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The needle goes into the Widowmaker’s arm with a swift move, as Moira looks up at the woman laying on the gurney in front of her, emotionless face as usual.
“How are you feeling, Lacroix?” she asks, and the Widowmaker just shrugs. Satisfied, Moira empties the syringe and takes it out. She opens her mouth to dismiss the other, when the door to her lab slams, as the Reaper takes form in front of her in a few seconds, shotgun already drawn on her. She quirks an eyebrow.
“Fix me,” Gabriel asks with an accusatory tone, the barrel of his gun planted on the center of her forehead. Then, as Moira keeps staring at him wordlessly, the takes off his mask with a grunt: the decaying flesh is deteriorating quicker than usual, and his skin looks colder, clammier, almost… blue?
“Do I need to repeat myself?” the gun on her head presses harder, “I don’t know what you’ve fucking done to me, but if you don’t do something right now I swear-”
“Bloody hell, Gabriel, get this thing out of my face!” she swats at the gun, and he reluctantly puts it away, as she gets up and starts examining him more closely. “Looks like your cell regeneration has significantly slowed down, which is basically impossible with all the stimulants I give you to keep your body healing itself… unless…”
Her head automatically snaps back to Widowmaker right as she sees her violently convulsing on the gurney, and then collapse without a word. For a second, both Talon agents look at her horrified, then Moira’s mind goes back to earlier that afternoon, as she prepared the doses for both her experiments, precisely lining them up on the small metal cart she just threw away, as she pumps on Widow’s chest to try to get her heartbeat to pick up again, to no success. She drops her arms to her sides, as Reaper starts shivering next to her.
“Well, now that’s a shame.”