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There were times when Amelie Lacroix barely felt human. In truth, she felt less like a human and more like a weapon for every kill she made. For a couple minutes after she completed a kill, she felt her heart thump in a way unlike it ever had since she had joined Talon. It was a shot of heroin straight into her heart. But after the few minutes were past, she once again felt her heart slow to the cold, delayed beat it was before. There were only two speeds: deathly slow and erratically fast. There was nothing in the middle.
Until Mondatta’s death.
It was supposed to be like any other job; she’d eliminate the target and be picked up by Talon lackeys before the area could be searched. But this did not go as planned.
Suddenly everything was complicated by a few moments: a “blip” from that damned ape’s invention; a ridiculous and girlish Cockney accent; orange lycra wrapped around agile legs and slim hips. “Trying to crash another party, love?”
It was that foolish young Overwatch girl, codename “Tracer.” She put up an impressive fight; she was clever and quick. But the assassin had experience, and ultimately won, eliminating Mondatta in a skewer move that would make the most advanced chess master impressed. Flush with the familiar exhilaration of the kill, she watched the chaos below in contempt before feeling the wind rush from her lungs as she was knocked to the ground by the Overwatch agent.
Their faces were dangerously close. Widowmaker could notice the clarity of her maple syrup eyes and the way her nose turned up at the end. Those eyes…there was something familiar about those eyes, Widowmaker considered, but was distracted as Tracer begged her for an answer for the death of the peaceful omnic.
Bidding the distraught agent adieu, Widowmaker dispatched her and made her getaway. However, the cold assassin realized something was off the moment she was alone in the back of the helicopter. She could feel her heartbeat steady and constant.
A human heartbeat.
Neither exhilaratingly fast nor terribly slow. Just…steady. A simultaneously familiar and terrifyingly foreign feeling. The shock of the realization nearly took Amelie’s breath away; she was not a woman easily surprised.
Talon had done all they could to make her into a pure weapon, gaining feeling only from killing. But there could be no complete erasure of her human past. Somehow, Mondatta’s death had triggered some return of those human roots. The reason was unknown to her; she felt no connection to Mondatta, nor his beliefs. As she processed the conundrum, she felt her heart begin to slow to its deathlike beat. Whatever had caused the anomaly was gone now
An obnoxiously cheerful Overwatch agent appeared in her mind. In particular, it was the moment they were too close, Amelie pinned beneath the young agent as she begged for an answer to Mondatta’s death. Her heart sped up, much to Amelie’s chagrin.
But why her? Why this meaningless girl? Amelie couldn’t fathom the reason for the Cockney agent’s effect on her. What she did know was that the steady heartbeat, the feeling of being human…it felt impossibly good. Warm and comforting, like a hearthfire. She had known only cold for so long she had forgotten how addicting that feeling was.
Amelie isolated herself within her quarters at Talon’s underground bunker while she contemplated these new developments. She was assured that Talon did not require her skills for weeks, and she would be left alone until she was called upon. Curious, she supposed, as New Year’s Eve would be a prime time for attack. Civilians would be gathered together en masse, waiting beneath the clock towers of their hometowns and cities for the fateful hour of change to strike. Inhibitions lost, people all over the world would be out and about in the open.
Even the girl.
Amelie’s eyebrows drew together. Her eyes darted to the analog clock sitting next to her sparse bed. It read 10:17. She had time.
Lena Oxton adjusted the flight goggles keeping her unruly hair in place as her excited red-headed girlfriend Emily pulled her by her hoodie sleeve through the crowd towards the grandiose London clock tower, Big Ben. The big hand of the clock ticked ever so slightly closer to the little hand, pushing toward the beginning of a new year. Lena and Emily tucked themselves into a little pocket of people, shoulders rubbing shoulders with strangers excited for the new year. “Four minutes left!” Emily said, a grin dimpling her freckled cheeks.
Lena glanced at her girlfriend, smiling warmly. It felt so good to see so many people gathered to celebrate the birth of a new year after having to deal with the horrors of recent acts of terrorism. The people deserved at least one night of joy, and Lena was happy she could be a part of it.
Suddenly, she heard a familiar boom sweep through the crowded square. Emily chuckled and looked up at the dark night sky for any illumination. “Looks like someone got a little too excited, lighting a firework already!”
Lena’s trained ears knew that the sound wasn’t an exploding firework, but a rifle firing a bullet. She squeezed Emily’s hand and said, “That didn’t sound right. I’m gonna take a quick peek around and make sure everything’s okay, alright?”
Emily’s eyes grew concerned. “Should I be worried?”
Lena scoffed good-naturedly, hiding her doubts. “Probably nothing. Just wanna be sure. You know me, Miss Paranoid here!”
Emily’s eyes did not lose their worry. “Okay, but please be careful.”
Lena gave her trademark grin. “Nothin’ to worry about, love!” She pushed her way through the crowd away from the clock tower and started running towards the back alleyways of the London streets. The chronal accelerator underneath her white and orange hoodie glowed as she blinked to the rooftops, drew her pistols from her shoulder holsters and began to scan the area for a familiar sniper.
Amelie watched the smoke from her rifle barrel curl towards the heavens. Her bullet had made a perfectly circular hole in a billboard advertising Lucio-Ohs. The target did not matter; it was the sound that did. ‘That should get her attention,’ she thought, lowering Widow’s Kiss down slowly as it reconfigured from sniper rifle into the more portable assault rifle. The December air cut through her tan trench coat and black turtleneck, but her cold skin barely reacted to the biting wind. The excitement of the crowd had not changed to screams of terror, so she guessed that no one realized that it was the sound of a gunshot, not a firework. But Tracer was a soldier at heart. She knew the sound of gunfire.
She heard the telltale tone of the device on the Overwatch agent’s chest. Amelie raised her scope visor to her forehead and looked behind to see Tracer sprinting across the rooftops towards her. The agent was suddenly enveloped in a blue light before disappearing and reappearing before her barely a meter away, guns drawn.
“Haven’t you done enough already? Can’t you let these people have one day of peace? One bit of hope?” Amelie did not respond, focusing instead on Tracer’s eyes; those warm chocolate eyes that looked at her with such familiarity, such hurt, such betrayal. She could tell Tracer could remember when Amelie was human. She wished she could say the same. Amelie could, however, remember those eyes; warm eyes that cared and laughed and sympathized. She didn’t break her gaze with the defiant pilot, letting the vague wisps of memory envelop her mind. They were warm and happy, with a sense of belonging. There it was again; that feeling of being…human. Her heartbeat pulsed like the ticking of a clock, and suddenly the girl in front of her was no longer Tracer the Overwatch agent, but Lena Oxton, a quirky young pilot who wanted nothing less than to save the world.
Lena advanced forward cautiously, her pistols steadily aimed at Amelie’s chest. Amelie observed how normal she looked; despite the bulky, glowing device on her chest, her hoodie and jeans made her seem incredibly ordinary.
“I’m not here for them, cherie,” Amelie said quietly with a voice like velvet. A look of confusion crossed Lena’s face as she lowered her pistols slightly. In the distance, she could hear the eager countdown begin under the clock tower. Amelie walked forward, closing the distance between them. Her boot heels clicked against the rooftop, the only sound made between them.
“Then for what?” Lena asked, her voice beginning to lose its defiance as she stood frozen to the ground. Amelie moved Lena’s pistols out of the way with little resistance, and pressed forward until her chest touched ever so slightly against Lena’s chronal accelerator. The sniper’s hand moved up and brushed her fingertips against Lena’s face as the countdown reached its climax.
“You.”
Amelie’s lips pressed against Lena’s. Fireworks exploded in the night sky as a chorus of “Happy New Year” sung through the air. Amelie felt Lena tense beneath her as she kissed her and cradled her face with one hand. But after a moment passed, she felt Lena relax and press her lips more firmly against Amelie’s.
Amelie’s heart beat faster; not with the wild exhilaration of a kill, but with the flustering heat of infatuation. At the same time, her head swam with the memories Lena’s scent brought her: laughter with a family unlike any other, comradeship with the knowledge that someone would always have her back, loving support...
Lena pulled back suddenly, staggering backward. “Ah…Amelie…?” she stammered, for once lost for words. Amelie suddenly realized the vulnerability of her situation; while the blood rushing through her veins and the emotions running through her were addicting, she was still the enemy and the woman before her still carried weapons that would tear through cotton and wool without hesitation. She stared into Lena’s russet eyes for a long moment before reluctantly tearing her gaze away to sprint off, leaping from rooftop to rooftop towards her evac site.
Amelie was still a weapon to Talon. Her resting heartbeat was still under 20 beats per minute. Her skin was still unnaturally blue from the physiological torment Talon put her through. But now she knew that she was still human. She knew she could feel emotion. And she knew that the agent known as Tracer was so much more to her than just an enemy.
“I’m back,” Lena called as she opened the door to Emily’s apartment. Her girlfriend sat on the couch with a video game controller in her hand, which she put down the moment she saw Lena. The redhead jumped off the couch and embraced Lena in a tight hug. “God, I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said into her shoulder. Lena hugged her back and breathed in her familiar perfume.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to celebrate the New Year with you,” she said, pulling away. Emily waved her hand dismissively.
“Oh, don’t apologize, I’m just happy you’re not hurt. Happy New Year.” She smiled and gave Lena a kiss before jumping back on to the couch. “Wanna play?” she asked, offering another controller.
“Thanks, love, but I think I need to hit the sack. Something about today just really wiped me out.” Lena’s shoulders slumped heavily and her voice lacked its usual bounce. Emily could tell she was exhausted.
“Okay. I’ll be in in a bit. Have to teach some pricks that they can’t say stuff about my mum like that.” She smiled sympathetically to Lena before resuming her game.
After changing into PJs, Lena collapsed on the queen-sized bed and stared at the ceiling. The events on the rooftop ran through her mind on loop, vivid as the moment they occurred. She rolled on her side, shutting her eyes and trying to relax to get the images out of her head; it all meant nothing. Widowmaker was still a ruthless killer. She was no longer the mature, compassionate woman Lena had admired as a young agent. It would be foolish and dangerous to assume that she still existed inside that terrible shell.
And yet…the last thought on Lena’s mind before she drifted into dreamless sleep was the electricity she felt when Amelie pressed her lips against hers.