, ma'am," the guard said nervously.
"Good. I won't be long. And shut up," Widowmaker ordered. Pushing open the door to the weapon locker, she took a second to marvel at the wide arrange of guns and artillery at Talon's disposal. And endless deposit of rifles hung from the walls before her, with crates and crates of ammunition lying beneath them. She refocused, and moved deeper into the locker. She wasn't there for any of the guns. Instead, she was there for the hooded figure huddled in the back, dark smoke pouring from underneath his cloak as he tinkered with a pair of twin shotguns alone.
"Reaper, we need to talk," Widowmaker declared, stopping several feet behind him and placing her hand on her hip.
"Can't talk now. Busy," Reaper growled, his broken voice laced with discontent. He kept his back to her as he talked, focusing on his work.
"It's important," she said. "I want to get your opinion for something."
"My opinion? Can't this wait until morning?"
"No, it cannot," Widowmaker said sternly. "What do you think of the hacker?"
"What, Sombra? I like her. She's helping us take out our enemies."
"I know that," Widowmaker groaned, "but what do you think of her beyond that?"
"She's a smart girl. Talented. Useful to have around. And when we have no one left to interfere with us, she'll be one of the main reasons why."
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. See, I'm not sure if Sombra is really somebody that we can trust."
"Of course, we can trust her. She's been helping us for weeks."
"Yes, but why? Something doesn't seem right about her. I mean, let us think about this. Sombra comes to us with an idea of how to take out Overwatch. We follow her instructions to the letter without asking why, and in the end, she builds us a bomb that only she has the power to detonate, triggering a power that only she knows how to activate. Doesn't that sound the least bit suspicious to you?"
"When you put it like that, yes," Reaper admitted. "You're missing one important factor: Overwatch dies. Our enemies fall. Talon will go unopposed. That's what matters most."
"But what if she turns on us?" Widowmaker claimed. "Once she infects the rest of Overwatch, she will be able to use them to do anything we want, and we will be powerless to stop her. We let her take full control of this operation without installing a failsafe."
"We are the failsafe, Widowmaker," Reaper stated. "If something goes wrong, we can take care of it."
"If something goes wrong," she noted, crossing her arms. "Here is what I am suggesting: Sombra has already done her part of the mission. We should take her out now, when she least suspects it. Strike while the iron is hot. We can reverse engineer her technology after she is gone, and control it for ourselves. Take out the middle man, so to speak. Then, you and I can—"
"Out of the question," Reaper said hastily. "We are not betraying Sombra just because you have trust issues."
"Trust issues?" Widowmaker said with disgust. "Do you honestly think I am the one with trust issues."
"Well, Sombra has not done anything to betray us yet, unlike you. You were the one who left her alone with that Overwatch agent in New York, after all."
"What?" Widowmaker cried in protest. "Are you seriously going to blame me for that?"
"Yes, I am," he said calmly. "You allowed yourself to get captured, and after Sombra rescued you, you left her with an Overwatch agent."
"She had the situation under control."
"Is that why she nearly ended up with a broken nose? Face it, Widowmaker: The only one here that is a danger to the mission is you."
Widowmaker groaned in frustration. "I cannot believe you! After everything I have done for Talon, you have the nerve to take her side in things. I am ashamed of you, Reaper. If you are unwilling to deal with this problem head-on, then I will have to take care of it myself."
The assassin turned away, when Reaper called out to her. "You're making a mistake, Amélie."
"Don't call me that," she snarled, shoving her way out of the weapon locker. Her fists were clenched tightly, and a dull throbbing made its way through her temple. She could not believe his nerve. She had always trusted Reaper's opinion, and yet the fact that he could be so blind as to what was going on infuriated her beyond belief. She marched past the guards, who had resumed their horribly cliché conversation. Widowmaker only heard it passively as she hurried back to her room to mull over the recent events.
"You are absolutely hopeless," laughed one guard.
"Yeah, well you'll see. The next time I see Sombra, I'm going to tell her exactly how I feel," replied the other guard.
"Oh, give me a break," chastised the first. "Like you honestly have a chance with our goddess."
And then, Widowmaker stopped dead in her tracks. Suddenly, the room went quiet; even the persistent ambient noise that maddened her earlier in the night seemed to come to a standstill. Her fingers twitched beside her waist, flickering towards the gun strapped to her back, as she waited in the silence. She peered out of the back of her eye at the pair of guards, who had also frozen in place, petrified by their own words. She had caught them in a slip of the tongue, and as the revelation slowly hit her, she began to scan her environment more thoroughly. It was only then that she noticed the abundance of shadows around her, and the pervasive stillness of the incoming attack, and the sense of dread that came when one was being watched. She was never supposed to notice these things, but how could she not upon hearing those words, two words that relished in one woman's egomania.
Our goddess: two words that no one would ever say about such a vile creature. Unless someone else put the words in their mouths.
Widowmaker spun towards the guards quickly as the rushed her. She reacted quickly, stopping the first attacker with a heel kick to the face. The next went for her exposed leg, but she swung her foot back around and knocked it into the back of his head, sending him crashing to the floor. Before she could react, the other guards swarmed from the shadows like a nest of hornets. She pulled out her rifle, turned to the darkness and planted herself on one knee, spraying violently into the descending mass of darkness from above and away. Numerous guards fell, but soon their numbers go the better of her. Her clip emptied before she could even make a dent. In a panic, she began to sprint towards a distant opening, but before she could move, a heavy object collided with the base of her neck, and she fell to her knees. She breathed heavily, trying to regain her balance, when she heard the loud click of a shotgun being cocked just behind the base of her skull.
"I told you that you were making a mistake."
Widowmaker said nothing to the distinct growl. She could not say anything, for she did not understand. Even as the remaining dozens of Talon guards surrounded her, and took aim at her, she did not understand why anything was happening. Even as she dropped her gun in surrender, and was forced onto her hands by the man she once considered a comrade, she did not understand why. But soon, the need to understand went away, as a twisted, high-pitched cackle filled the air.
"Man… you guys are good," the voice jeered. Widowmaker could not see its source with her eyes locked to the floor, but as she heard the metallic clank of footsteps grow closer, her heart began to race, something it had not done in a very long time. "I mean, what was that? Thirty seconds, at most? And here I thought you might not even be able to capture her."
Widowmaker examined her options. She was surrounded. One false move, and they would destroy her without a second thought. The rest of her equipment was still in her room, and with Reaper standing so close…
She was brought back to reality as a glowing blue boot appeared in front of her, and placed itself beneath her chin, forcing her gaze upwards. Sombra stood triumphantly, a big, childlike grin plastered across her face.
"Now, this, on the other hand… this is just embarrassing," she moaned. "All I ever heard about you was that you were the world's greatest assassin, but when I finally put you to the test, you get beaten by no more than…" She quietly began counting the number of guards. "A whole bunch of talentless losers! I really expected better."
"What did you do to them?" Widowmaker muttered. Sombra feigned surprise, placing a single hand to her lips.
"Wha—me?" she asked timidly. The façade only lasted a moment before she burst into snickers. "It's pretty obvious, right? I noticed that most members of Talon had pretty thick skulls as it was, so I decided that I might as well fix them so they would be more useful."
"How long?"
"Right after the incursion into New York," Sombra explained. "I had to wait until the formula was just right before taking the risk on your own men. The last thing I wanted was for you to find out early and ruin the surprise. Speaking of which: Surprise!"
Without warning, Sombra drew her foot back, and launched it at Widowmaker's nose. The assassin gasped as the metal struck her, and she fell onto her stomach, coughing and sputtering while Sombra laughed.
"Mmm, payback is a real bitch, isn't it?" Sombra teased.
Widowmaker grunted. "And Reaper… you infected him, too?"
Sombra sighed, sauntering over to her cloaked companion, and playfully wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He did not react, keeping his aim focused on the wounded assassin in front of him.
"No, I didn't infect Reapy here until yesterday," she stated. "It took a while to modify my creation to keep up with his deteriorating cells. But if you ask me, I think the end result turned out spectacularly. Right, Reaper?"
"Yes, Sombra," Reaper growled. Sombra patted him on the head like an obedient pup, before kicking Widowmaker in the ribs for good measure.
"Why… why are you doing this?" Widowmaker grunted, fighting past the pain shooting through her system. "Talon was good to you. We gave you resources, technology, everything you asked for. And after all that you betray us for Overwatch."
Sombra rolled her eyes. "Oh, dear lord, you still don't get it, chica? Is your mind really so limited that you can't think of anything more than Overwatch and Talon? Let me spell it out very plainly for you: I do not give a fuck about either of you. As far as I am concerned, Talon and Overwatch are two sides of the same coin; a filthy, useless coin that needs to be buried as deep as humanly possible. I am interested in fighting something much bigger."
"What, the powers that control the world? The corporations? The wealthy? We could have helped you."
"I don't need your help, nor do I want it. I want to see the entire system brought to its knees. You? You would have just conquered it for yourselves. That's what people like you always do. No, we need to start over from scratch, without any vestiges from the old, corrupt world."
"So, what's your plan?" asked Widowmaker. "Gain control of the members of Overwatch and Talon, and use the as your own personal army against the world?"
Sombra giggled. "You think much too small, Widow! Let me ask you a question: At any time during human history, as a forcefully militant uprising ever led to a lasting, peaceful government? Of course not. History merely views those men as aggressors. No, the revolution I want—the revolution this world needs—is a revolution of the people. The only problem is that… well, people aren't smart enough or willing enough to have a revolution of their own. But with the proper nudge—"
"You can't possibly be serious," Widowmaker exclaimed. "Any attempted coup on that big of a scale would require millions, if not billions of people."
"Then I guess it might take a while," Sombra continued proudly, "but we'll start small, and work our way up. Freedom from tyranny is worth any cost. Perhaps we'll begin by targeting a nice big city. I've always wanted to go to London."
"You call it freedom from tyranny," Widowmaker growled, "yet all I see is one vain woman making herself the queen of the human race."
"I'll free them all from my control eventually," Sombra said halfheartedly. "It's a necessary evil, but one day, we will look back at this moment and realize the sacrifice that we all had to make."
"You're insane," Widowmaker cursed. Sombra bent over, and grinned.
"That's not very nice," Sombra said happily. "We'll have to fix that."
Before Widowmaker could react, Sombra shot her hand forward, and a toxic-smelling violet gas emerged from her finger tips. Widowmaker tried to cover her face, but it was too late. Within seconds she began to violently cough, and she slammed her head against the floor, as the gas rushed through her body, flooding every system, every vessel inside of her. Sombra beamed as her greatest rival let out a pained cry, and shuddered against the cold concrete. The other soldiers kept their guns locked on her, but Sombra was unafraid, leaning in close to savor the moment.
After a few seconds, Widowmaker suddenly became very still, and began to regain her composure. Sombra grabbed the assassin by the cheeks, and pulled her face upwards. Her eyes were dead and far away.
"So, what do you have to say now?" Sombra asked politely. Widowmaker's face was blank. Her arms were numb. And yet despite the feeling that something was wrong, she felt incredibly happy to see Sombra's face.
"Nothing, goddess," she said quietly. "Nothing at all."