November 2074

[solarbird]

"Unfinished Business with the Group Captain"

• Graphic Depictions Of Violence
• Major Character Death

Lena "Venom" Oxton made Winston a promise, one Winston did not like. But Lena Oxton keeps her promises.

This is part of the on overcoming the fear of spiders Overwatch AU continuity, and the linked novella should be read first, both for spoiler avoidance and for context.

[In the north of England - November 2074]

"You tried to break me," Lena Oxton said, striking the Group Captain across his face, a third time, and this time, he went down.

"Tried and did," said the G/C, propping himself up, spitting blood, and a tooth. "Just not how we intended. Look at you now, all dressed up in black and violent. Can't say we didn't do the job."

"Get up," she commanded.

"Why?"

She struck him again. "Because I fucking said so, mate."

He nodded, and rubbed his aching chin. "Give me a mo, let me catch my breath."

"Why?"

He snarled, "Because you want to fight me some more before you kill me, Trac..."

She struck him again; it felt almost like dislocating his jaw. "Naughty, naughty. Official Secrets Act, don'cha know."

He laughed a little, bitterly. She was close enough, he could've tried a for a sweep kick, knock her off her feet, but he'd already learned better. "Fair enough. So. What is your name now?"

"I'll tell you before I kill you," she promised.

"Whatever it is," he asked, "was it your name then, when you came back?"

The Talon assassin laughed derisively, a snorted single ha. "Nope. I was Lena Oxton, reporting for duty. Exactly like I said."

So we did get it wrong, he thought. We sent her right back to Talon, to be remade. Damn. "Lena Oxton wouldn't do this."

"People change, mate. Particularly when you break 'em. Lena Oxton is doing this, and she's enjoying it."

"Changing history with my death, isn't that the line? I'm flattered."

"Oh, this isn't for history, gov. This is for me."

"Ah, revenge. Well, what's one more murder, more or less. Your masters must certainly be pleased with what they've made of you."

"Get up," she said, ignoring the taunt. "Let's finish this."

The G/C checked his sidearm. Three rounds left. Tracer, no, Oxton, no, whoever she was now, she hadn't even brought her pistols. He looked up at the young assassin, so small, so thin, so breakable, and yet, so utterly unscathed by the fight. He'd landed at least two roundhouses to her ribcage and stomach, he was sure of that, and where his other bullets went after he fired them, he had no idea.

"You cheat," he said.

"So do you," she replied.

"I know better than to say this isn't a fair fight."

"Roger that. Neither was London, mate, and I'm giving you more of a chance than you gave me. This is one on one."

If I could just get a proper grip on her, he thought, standing, slowly, feeling better. She backed away, fast, out of grappling range. She's not stronger, he thought. Just... fast. Incredibly fast. But not bullets fast.

Oxton smiled wickedly as Henderson drew his pistol, and didn't run. The two circled each other, the G/C feinting with his sidearm, the Talon assassin darting left and right, as they circled on the rooftop.

Come on, you bastard, she thought. Make your move already. He was so slow. Even pumped up with stamina enhancers and metabolic boosters, he was still so very, humanly, slow.

Henderson felt sharp. In pain, but alive, sharp, tight. Sharper than he'd felt in some years, and if he hadn't been so busy trying to figure out how to survive - much less how the hell she'd got him up here - he'd probably have noticed that earlier.

Lena teased in a little, and he took the bait, diving in with a roundhouse kick and a bullet for where he hoped her head would be. She laughed as she threw herself into the air and flipped over him, instead of to the side, grabbing him from the back and slamming him back-first onto the ground.

The GC flipped himself back up, spinning round, and fired again, where she had to be, but where she wasn't anymore, his second to last bullet disappearing into the night air.

"That's six. One to go," she said, from behind him - from right behind him. He spun and this time grabbed, and, for just a moment, had her, clocking her on the head with the heel of his pistol, and she shouted in pain, before throwing him to the ground again, using his own weight against him, impossibly fast.

He flipped back up again - barely. That one had hurt, a lot. Oxton stood a mere two metres away, bloodied, with a feral smile. "Finally landed one," she said. "Not many people can."

"I haven't been that fast in years," the Group Captain said. "What'd you do to me?"

"Nothin' much, luv. Little metabolic boost, little stamina boost. Make it a fair fight. Well," she admitted, "fairer."

"Thought so. You must mainline the stuff."

"Nah." She wiped the blood from her forehead. "Don't need it."

To hell with this, he thought, and fired the last round straight at his enemy's face. Somehow, she was smirking before the impulse even reached his finger, and she knocked his hand aside as he pulled the trigger, the last bullet careening off into the darkness.

He spun around and lunged again, and somehow, she was atop him, legs tight around his arms and chest, arms around his head.

"My name," she said, as he struggled to get free, "is Venom. And I'm the last person you'll ever break."

The group captain had just enough time to realise he was going to die at that very moment, before she snapped his neck. He dropped like a sack of rice, as Venom leapt off his shoulders, and as he perished she laughed, loud and long and fiercely and full of joy.

Panting, she smiled at Amélie as the Widowmaker's grappling hook brought the senior assassin onto the roof. "That felt good," Venom said, looking at the prone body of her tormenter, Group Captain Aubrey Henderson, RAF, MI5, now deceased.

Amélie fussed over her lover's head. "He got you quite solidly, with that pistol whip. We need to get this cleaned up, you are still bleeding."

Lena nodded, a little flushed, waves of emotion flowing over her. "Just a minute." She took the letter she'd prepared in advance, rolled his body over, and put it halfway under his uniform jacket. It contained a list of names of people that MI5 had broken under his authority. That list did not include the name Lena Oxton. She had merely signed it, as "Tracer."

Venom took a picture of the corpse, with the letter, and sniffed, crying a little, shaking with relief. "I am so glad he's dead."

"Come on, cherie," said the Widowmaker, taking her lover's arm. "We need to get you patched up."

"Yeah," Venom agreed. "I don't want to have a headache."

The spider smiled, curiously, at the younger assassin.

"...because it's all I can do to keep my hands off you right now."

Amélie laughed, delighted. "Then the sooner we are out of here, the better, no?"

"Ow," Lena Oxton said, the pain peeking out past the adrenaline. "Yeh. Let's go."