The Widowmaker (@IDwidowmaker) header
The Widowmaker (@IDwidowmaker) profile picture

status: active duty

classified
Joined January 2019
Photo by The Widowmaker (@IDwidowmaker)Photo by The Widowmaker (@IDwidowmaker)Photo by The Widowmaker (@IDwidowmaker)Photo by The Widowmaker (@IDwidowmaker)Photo by The Widowmaker (@IDwidowmaker)Photo by The Widowmaker (@IDwidowmaker)
[ The Widowmaker ] > Post-Recall era Widowmaker >>[ can adjust based on preference ] > narrative focused > 18+ >> non-lewd >> mature themes > thewidowfiles.carrd.co/
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This is why we should have co-ordinated costumes, @344xazucar
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Well. He is certainly a large man.
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[Talon HQ, the Widowmaker's private quarters.] The room is spartan, there are very little personal affects to speak of. Just a comfortable bed, a desk and a chair, a wardrobe. Standard amenities. Amélie still finds little use for 'things' when they are not tools for killing.
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Whenever she is forced to be here - be it for mission prep, or awaiting debriefing, or (in this case) recovery, - she spends most of her time lay on her back and staring up at the ceiling. She hardly breathes, hardly moves at all. She just feels time passing and wounds healing.
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Quiet heat, late afternoon sun. Long shadows are cast across the rubble and finally, finally Amélie can no longer feel the heat on her skin. She had failed her mission, failed to take the head of the Shrike, but it wasn't the end of her. Even if it feels like it.
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Amélie couldn't say that she didn't deserve it. She did take the woman's eye. Amélie wonders what more they will take from each other, next time they meet. Pain flairs in her skull, she drops to her knees and tries keep steady as everything spins around her.
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Amélie needs a doctor. Needs the doctor. There was no way she could continue the mission in this state, no way to pursue Ana Amari. So failure will mark her record, and she will have to make contact for emergency evacuation.
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[ @ShrikeCommander ] The faintest crack of light shines a stark line through the room Widowmaker is set up in. She keeps it in the corner of her vision, a stretched-out sundial to track the time. The ambush set, her watch has begun. She only needs now to spot her target and -
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'... Where are you...' Barely murmured. She knows her target must already be here. It's too quiet otherwise, and there is the obvious tension in the air. An hour passes. Then another. Widowmaker does not move, she barely even blinks. Truth is, she was designed for this. -
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The world is her web and she lies in wait, waiting for the tension in the air to pull, to tug her towards her prey. Ah, there it is. At high-noon the sun hits something tiny and unmistakeable. The glint of a sniper's scope. Widowmaker smiles - snarls - and squeezes her trigger.
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Underground rail. Dull yellow lights flit by, rapid-fire. Private car. No driver, neither human nor omnic. An elevator. Industrial, loud, descending. Briefing. Hard paper, burned after reading.
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The Widowmaker arrives in the dead of night, air-dropped. The locale is a war-ruined town blasted by shelling and then baked by dust and heat. After the Crisis it was considered a lost cause and its secrets remained buried.
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The Widowmaker has the early hours of the morning to set up her nest. A tower held mostly by miraculously intact load-bearing walls and abandoned scaffolding from the rebuild attempt. It used to be a lounge, and apartments. Now it is a vantage point on the fourth floor.
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