London suburbs, the 'Pink Pitcher Pub', four days later, 2315 hours.
Yet again Lena found herself staring at brown liquid, swinging back and forth softly with the gentle move of her hands. She wasted a quick thought about her recent drinking behavior, but reasoned that today was different from last time. When Lena had taken a small vacation from her duties at Overwatch to spend some time at home again, she hoped it would maybe help her figure something out concerning her dangerous affection towards a certain Talon assassin. She certainly didn't expect to end up in her favorite pub, leaning against the bar.
Everything had started so great. Tracer had talked to Winston the day she left from Gibraltar, asking him if they had any files on the hitman responsible for the assassination at King's Row. Winston, being who he is, didn't take long to find the answer: They, of course, had plenty of data. So much in fact that Winston needed some time to put everything together for Lena. The smart gorilla told his most trusted agent he'd send her an encrypted file to her private terminal. Much to Lena's delight, he didn't get suspicious, nor did he ask any dangerous questions. She supposed Winston was thinking she may be reading up on the opponent who kept slipping through her fingers. Usually Oxton was very meticulous when it came to her duties, so Winston didn't think anything of it.
It took him two days to compile all the data they had on Widowmaker and send it to Lena via secure channels.
Eagerly awaiting the files, Lena darted for the material. Oxton had been reading these past few days and hadn't even begun to scratch the surface of what Overwatch knew of Widowmaker.
Widowmaker. It obviously wasn't her real name.
Amélie Lacroix was how the gorgeous assassin used to be called, back when she was still normal. Back in a time, when Talon hadn't gotten the French woman in her claws yet.
At least Lena now had a real name, something she could call her, not just a hollow, meaningless call sign.
Amélie. Such a beautiful name.
Apart from the woman itself, her name, unfortunately, was the only beautiful thing Lena found in Amélie's file. What those monsters -there was no other way to call them- at Talon did to that poor woman was causing Tracer to doubt that there ever was any good in humanity.
Amélie used to be married to a guy named Gérard Lacroix, one of the founding members of Overwatch. He was the most successful agent, completely focused on hunting down every single last agent of Talon. He fought fervently to bring the organization down.
Obviously he was a huge thorn in Talon's side. They tried to kill him multiple times on just as many different occasions and with even more varied methods. But they never succeeded. He was just too good for them. Too careful, too foreseeing, and also too well equipped. Overwatch was still active and running at the time.
Nonetheless, Talon was determined to see him dead. One day, someone apparently came up with the bright idea that it was far easier to focus their attention on Gérard's innocent wife instead of the man himself. Being the cowards they are, Talon waited until Gérard was out of town for a mission, before they charged his home with their soldiers, violently abducting his unsuspecting wife from right out of their living room. She had been enjoying a book her husband bought her, waiting for him to come back home. Her life turned from peace and quiet to living hell in an instant.
Once Talon had Amélie, they didn't use her as leverage, like any 'normal' terror organization would have done. That would have been too easy now, wouldn't it? Those sick bastards had nothing better to do other than completely break poor Amélie's mind into a thousand shards. Tracer skipped the details of the report at words like neuro-surgical chemical reconstruction, controlled physical exertion of influence and enforced negative behavior electric reconditioning.
Fancy words for cruel practices like drugs, brutal beatings and torture.
Amélie was a simple woman, a loving housewife, and a caring friend. She surely was no special operations agent like her husband had been. She hadn't been trained in advanced counter-interrogation techniques, or even basic ones for that matter, nor was she taught how to shield her mind against involuntary invasion.
Withstanding what Talon did to her was impossible. Amélie had lost that game before it had even begun. Hell, she was just a normal girl, enjoying a normal life with the man she loved, just like it should have been. Chances were she didn't even know what her husband really did for a living.
Naturally, her mind broke in a matter of hours. Talon purposely tore it down with brute force to create a new, blank piece of paper where they could write whatever they wanted. After some intense brainwashing, Talon turned Amélie into a sleeper. By that time, she already was hardly more than an empty hull devoid of anything which might have been reminiscent of a soul. Her whole personality was a mere facade, a play, and nothing more. The true Amélie was already gone, fragmented into a thousand pieces and lost in the darkest corners of her mind.
Talon later let information leak to Overwatch concerning Amélie's location. Obviously her husband came charging in with the heavy cavalry, busting her out in one swift strike.
That had been a terrible mistake for him. The work Talon did on Amélie's brain was well hidden. Her physical and psychological examination showed no conspicuous results. Apart from some bruises thanks to the beatings, Amélie seemed to be in perfect health. She was cleared to return to her normal life after a couple of weeks in the infirmary.
The first few days back at home had been completely normal; Amélie was just the way she used to be before her violent abduction. She did her share of the housework, prepared dinner when Gérard returned home late from work, and laughed with her husband, just like any other wife would.
But one night a few more days later, her secret programming was triggered by an unknown stimulus. She woke up from her conjugal bed, stood up, went into the kitchen like a trained dog, grabbed a knife, and then returned to the bedroom. She didn't even hesitate as she sliced her husband's throat in his sleep. After she met the requirements of her programming, Amélie returned to Talon, just like she was instructed to do.
Her whole personality was reconstructed from that point onward. Not only that…
Lena almost stopped reading at that point, the things she had read made her not only sick, but they made her furious. Had Oxton known what else was hidden deep inside the files, she might really have called it a day. Yet she didn't. Her natural curiosity be damned.
There also were some videos in the data-package Winston had sent her, material the master ninja Genji managed to procure on a secret spy mission at Talon HQ. He lifted a ridiculous amount of information on that mission all without Talon ever noticing. It was completely unfiltered and absolutely random, yet highly useful for the most part. Among the stuff he pinched were the video logs of what happened to Amélie both before and after she had returned to Talon.
The first one Tracer opened randomly showed one of the first brainwashing sessions, which in itself was hard to stomach. The initial frame alone was enough for Tracer to feel the urge to close the video file again, but she forced herself to continue. It showed Amélie completely naked, tied to a cold and worn down metal chair inside a dark room. Rusty metal walls gave the impression of an abandoned dockyard, and the water dripping down from the ceiling onto the dirty floor created an annoying sound in the ears.
Amélie`s eyes were wide open in sheer terror as she tried to comprehend her situation. The color of her skin had been completely normal back then, apart from the black eye on her left and a heavily bruised arm. She gave the impression that she'd fall from the simple rusty chair any second if she wasn't held in place by tightly bound leather straps. Just like a mad cow, merely watching this felt disgusting on a level Lena didn't even know existed. The video showed Amélie breathing heavily while a fine line of dark red blood was slowly running down her neck and over her bare chest. Dozens of cables were stuck inside her head, and a tube of some strange bubbly green liquid was hooked up to the vein on her neck.
"Who are you?" An interrogator in black uniform asked, absolutely cold and without any emotion, his voice loud and commanding.
Amélie was obviously both having difficulty to breath as well as coming up with an answer. "Amélie Lacroix" she replied with a trembling voice, lacking a better reply. She had no idea how long she had been sitting in that chair, or what the correct answer was supposed to be. Her name obviously wasn't the right one. Like all those innumerable times before, a high current rushed through her, making her tortured body twitch and jerk, while she screamed at the top of her lungs. The interrogator had a disgusting smile on his face. Apparently he found quite some enjoyment in doing that to a completely innocent girl.
"There is no Amélie Lacroix. She doesn't exist." He slammed his fist hard into her stomach, causing Amélie to cough up blood "Who are you?" the interrogator asked again.
"W-What do you want to... hear?" she tried in pain and scared out of her mind, before yet another high current made her scream in agonizing pain.
"Straight answers, you useless piece of shit!" he hissed, slapping her hard straight across the face with the back of his hand. He did have quite a few rings on his fingers.
Tracer had made it exactly two minutes into the four hour video before she had to switch it off. What she saw was too much for her to stomach. Ignoring the nasty taste in her mouth and the disquieting feeling in her stomach, Lena Bravely tried one more file. Unsurprisingly that one wasn't a lot better either. Quite the contrary.
The second video showed the recording of the first surgical intervention with the intention of altering Amélie's body.
The poor woman was tied to a metal plate, her face down to the hard surface, while six thin robotic arms cut her back open. The device reminded Lena of a creepy mechanical spider hanging from the ceiling with surgical instruments at the end of each leg.
Apparently no one bothered sedating Amélie, because she screamed a heartbreaking cry for help and tried to jerk out of the way, but was firmly held in place by her manacles. Lena had to watch as two cold robotic arms cut down Amélie's spine before violently tearing the flesh apart. Her whole vertebrae was completely exposed in the process, while the other four arms started cutting at different places on her body, placing horrible looking implants into her spinal cord…among other places. Amélie started blabbering incoherent words in between her screams as the first implant was brutally screwed in place at the base of her head before the poor girl finally fainted.
By the time Lena reached that point in the video, she was pale as ash. There was a moment where she actually thought she might be able to keep the content of her stomach inside herself. But then Amélie was lifted off the operation table by more mechanical arms. She was repositioned, her limp body like a dead pig in an automated slaughterhouse. Lena couldn't hold it any longer. She jerked off her chair, grabbed the paper-bin under the desk, and violently puked her entire breakfast into the bucket. Feeling like hurling her guts out, she coughed uncontrollably until tears were flowing down her cheeks from the lack of oxygen.
How completely sick can you really be? How are there humans on this planet who want to do what they did to Amélie?! Why did scientists and doctors exist who were so keen on their research that they completely forgot what they were doing to those subjected to their ideas!? How in the name of the seven hells could anyone look at that video and legitimately think: that was a good idea, we definitely should continue doing stuff like this to that innocent girl, it seems to be exactly what's right for her.
What the fuck!? How... and.. why?!
Lena was short of breath. She couldn't stand watching that testimony of human madness for another second. She needed to get outside. Her apartment was feeling like it could suffocate her any second.
So she hastily shut her terminal off, grabbed a jacket and headed for the pub, just to socialize a little bit.
No. That was a lie.
Just to buy a drink and wash that disgusting taste out of her mouth as well as wipe away some very bad memories. Maybe it would work today.
Also, it did seem rather appealing to be among people who most likely wouldn't come up with the idea of cutting an innocent woman open and stuffing a plethora of experimental tech inside her body with the desire of turning her into a walking weapon-platform.
Tracer needed to be among rudimentary normal people now, so she hurried down the road and toward the 'Pink Pitcher Pub', starting to feel more and more alive the closer she got to her destination. She pushed the old wooden front door out of her way and headed straight for the bar.
The pub was ancient, and it showed in the interior. Dark woods were predominant, and the light was warm but not really all too powerful, however cliché that might have been. The 'Pink Pitcher Pub' was your typical English pub, just like from the movies. Loud and rough, but with a lot of charm. The public room wasn't overly large, but not downright tiny either. Just big enough to feel comfortable and familiar while maintaining privacy.
Tracer loved this pub, and not for the fact that it was a gay-bar. Sure, that was a bonus, since she wouldn't have to explain to every guy hitting on her that she wasn't into males at all. Having to do that usually was a huge pain in her butt, some guys were just unwilling to even try and understand. It was a lot easier when Angela was with her. Lena could then just point at her blonde friend and tell the guys that the Swiss woman wasn't into girls and that they might want to try their luck with her instead. It usually worked.
But Angela wasn't here today, so the 'Pink Pitcher Pub' was Lena's first and only choice. It also was very close to her apartment, making the drunk walk of shame back home not overly unbearable; not that Lena had to do something like that too often.
Lena let her body slide on one of the dark wooden bar stools as she knocked on the counter two times like it was a door of sorts. As intended the barkeeper acknowledged Oxton's presence immediately.
"Dirk, luv! Good evening," Lena said, forcing a smile on her lips. She wasn't yet in a legitimately good mood. She however came to this place to fix that issue, after all. Behind the counter Dirk, the 6' 88" Senegalese bar owner, had been watching Lena approaching him from the moment she entered his trusty tavern.
"Evening, Lena." Dirk murmured as a grumpy reply. The owner of the 'Pink Pitcher Pub' was an interesting person. He fled his homeland when he was four years old with his parents during the Iislamist crisis in the middle east, before he came to Austria. His parents died shortly after from sickness, and Dirk was adopted into an Austrian family. Hence his name. He stayed there with his new family for many long years, until the breakdown of the European Union. His adoptive parents soon also long dead and having saved quite a bit of money, Dirk decided to open a pub in good old Great Britain. The old man had quite some stories to tell, but the funniest of them all was, how he decided to open a gay -bar in London. Why was that funny? Well, Dirk wasn't gay in the slightest.
"You look like-" he started, but was cut off by Lena.
"Luv, if you dare to tell me I look like shit now, I'll do unspeakable things to you." she said with a one sided smirk on her lips. Simply being in the pub made her feel better already. An old rock song was playing in the background, and everything around Lena made her almost forget the pictures she had seen on her terminal just before. She'd never be able to look at Widowm- Amélie in the same way as before. Lena wasn't even sure if she'd have the heart to fight the woman again or if she'd instead go for a long hug. The thought of Amélie's possible reaction to such a bold action brought a bemused, fond smile on Tracer's lips.
"I wanted to say you look dazzling. What do you think of me?" Dirk replied, shaking his head. "What can I get you?"
Lena gestured the approximate size of a glass.
"It's served in a tumbler of approximately this size and contains brown liquid." she said flatly. Since neither beer nor wine were particularly her thing, and she had way too much self esteem for colorful cocktails, there really was only one choice for Tracer.
"Scotch?" Dirk stated more than he asked.
"On the rocks. And don't give me that cheap shit again, luv. Do me the favor." Lena said, blinking cutely at Dirk who just sighed.
"Coming right up." he replied. Lena was a good customer and a dear friend, so of course she'd get the good stuff.
It didn't take long, before a glass of Scotch appeared in front of Lena's eyes.
"Thanks luv." She smiled. "Put it on my tab, would you?"
"Already done." Dirk stated naturally, scratching his bald head, before adjusting his glasses. "Rough time at work again?" he asked.
"You have no idea." Lena huffed, resting her head on her hand while lazily moving the Whiskey in a circle on the counter.
"Want me to leave you alone for a bit?" Dirk asked.
"If you don't mind, luv. I need to sort some things out." Lena gave him a thankful smile, and the barkeep just nodded to before going to serve some other customers.
Just as promised, Lena was left alone, staring into her whiskey, like it miraculously contained all the answers her soul yearned for at the moment.
What the hell was she going to do? She already had that strange attraction towards Widowmaker when she still thought the assassin was evil, but now? Now her whole perspective had changed. Lena didn't only feel attraction, but almost an overwhelming urge to be at the golden eyed woman's side. Amélie committed none of Widowmaker's atrocities on her free will. The woman never wanted to become who she was now. She hadn't asked to become Talon's slave-assassin. She was forced to do all of this by a merciless, cruel organization, which didn't back off from reprogramming a living human girl to their specifications. Widowmaker had been the victim from day one, and no one bothered to do something about it.
Knowing this now, how was Lena supposed to legitimately face her in combat? Oxton couldn't fight Amélie with that knowledge, even if she wanted to. Widowmaker needed help and nothing else. She needed someone to bust her out of Talon's claws and offer her a normal life as well as, the chance to recover from what was done to her.
That realization didn't help Lena one bit. If anything, it increased her sympathy for the blue-skinned woman even more and far beyond simple curiosity. Should she ever have had any doubts about her drive to talk to Widowmaker, they were now gone for good. Tracer had to do something; not only for herself, but even more so for Amélie. Lena now had both reason as well as motivation to get involved, however stupid the idea might have seemed at first glance.
But how was Tracer supposed to approach the assassin? How should she let her rival know that Lena only wanted to help her and, that she didn't mean her harm? Surely holding a gun to her face wasn't the way to properly convey such a message, but unfortunately, it was just the way all of their encounters had looked like in the past.
Maybe ignore her backstory at first? Maybe just talk to her like Lena wanted to anyway? But that wasn't helpful, because Lena didn't have the first idea on how she'd do that either.
Back to square one, Lena sipped on her whiskey, the alcohol's warmth spreading nicely into her restless body.
How do you get someone who thinks you'd kill her, and who tries to kill you herself, to talk instead of shoot you?... Preferably peacefully?
Lena had no idea, and unfortunately, neither had her whiskey. Thus, she chugged the rest of the useless liquid down, angry at it for not talking to her. There had to be some way. For crying out loud, Lena was good with girls! It shouldn't have been that difficult to get Widowmaker to talk, dammit!
Maybe it wasn't all that difficult after all.? Maybe it was all just in Lena's head, because for the first time in forever someone actually seemed important enough for Tracer to actually try. Somehow this sudden thought felt strangely scary, but at the same time, it gave her hope. Maybe it was best to just run on autopilot? Not over thinking things and just doing them? Maybe Tracer's intention was a lot easier than she made it seem like to herself.?
Grit your teeth and get to it! Lena thought to herself. She could do this. There was a way; that she was certain of. And she would eventually find it.
"Uuhmm... excuse me?" a shy and silent voice asked from Lena's left. At first the Overwatch agent didn't realize someone was talking to her, until the voice continued. "Hello?"
Lena looked up from the now empty glass of whiskey to see a short, really skinny woman standing right next to her. She had long, fire red hair and lots of freckles, almost like Tracer herself. Deep green eyes sparkled from nervousness, and the shy smile on her lips was cute as hell.
"Sorry, luv." Lena replied with a giggle "I didn't realize you were talking to me." She said with an apologetic shrug.
The woman's face was lighting up like the sun in the morning. "No problem at all!" she exclaimed cheerfully, but still nervously played with her fingers.
"What can I do for you?" Lena asked with a warm smile on her lips. Somehow, sometime, somewhere during her musing about Widowmaker, she managed to forget something crucial.
Namely her current location.
Tracer was sitting in a gay-bar.
All by herself.
The obvious thought of what the redhead could possibly want from her, an attractive woman, sitting at the bar drinking with herself didn't even cross Lena's mind. This particular lack of attention might have been the fault of a certain French woman.
"I... uhhm, I kind of noticed you sitting here all alone and you... uuhm you seemed a little sad so I... I, uuhh I thought maybe you'd want some company and maybe-" She flutteringly cleared her throat "-maybe another whiskey? It'd be on me, I mean, if... if you want." The girl pressed out silently, her voice trembling with nervousness while her big green eyes were looking back and forth between Lena's face and her own shaky hands.
A moment passed, in which Lena Oxton seemed to be confused, before her eyebrows perked up for a moment as she understood what was going on.
The rattling of the penny dropping inside of Tracer's head was surely loud enough to hear it outside as well. She resisted the urge to face palm because of her own stupidity. Of course; how could Tracer miss that? A wide smile slowly spread over Lena's lips as she giggled adorably.
"Aww, you are a cute one, luv." She said, her words turning the poor girl's face almost as red as her hair. "I know it takes a lot of courage to walk up to a stranger and talk to her. You don't need to be so nervous!" Lena laughed heartily, catching the girls trembling fingers and clasping them with her hands.
Dirk walked by the two behind his counter, throwing a look in their direction.
"Careful Lena, she is going to faint soon." He mumbled, before walking off again with something he apparently needed to fetch.
Shaking her head Tracer continued "Ignore the old man." She said still smiling. "Tell me luv, what made you mack on me? There's a reason, innit?"
"You are so beautiful!" the redhead blurted out without any hesitation, before she seemed to realize what she just said, turning even redder. Realistically doing that should have been impossible, but apparently it really wasn't. The embarrassed reaction caused Lena yet again to laugh happily. This really was a cute one.
"Am I?" She asked teasingly and with a cheerful smile on her lips. "What's your name, luv?" Lena wanted to know.
"Rebecca. But everyone calls me Revy." The redhead replied, her cheeks so red and hot, you literally could have made bacon and eggs on them. She couldn't believe that she was actually doing this, talking to this beautiful woman! Never before was she able to work up the courage to do something like this! Maybe the barkeep was right, maybe she'd really faint soon. But Revy didn't care. She promised herself that tonight would be the night, when she'd finally build up all her courage and do it. That is, approach another woman and flirt with her. Since Revy was already at it, she decided to go all out and simply talk to the most beautiful, interesting woman in the bar... Not that there was anything simple to it for the redhead.
"Alright, Revy." Lena said warmly. "Look around you, ok? See how many girls are alone in this bar?" she asked. There, indeed, were quite a few women apparently alone, enjoying a beer or some wine.
"Y-yeah. Sure."
"Why did you choose me and not-" Lena searched for someone with some similarity to herself and luckily managed to find a brown haired woman, maybe a little older than Tracer, sitting by herself next to the window. "-her?" Lena guided Revy's attention toward the other nameless woman, who was enjoying a glass of red wine and a book.
"I... uhm... I don't know. I just kind of noticed you?" Revy said apparently very confused. She added "And she's reading" like an afterthought.
Lena tilted her head slightly to the left. Some part of her felt sorry for turning Revy down, simply because Tracer could tell how very new the redhead was to all of this. But it would have been completely unfair to get the girls hopes up. "Tell you what, luv, you should try your luck with her; not me. You are so cute and still so young. I'm really not who you need in that phase of your life right now" Lena said with the utmost seriousness in her voice.
It was the absolute truth; she actually might have turned Revy away even if there wasn't a certain assassin occupying her mind. Her line of work was sending her all over the world sometimes for months at a time and there was no guarantee that she'd come back. Someone like that was no one you wanted to be your first girlfriend. "Trust me when I say that I'm not good for you, innit right, Dirk?"
"Probably" the grumpy bartender replied with a shrug. He actually doubted that woman would be good for anyone in any kind of relationship. Take away her trademark orange ski-glasses and hide her time harness under her shirt and Lena Oxton looked like just another woman. But the truth couldn't have been more different from that impression.
"See?" Tracer smiled, before giving Revy a bold peck on her cheek while letting go of her hands. Revy was completely speechless and could only watch as Lena elegantly slid off her bar stool, before giving her a cheeky two fingered salute and a mischievous wink. "I'll head home now. Thanks for the Scotch, Dirk." Lena said as she left the bar "And good luck to you, Revy!"
There was a long pause in which Revy stared at the now closed front door, while Dirk began cleaning Lena's tumbler.
"You do know about Overwatch, don't you, girl?" Dirk asked a completely dumbstruck Revy. She only nodded. Her head felt like it was flying off south for the winter. She wondered who that woman was, because she felt like an addictive drug to her.
"Congratulations. You just had the honor of talking to the one and only Tracer"
Revy blinked a couple of times, the last word lingering in the air, like it was made out of smoke. It took some time, before the whole truth seeped down into her mind.
Tracer. I have been trying to hit on Tracer. THE Tracer...
The whole situation proofed too much for Revy's nervous mind to handle and process properly. Her shaky legs gave in while she passed out.
Dirk watched from behind his counter while Revy fell to the floor like a wet sack of potatoes. He noticed the wine-drinking, reading woman Tracer had mentioned before shot up from her place and hurried towards Revy. The girl was lying face first on the floor, seemingly dead.
"Jesus Lena, you are losing your touch" Dirk murmured to himself. Yet he supposed Revy wouldn't need to work up courage one more time today. The nameless woman with some rudimentary resemblance to Tracer seemed interested enough. All Revy had to do was faint. That surely was a first in all these decades Dirk had run the pub.
Meanwhile Oxton was standing just outside the 'Pink Pitcher Pub' taking a deep breath. Had Tracer been too cruel just now? Maybe she should just have told Revy that she was seeing someone else? But that wasn't the truth now, was it? And no matter how much Lena desired it, chances of her actually getting somewhere with Widowmaker were rather slim. Some might say even nonexistent. But then again, so were her chances of ever escaping her chronological disorder... which she managed to do as well.
Lena decided to go on a little walk before heading home. Getting some fresh air would surely be a good idea right now.
The entrance to the Pink Pitcher was right at a corner, so Lena didn't have to really turn one to walk down the alley to her left. She still didn't see into the street in which she turned into, however, which was why she crashed face first into someone coming out of that alley.
-/-
A/N:
So, another one down! I really hoped you enjoyed this episode of Addictions.
If you want to support the story with a donation go to Tipee com and search for E82. Or you use the link on my profile. I can't post it here, thank you FFN.
Special thanks to EhMattissimo for doing the amazing beta-reading work for this chapter! Dude, I cannot tell you how much you help me! My hero :D
Ladies and Gentlemen, you may head over to his profile and check him out if you want. Mattissimo is an excellent writer with one of the best Fate/Stay Night fics I have read so far. So if you feel like reading some awesome Fate stuff, I'm sure he is the place you should go to.
Anyway, that's it for today.
I'd really be glad if you'd give me some feedback. Positive and negative, whatever is on your mind, tell me. Don't hesitate, just hammer it down into the convenient little box down below :)
I'll see you guys in the next one
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