Beep... Beep... Beep...
The familiar ding of the widows heartbeat makes his hasten. That repetitive and admittedly boring sound is like some intense drug that keeps him from sleeping, even at such a late hour.
Each beep is like it's own shot of hope directly into the bloodstream of the fragile, pale woman laid out before him.
He bounces his leg up and down, his mind stirring with thoughts behind baggy, glossy eyes that stare almost blankly at the scars lining her neck.
He twiddles two metallic thumbs together. The rhythm of metal fingers nervously touching, his leg bouncing, and that intoxicating beeping noise are all just distractions from how faint and weak Amelie's breaths are. Despite everything, she could still die, and it would all amount to nothing.
And it would all be his fault...
His fault... and that damn Reaper's.
As Blake stares down at his prosthetic arms, he thinks about all the horrible things Reaper has done—to both him and Amelie. Sitting there, in front of what may very well be her dying body, he feels as though the act of justice is his responsibility—even if it feels more like a burden. His thoughts flash with images of past ventures, he musters up every emotion in his soul as his fists clench and tears pry their way through shut eyes.
And then, Amelie whispers something.
Blake's head shoots up, eyes slightly reddish.
Beep... Beep... Beep...
It's then he notices how at peace she looks. Digging through his memories, he remembers how lost and frustrated she was with herself—with her life. A life full of tragedy and disaster. He remembers how violently she had fought to kill him in their last encounter, how... different she used to be.
Knowing that now she could at least rest... made him realize that she had just mumbled something in her sleep. And now, just simply pondering whatever it was she was dreaming about made him just a little more comfortable.
He rolls the stiff office chair he's sitting on towards a window, not fearing the possibility of waking the bedridden woman—in fact, he welcomes that possibility with open arms.
And with said arms, he rests his head against the pane of an open window, feeling the cool night air graze his body as he stares out toward the Eiffel Tower in the distance.
He specifically asked Overwatch to keep her here.
Content, and ready to doze off, he looks back down at his arms, taking note of the uneven look of the two. The right is just slightly bulkier, with a subtly different design all-around. In an instant—and with no more than a passing thought—the limb split open, unveiling three long metallic barrels conjoined closely together. The implants protrude outward and begin to spin around at an ever-quickening velocity. A high pitched hum emanates from the intricate technology as a blue light seeps out from some of the chinks in the metal.
He gently raises his hand—or rather; the weapon out the window. He pretends as if he can feel the cold breeze on the amalgamation of technology that had now become apart of him. He watches the lights of Paris reflect off of every freshly polished piece, until they guide him to the reflection of Amelie in bed, and her missing arm.
YOU ARE READING
Bright Matter - An Overwatch Story
Fanfiction(Y/N) is your average unemployed gamer, he lives in an apartment with his two friends, and his favorite video game is Overwatch. The moment things finally start looking up for him, he gets sucked into a portal and into the Overwatch universe. He get...
