Widowmaker x OC

The Assasin

       The woman ran through the night, the cold air surrounding her. In her arms, she carried her only child, the poor thing shivering from the cold. As she neared her destination, the child began to cry, wanting to be fed. The mother tried to calm her beloved child down, lulling her baby to sleep again. Finally, she reached the orphanage. Turning her child around to face her, she gently placed a necklace around it's neck. She kissed her child on the forhead, then set him on the ground. After knocking twice on the door, she quickly hide behind a stone collum, watching to confirm that her son was safely brought inside. A light flickered on, then the door opened. A woman in her mid-thirties emerged, looking down and gasping at the sight of the baby. She picked him up, scanning the street for any sign of the person who brought him here. After a few moments, she carried him inside. The mother breathed a sigh of relief, both heartbroken and relieved by her decision. With that, she ran off into the night, disappearing into the darkness. 

       Amélie Lacroix stood over the city, her signature weapon locked and sighted on her target. She took a few deep breaths, poised her finger over the trigger, and squeezed. The bullet flew through the air, embedding itself in the heart of her victim. Several people screamed, a few looking for the source of the shot. But by then, the killer had vanished. To the world, she was known as Widowmaker. Suitable name for the assasin. It's said that she used to have a fear of spiders, that they were emotionless, their hearts never beat. She used her childhood fear as her call sign, those who saw it rooted in fear of the dark assasin.

       As she returned from another successful hunt, she landed her jet by the base, opening the ramp as she did. A tall figure stood inside when Widowmaker entered. 

       "Reaper. I'm surprised to see you here. What's going on?" she said. Her accent was French, her words as precise as her aim. The figure chuckled. 

       "Good to see you as well, Widowmaker. I have a favor to ask of you," Reaper explained. Widowmaker raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as Reaper led the way into the kitchen area of the base. It was fairly sized, not fancy but not small either. Reaper turned to face his acquaintance. "I'll get to the point. I was hoping you could take care of a boy who's father and mother were both killed. How and why are unknown, however I knew them both very well and I wish for him to be raised away from here. I couldn't think of anyone that had a place more out of the way and off the map than you." 

       "No way, Reaper. I am not a babysitter, and I am not a parent. He'll be fine," Widowmaker replied. There was no way that she would be taking of a boy being that she was an assasin. Reaper, sighed in frustration. 

       "Widowmaker, I understand how you feel. But he needs this. I can't let the boy be raised by idiots like the foster system. Plus, he could be useful. Train him for a job. Please, Widowmaker. I'm asking you this one time for your help." The voice Reaper used was rare, so rare that Widowmaker had only once before heard it. The assasin groaned.

       "How old is he?"

       "Fifteen, almost sixteen."

       "Fine. I'll do it. How will he get to me?"

       "Next week, I'll bring him back here. He'll have everything he needs with him. Thank you, Amélie." With that, Reaper left. Widowmaker was left with her thoughts, wondering why she had agreed to this.