Ce Monde est Nôtre

amelie

She was going back to Kings Row.

Not for the same reason as last time, to her misfortune, however. After Widowmaker's successful assassination, she had caused a wave of hysteria to overcome the small group of streets outside of London. While she thought of this event fondly, a small meeting with a group of officials told her that hysteria was turning back into hope. The protests that had risen with Mondatta's own rise were back to honor the life of the omnic after his inevitable fall; They had only died out for a little bit. Widowmaker was tasked with controlling such hope with whatever means necessary. Crowd control, if you will.

She received her rifle and her visor, along with new additions -- a buttoned plum overcoat to go over her uniform and a cowl that covered her inhuman yellow eyes and corpse-like complexion -- and boarded a craft to London without second thought. Not even a look back at the compound (even if she could). No other agents of her caliber joined her, but various foot soldiers and mercenaries were littered around her. She genuinely could not tell if their faces were hidden under masks or cowls or she could not process them. Widowmaker resisted the urge to rub her eyes and adjust.

Boarding the plane had been a hassle as always, since her vitals had to be checked again and then escorted through a dark passage way. She was not allowed to look outside one in fear she may recognize her location, though even if she could see, recognition would be slim. She could barely remember anything except her own name and how to tie her hair into a ponytail. Widowmaker mentally allowed herself to roll her eyes. Not like she would even want to leave this hell. It was hell, but it was what she was made for. Literally.

Widowmaker could, however, recall the air outside of the compound. Foot soldiers clad in grey and purple surrounded her vision and blocked any view of where she may be, but the air was warm and humid. Perhaps to others, it was stuffy and suffocating, but a breath outside of stale chemical walls was like a blessing upon her overworked lungs. The sky was blue, the sun was white-hot and glaring upon Widowmaker, no clouds to block the white arms grabbing at her hair or pulling on her eyelids. She still felt cold, she always did, but maybe in this moment, she wasn't as cold. She felt awake for the first time in what seemed like decades. It was nice. To put it lightly.

Yet, as soon as that warmth graced her, Widowmaker was cold again, miles above the ground. The coat given to her did little to brace the massive window to the hangar, where she would jump. She stood fearlessly above it, the tips of her prosthetics over the edge of the craft, watching the world underneath her go by.

The craft, a massive ship that could hold many of herself, was most definitely stolen technology. They had been flying for no more than ten minutes at most, but London was now beneath Widowmaker's very feet and she assumed they had been fairly far away. The soldiers said the craft teleported, but scientists scolded them. It was much more complicated than that: the craft did not just move from one place to another, it sped up time, for itself and those on it only. Widowmaker grimaced. This craft was stolen plans from a functioning version of the technology from Overwatch. The same organization that killed someone trying to test out this very same technology.

Widowmaker wished they'd killed her at least.

It would make her job, perhaps even this job somewhat easier. The nameless girl she'd encountered agonizing many times was probably still skulking around there. Or maybe Widowmaker had actually gotten lucky and killed her that time; She had hit the wall pretty hard. Yet she knew she hadn't, the girl was like a cockroach. Widowmaker gripped the hilt of her rifle tighter. She promised herself she'd remember the girl's face as she rammed her rifle down her throat.

-

The sun was still up when Widowmaker arrived above Kings Row, yet the neon glow of the ever bright city was just as strong as it was when it was pitch black. She passively glanced at the building where Mondatta's corpse once lay, one of her bullets buried beneath his circuits. She smiled.

The smile fell when her eyes met a statue, tall and golden, of the omnic himself. The statue felt like a mockery of WIdowmaker's most fine work, erected to shame everything she had worked so hard to accomplish. She twitched. That would change today. She would let these people know just who dictated their life, just like they dictated her own. She leaped from the craft.

The wind was rough and violent, loosening her ponytail and pushing stray cerulean strands into her eyes. She lowered her visor to keep her sight clear. The ground rushed into her vision quickly, buildings and pavement and people coming in at all directions through her visor. For a moment, a single moment, she almost didn't raise her gauntlet to unleash her grappling hook. She almost closed her eyes and stopped moving.

Widowmaker nearly scoffed, mid skydive. Only, that would've let cold, hard air into her lungs and that would kill her instantly. That, or crashing face first into pavement from miles into the sky. She shot her grappling hook into a hidden building and was quickly pulled in the direction it went before any civilians would notice her. Using the force of the push, she pulled herself up and onto the building with a quick dive and roll. Then she was still. Unlocking her visor, Wdowmaker removed it for a moment to redo her ponytail and comb the flyaways out of her face. She sighed softly, checking her surroundings and shaking off the dread from the feeling she had not so long ago. This off day would be her downfall, she thought quickly, then immediately killed the thought.

This was Kings Row, alright. People mulled around, a dull chatter barely audible from Widowmaker's stance on higher ground. She steadied her rifle, clicking on the sight and peering through it, stalking each civilian to find her prey. Who was to be first in Widowmaker's revenge? Who would pay for thinking they could disrespect Talon...

A footstep sounded from behind her, one that made no attempt to silence itself or hide its tracks. Widowmaker swiveled fast, cocking the rifle to shoot at whoever dared to interrupt her.

The nose of her rifle met a pair of two matching pistols and another pair of irritating brown eyes.