Disgusted by the pathetic display, she shakes the girl off her leg. She doesn’t understand the sign language, it isn’t lost on her that the girl is distressed.
“That counts as speaking,” she says to the mute.
Stepping away from her, Widowmaker scans the shopping area for her target. The sophisticated programming of her visor should make the body appear lighter than the others, but there is no target to be found.
Minutes pass, and her mind goes to the girl who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Unfortunate. She does not like to get others tangled in her work unless she plans on killing. Her mine of noxious gasses can only do so much, and while she’s working she only has her rifle on her. The shot, again, will prove too loud.
Still, that is a nasty gash on her leg. Eyes flicking from her scope to look behind her, she decides to take pity on her.
Reaching into a pouch strapped to her leg, she pulls out a canister, and slams it down, engulfing the two of them in a golden haze of nanobots. Courtesy of Moira. Not that she makes use of them often. At any rate, the nanos will work to heal and disinfect the wound the girl acquired.
the girl lowers her head again, forcing down her reflexes to sign an apology and run out as fast as she can.
the sniper’s voice is chilling to the bone, colder than the night air surrounding the two of them, and if lena had half a mind in that skull of hers, she’d be wise enough to yawp out a reply and fix herself up once her counterpart does her job and leaves her.
but the time ticking by doesn’t go past her unnoticed. her ankle is starting to clot up, stinging whenever she makes a slight shift in weight. the only thing she can do now is sit and pray that the sniper’s target comes into sight soon enough.
she’s just about to give up. why bother trying to escape? she’ll most likely get shot in the process, and if she makes it out alive, she’ll have to deal with her ankle while homeless. but if she stays, her assailant might have other ideas in store for her.
a tremor rips through her body at the sound of a tin opening, fear that couldn’t escape her lungs until now racking through frozen lips, terrified at what is to come. she wants to sign so badly, she wants to speak, but one is against the rules set in place and the latter is near impossible for her, lest she wants to destroy her already broken vocal chords.
it’s a swipe of her hand across her chest, unintentional in the slightest, but it’s too much to process as the freezing air around her is replaced with an artificial warmth.
she knows this technology. it’s like a muscle she hasn’t used in years suddenly reawakening. the false soothing, the itchy feeling that her skin leaves after the wound closes in on itself. it brings memories of bright lights and latex gloves --
no time for memories. you’re okay. stay put and don’t move a muscle.
she doesn’t bother signing to the other woman. simply a nod, and then lena sits herself upright, not daring to move anymore than she already has. it’s already apparent that the other woman doesn’t understand her, so all she can do now is sit tight and hope for the best.
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