Warning: going off the deep end here. Just a terrible masochist who expresses themselves through unrealistic, anonymous writing on the internet.

Inside of us.

Chapter one: The Fall

Widowmaker felt the faintest sense of elation as she stood on the edge of the old two story building, watching the scene a couple of meters underneath her unfold. It was raining. Talon agents, no one of any importance she mused, were pouring in from various directions, homing in on the bruised and broken body struggling in the mud below. Her doing. She felt particularly satisfied with the current situation.

The quirky pest had been zooming around her like a pesky fly, like she had done on so many earlier occasions. Blue flashes danced as the smaller woman had dashed around her. They had fought. Both receiving blows and making sure the other one got back the same treatment. They were equals, both with their unique sense of fighting. It required a lot of her skills. That was good. She was trained for this after all. It was good to put them into practice. It made her heart beat pleasantly hard. This everlasting chase was a treasure really. Something thrilling among the endless dull missions, which were crowned by merely one moment of feeling.

Today had been a bit different though. She'd been fresh out of a reconditioning session. She could still feel her skin vibrate hotly and her mind dulled of emotions that weren't focussing on her mission. The desire to go all out and feel her heart beat faster had been unbearable today. Once, what now felt like a lifetime ago the thought of more 'sessions' had terrified her to the point of nausea and blind panic. Ever since then she had grown to welcome them. The pain would cleanse her of doubts, worries and other unnecessary feelings. It also had become a rather pleasant feeling. Something hot to warm her ever cold skin. Today it had made her extra sharp.

Tracer on the other hand, had been out of it. Her movement had been sluggish, her eyes dull. A hangover, probably. Widowmaker had sneered at the thought. Didn't the yellow pest take their fights seriously?

Though, as their fight had progressed Tracers change in pace seemed to have been more mental rather than physical. She'd space out occasionally, staring at Widowmaker blankly before realizing, barely in time, that she in fact did need to avoid the incoming gunfire

She had tried to bring out the girls better parts. Irritating her, teasing her, giving her faux opportunities to get a few blows in, she used every weapon at her disposal. Still the girl kept operating far below her usual capabilities.

Eventually Widowmaker had grown tired of it. She'd coaxed the girl to the edge of the sloped roof they were on, an abandoned farmhouse, the rain making it extra slippery. Once on the edge she emptied a clip of her rifle in the general direction of the other girl. To avoid it Tracer dashed in her direction and recalled once the bullets were unavoidable.

That had been the plan. Widowmaker rushed to the place where Tracer would reappear. The oh so slippery edge of the roof, and kicked her hard in the leg when she did. Tracer lost balance, her feet slipped and one hard jab with the bud of her rifle was all that was needed to have the girl plummet of the rooftop. A look of horror in her eyes was confirmation that she had realized her mistake, sadly, too late. A loud yelp emerged from the girl.

Moments later a dull thud was heard.

She inched closer to the edge and carefully so she wouldn't end up below as well she peeked over it. The girl had fallen on her back. Both her guns were separated a good distance away from her. Spread eagle on the muddy ground, Tracer lay there dazed, her eyes staring into the gray sky.

Widowmaker laughed and when she did the eyes focused on her. There was irritation in those eyes, an interesting feeling to have under these circumstances for sure. But also something else. Something vacant, like it couldn't really bother her. Like she hadn't really lost anything of importance.

That irked Widowmaker immensely. How dare the girl not care enough about their fights. How dare she make it easy to win. Didn't she know how important these battles were? Wasn't there a silent agreement between them that they'd go all out as equals.

Fine then. If she wanted to be that way so be it.

She opened her communicator and barked at whatever agent was on the other line that a target was down and ready for capture, quickly communicating who she had incapacitated and their whereabouts.

Tracers eyes widened as she heard what being said. She struggled to get up. Oh now you care? Pathetic. Widowmaker prepared for the next battle between them. There was no way the agents would come even close to capturing the girl.

She watched as Tracer attempted to pull herself from the mud... and failed. The girl attempted to lean on an arm, winced, made a smothered noise of pain and collapsed in the mud again, this time cradling her arm. Sprained wrist, possibly worse.

Tracer made another attempt, this time not using her wrist but raising upright by her back muscles alone. Once she sat she rolled on one knee and attempted to place her other boot on the ground in an attempt to gain footing. Yet she let out another pained scream (It was a disappointing sight, really) and tumbled over again, landing on her good shoulder in the mud.

Alright, so not only was there something wrong with her arm, her leg had also taken damage. Likely when she herself had kicked her there.

Tracer propped herself up on her good arm, and shifted her knee underneath her for support. Then they reached an awkward impasse, eye contact was made. Tracer looked angry. Amused, Widowmaker watched her shift over her thoughts, trying to figure out a way to escape her predicament. She kneeled on the edge of the roof and sat down, her legs dangling over the edge. Then she waited.

Furious looks were shot in her direction.

"Like what you're seeing, love?"

Widowmaker snorted.

"You are disgusting. Like a pig in the mud"

"And whose fault is that"

"Certainly not mine. You wouldn't be in your current..." She pretended to look for the right word. "Ah, 'situation' if you had made an effort, non?"

Below her the muddy girl groaned and stopped paying her any attention.

As she watched Tracer struggle around aimlessly she couldn't help marvel in the predatory feelings rising inside her. A spider in her web, waiting until the fly caught in the strings exhausted itself from struggling against her binds, only to get herself even more trapped. Or maybe more like a praying mantis, looming over her prey until it made that decisive final movement, then she'd strike.

She didn't need to strike anymore though. And she didn't have to wait much longer either. Car engines roared in the distance. Within moments inconspicuous black vans neared the site and Talon agents poured out. There must be at least a dozen of them, a couple of specialized ones among them too. Tracer wouldn't be able to escape them, at least not in her current state.

The agents acknowledged their superior lazing around on the rooftop by salute and quickly went to work. They circled around Tracer, who had been looking increasingly pale and alarmed ever since she heard the car engines approaching.

Like an animal driven into a corner she lost herself to the need to survive. Adrenaline coursed through body, numbing the pain. Her body screamed at her to get away, And so she did. Clearly using all her strength she gritted her teeth and struggled until she stood on two legs.

She managed a few steps before her leg buckled and she collapsed again. Before she landed she managed to activate her chronal accelerator and dashed forward, a blue stripe straight through her attackers. Once she stopped the momentum threw her of balance and unto the ground, landing hard on her shoulder and sliding through the mud until she came to a standstill.

She remained motionless. Except. Oh, in her speed she had managed to grab one of her guns, now cradled against her chest. This was interesting. Now the girl could somewhat defend herself. The agents approached her again, some of them holding weapons, the other chains and other equipment to capture her with. Tracer fired her rounds and couple of them had dive for cover. Others avoided it easily and approached again from behind, Tracer noticed in time and stumbled back on her feet, shooting behind her and once again dashing backwards past the crouching agents.

This charade continued for a while, Tracer dashing around aimlessly, avoiding the agent as best as she could, only to get muddier and more pale in the process. A couple of the agents had shot back, and a few bullets had scraped the girls skin. Blood was pouring from several places on her body, staining her already torn jumpsuit.

Occasionally she'd hop around on one leg, waiting for her chronal accelerator to charge. Or she'd crawl, using only one hand and one leg. One time she managed a rather impressive backroll, though she couldn't quite muffle the pained scream once she rolled on her injured leg. Needless to say, she didn't cover much distance.

It was a pathetic display really. No fault of Tracer this time. No, she was putting on a grand display of just how tenacious she really was. Avoiding twelve agents with just one functioning arm and leg and one blaster. It was the agents that were a painfully sad to look at. How hard could it be to incapacitate an already injured girl? Some of the agents were even wounded by now, dragging themselves after Tracer at a more sluggish pace than Tracer herself.

"Boss!" one of them shouted. She glanced at him. Boss? Oh these were her agents. The team she had been given to assist in her operations. The realisation made her feel shame for their display. They would be reprimanded. The agent who had called her looked at her expectantly. They wanted assistance. Widowmaker groaned. It would have been faster, and likely more entertaining if she had picked up the girl and dragged her back to HQ herself.

Not even moving from her sitting position she readied her grappling hook, watched as Tracer recalled from a particular unfavourable position. Then once she reappeared shestumbled and dashed into another direction. Widowmaker aimed at where the girl would reappear and fired. I know your patterns, cherie. I know you like no one else.

Tracer reappeared and before she had even time to regain her already feeble footing the hook attached itself to her injured ankle. Widowmaker retracted it just a bit. Tracer let out a pained scream and her leg was yanked backwards, her body plunging face first into the mud. Widowmaker couldn't resist and retracted the line a little more, dragging Tracer unceremoniously through the mud. She attempted to scream something,\ but got a mouthful of mud instead. Angry coughs and chokes was the audible result.

The agents ran towards her, trudging awkwardly after the sliding body until finally, mercifully she released the hook and retracted it to her wrist. The agents reached her and several of them pinned her to the ground, restraints ready.

That was revenge for not taking the fight seriously. She felt satisfied. Tracers hands were tied to her back and her feet were tied together. For some ungodly reason the agents thought it was necessary to cover her accelerator and they wrapped cloth and tape around it. They probably think she won't be able to use it. God she wanted to shoot a bullet in each of their ankles and chase them as they'd struggle to escape.

They turned Tracer around. Fiery eyes immediately found hers. Still conscious huh, impressive. Her eyes were set ablaze with fury, all of it focused on her captor.

"Fuck you, you fucking blueberry!" She screamed, her voice raspy.

Petty insults, the final stage of a lost battle.

"Is this what you want!?" The girl continued.

No, she supposed this wasn't what she wanted. What she had wanted was to keep fighting, to keep this dance between them in harmony. But Tracer had ruined that. Tracer hadn't taken it seriously. And now she felt the effects of what that meant for her. Truthfully Widowmaker hadn't really thought ahead far enough to realize the effects of this outcome. Now Tracer would be incarcerated. Talon would likely interrogate her and keep her a prisoner. Even if she didn't give any information she could be used as a bargaining chip to gain a ransom or valuable information from Overwatch.

That meant they couldn't fight anymore. The thought was unsettling.

Still, it didn't matter. She had come out victorious, that was the important part. And there was a good chance Tracer wouldn't let herself be locked up for very long. The girl was awfully slippery after all. And if she escaped the girl would be livid. That would be an interesting encounter.

She stood up and hopped down the roof all the while never breaking eye-contact and landing gracefully on her feet.

Look this is how you do this, you stupid girl.

Tracer managed to look even more pissed off. She was picked up by some of the agents and dragged off to one of the vans. All the while she didn't break eye contact. She stared intently, as if she was already planning her escape and subsuqent revenge. Before she disappeared from sight Widowmaker reached her hand to her own mouth and blew a kiss. Goodbye.

They retained eye contact just long enough for her to see Tracer mouth something at her.

"Bloody bitch"

Yes, all in all this had been a good day.

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Thanks for reading.