I'm several chapters ahead of what's posted, and that's really starting to bother me? So I'm going to be posting a little more often for a bit - maybe every four or five days instead of weekly. Not sure yet. We'll see. ^_^
"Even aside from her unique skills, she is quite pretty... and enthusiastic... I can see what you see in her." Oilliphéist smiled, gliding the tip of one blade along the unconscious Lena Oxton's neck.
Widowmaker could only glare, bound and gagged - not helpless, not for long, and her lover didn't pretend to think she was, but it would be a while, so the senior assassin glared, and glared hard, while working at her bonds, not even pretending not to.
"Oh, love, don't worry, I didn't lie to you - I really don't mind! In another world, another time, I could even see myself loving her, too... but... here, I'm afraid I don't." She looked up at her beloved, and grinned, broadly, an idea, "...at least, not as she is now. But we can bring her back with us!" she said, quickly. "It's not part of my mission, but I'm flexible, you know that - she could join us. With just a few changes, a few improvements - she could become one of us."
The ambush - Widowmaker didn't know how it was possible for anyone to be so fast. They'd met, at the pub, as planned, and she and Lena had it it off right away, surprising them both, surprising Widowmaker herself. Everything had felt so strangely... normal. It felt almost like being back on base, in the canteen, with Lena instead of Sombra, her sense of humour different, but not that different. Then, to Lena's apartment, for more explicit discussion, for discussions not meant for public spaces...
The gas that took down Lena, that, she understood. But the silent attack from behind - that mystified her, still. No whip of chain, none of the snap of Lena's teleporting, or hiss of Reaper's smoke - just zip, and a knockout blow before she could even turn.
The silver-eyed assassin had tilted her head, looking at the Overwatch agent. She could see it, now, the copper-eyed girl, with hair so blue as almost black, skin the colour of the deepest sky on the warmest day, teleporting, dancing with time, herding some targets in, finishing ones that somehow fell out of their sights - nothing could escape her. Nothing would escape them.
She reached down with her right hand, still smiling, gently cupping the Briton's cheek with her hand. "I know my weapons. She would be ... truly magnificent."
"Y'know the trouble with you, mate?" Tracer's eyes snapped open. "You talk too much." The teleporter teleported, and was all at once on the far side of the room, pistols out.
"Oh!" replied the newer assassin. "Did I misjudge the dose?" She sheathed her knives and flipped her rifle around, again impossibly fast, pointing it at the bound Widowmaker. "That's fine, we can play it this way, too."
"No!" Tracer didn't lower her guns, but didn't fire, either. "Don't you even think it!" Widowmaker tried, as hard as she could, to signal - She won't. Call her bluff. Call it. Please. - but that's so much to convey just with eyes and a nod.
"Oh, Lena, I don't want to, you know that! She's told you so much, I'm sure, and it's all true - it'd be like killing myself, and I love myself, I don't want to kill me, much less her. But I needed you to freeze, so I could talk to you, and she needs to come home, where she belongs. And she wants you so much, almost as much as she wants me, and... we can do that! I wasn't lying either, I'm more than happy to share, and the three of us on the field, her at distance, me at midrange, you close-in and melee - we'd be legendary."
I should just shoot her, the teleporter thought, but... dammit, Wids, you have the worst taste in women... sorta... c'mon, Lena, dig... "Take her back to Talon, to have everything she's achieved wiped away? Doesn't sound like much of a deal to me. And what happened to our little truce?"
"Wiped...? No!" She laughed. "Of course not. No, no, no, I couldn't stand for that, either, not for a moment!" She leaned over and gently kissed Widowmaker's forehead, as she struggled at her bonds. "Never, love. You have done so much for me, how could I even imagine betraying you? Never think that."
I believe you, the senior assassin realised, glancing up at her lover's eyes. I... do, and her struggles ceased, just for a moment, before she went back to it. But don't do this. Don't.
"As for the truce - I wanted to, I really did, but I have a mission. I can't... I can't not complete it. She has to come home."
Where the hell are you, cowboy?! Lena's eyes flicked to a small panel at the end of the hall. Purple. The silent alarm tripped, just gotta stall her, keep her talking... "If we take her back, they'll recondition her again. You have to know it. You saw it, with Amélie. You helped."
"I know - and look at who we made!" she said, gesturing proudly. "Don't you understand? Do you really think I'd let them wipe her out, let them wrap her back up inside herself, undo the unfolding I helped make happen? " The Irish dragon laughed. "Never."
Lena regarded the once-ginger assassin with confusion. She still has freckles, she noticed, distractedly. "And how, exactly, d'ya plan to stop 'em?" She swallowed. "Look, Emily, this doesn't have to go this way. Neither of you have to go back to Talon. She's not the only one we could give sanctuary."
Oilliphéist smirked, but even that was half a smile. How can she be so... happy about this? thought the teleporter, as the living weapon said, "Ooooh, I see - we aren't going back to Talon, you silly girl. We're going back to Moira, where she'll do more wonderful things for all of us! Then - only then - we'll take on Talon." The smirk in the smile vanished, her expression now pure and joyous. "And it'll be so much easier with a fourth weapon on our side..."
This is a... recruitment pitch? Tracer shook her head, just a little. "You're... trying to sell me on the idea that you're trying to take down Talon, and... you want my help?"
"Take down? No, no. Take over. Different."
"Why should I take sides in some bloody Talon civil war?"
"Because Akande wants to start a second Omnic crisis to 'test' humanity, and Moira thinks that's a stupid waste of resources. And also," she said, as Tracer felt the sting on the back of her neck, "because she's already here." Lena, sadly, didn't hear that last part, but it didn't matter, not really.
Widowmaker shrieked around her gag, eyes filled with pure, unfiltered rage, as Moira O'Deorain stepped through the balcony doorway, a small Oasis flyer hovering just outside. "I'm sorry I'm late, dear - I ran into an old friend from Blackwatch on the way over." She answered Widowmaker's look of anguish with a wry glance of her own. "He was never half as subtle as he liked to think, but he'll be awake again in a few hours. Call it... professional courtesy." She looked back to her niece. "We should hurry, though - Winston will be here very soon." Another dart, and Widowmaker's thoughts fell away.
Oilliphéist frowned, saying, "No. Do nothing to her. We agreed," and Moira waved her hands dismissively. "It's just a tranquilliser to make her easier to transport, nothing psychoactive."
She walked over to the unconscious teleporter, kneeled down to look her over, and after a moment, smiled widely up to her newest creation. "You're quite right, though," she said, pleased. "The risk was worth it. This one... she will make a most magnificent weapon."