#m. widowmaker

Widowmaker had been taking leave. Not after every mission, but often enough that she knew it was starting to get suspicious, so she started leaving without permission. Sombra especially was a nosy little degenerate, and she didn't need Talon involved. What Widowmaker decided to do with her free time was no one's business but her own.

Besides, the "what" could get her into huge trouble. If Talon thought her programming was starting to fail, if she were reverting, they would take her off duty. She honestly didn't care about the possibility of the brainwashing process being repeated--how could it hurt her now when she was already such a monstrous thing? What she cared about was losing her opportunities to kill. Killing was the only thing that gave her life meaning.

At least, it was supposed to be the only thing. Recently, something had changed. Maybe her programming was starting to fail, not that she would ever let Talon know. Something else had started to make her feel almost, not quite, alive.

That girl. Tracer. She started as an obstacle; she became an amusement. Widowmaker liked to watch her. If anyone found out, it was merely to gain information on one of Talon's most prolific enemies. In actually, Widowmaker was quietly contemplating how the girl made her feel.

She kept Widowmaker's interest. Few things could do that. That, most of all, was why this fascination had to be kept a secret: Talon could take her away.

She was returning from one of these illicit trips to indulge her secret vice. She came in through the window of her room. A long-buried memory surfaced, faint, but familiar. A teenaged Amélie sneaking out at night to see people she liked who her conservative family did not approve of. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. The more things change, the more they stay the same.