@femtaile said, ❛ you still have doubts about it. ❜
There's something so intrinsically wrong with this– but it's as if he's the only one who sees it, and he couldn't fathom how to elaborate as to what, fundamentally, made it so wrong.
He should be more grateful, being granted the permission to orchestrate his grief upon society en masse– just as he and SIEBREN had obsessed and fantasized for years over. Worse yet, it felt so good, malling flesh and steel as if they were paper mache, basking in the collective terror of any whom his shadow cast upon. How, exactly, did one explain the finer nuances of what was so unpleasant about this when he repeatedly allowed his self-restraint to fall victim to his own gluttonous desire for violence?
If anyone was sick here– it really was him, wasn’t it…?
Maybe that’s what makes him so unpopular with his coworkers; perhaps they thought him to possess some inflated sense of moral superiority– only to watch him turn and maul any object placed within his teeth. It seemed difficult to like someone who continuously claimed to desire their approval, yet balked at every opportunity to earn said favor. In reality, SIGMA is just as frustrated as the rest of them, at the amount of intervention required exclusively to ensure the mission concludes successfully. To anyone else, it would be no surprise– what more did TALON expect from placing someone so inexperienced in his classification? It’s humiliating that SIGMA had allowed his opponent any chance to recover whatsoever, let alone that Widowmaker had had to step in to dispatch his target for him. Again.
In reality, the trip to the cabaret had been purely of his own volition– something mundane, to try and quiet the static frequencies interrupting cohesive thought and cognitive function. In fact, SIGMA had been quite convinced that he wouldn’t see the Widowmaker there; after all, while she didn’t follow any particular routine in regards to venturing out there, there were always patterns in her behavior, if he was patient enough for them to eventually, inevitably, present themselves. Unusual of him to utilize it to avoid her, in fact, he often hyperfixated upon it to better familiarize himself to her– but he’s still bothered. Upset. Angry.
Hard to determine if the anger was self-reflective, or directed towards her– but he’s upset.
A small part of him wondered if, perhaps, she’d known he’d intended to come here; ah, but what would it matter if she had…? She hated him just as much as the rest. Perhaps she intended to deprive him of what little sense of leisurement he possessed, but she was so impassive all of the time, it seemed unlikely she cared enough to go out of her way. It’s relatively easy to select the Widowmaker from the crowd when one knew what to look for; at times, he was genuinely impressed by how easily she seemed to blend into the background despite her bizarre mannerisms and other eccentricities. Like her motif, she secludes herself off to the outer edges of the establishment, well out of the eye of inattentive patrons– however, the moment he spies her, SIGMA is quick to excuse himself from his own table. Actually, he’s so hasty to leave, he nearly forgets the prepaid card Sombra had gifted him, leaving him a little flustered as the waitron practically chases him down to return it. The evening air nips at him as the card is haphazardly tucked away into his jumpsuit’s chest pocket– however, he starts a little when the Widowmaker’s quiet, glacial tone cuts the otherwise silent air of the side alley. Ugh.
“... I do not believe in cruelty.” He retorts dryly, habitually soft lavender eyes narrowing with irritation as he slowly turns to face her. SIGMA grunts, shifting uncomfortably on his feet– shoes were so aggravating to wear with his jumpsuit. “-- And it is against my very nature to harm living things.”
“-- I do not understand; TALON only indicated a desire in my research– so why, then, am I being asked to do any of this…?”
Of course, he voices the majority of this with the maintenance of safe distance from the other agent; she was easily least likely to retaliate exclusively based upon verbal insubordination, but an inability to read her behavior left an inability to trust her behavior. Yet, despite this, he yearns to trust– both because Sombra attests to her reliability, but because he likes her just the same. That’s what makes him so irritable towards her approach, incapable of determining whether it stemmed from purely professional criticism… or some semblance of empathy, perhaps… Difficult not to feel slighted when the other agents so often failed to show even the most meager shred of empathy for him when he seemed to bleed and bleed with empathy for that which afflicts them.
“I– I-I, ah…” His words die in his throat as he scowls down at her, equal parts frustrated and equal parts saddened. “... I was hoping to get away from the rest of you for a little while– everyone only wants to talk about what I’ve done wrong…” SIGMA laments more openly now, agitation melting back into an oozing, cloying grief that settles upon the atmosphere around him. “... I do still have doubts… Wouldn’t anyone…?” He admits with a sigh, brushing wide, gloved hands against his shoulders and down his forearms, attempting to self-soothe as he begins to pace. “... No one had told me this was part of the contract… A-and failure to comply is grounds for immediate termination…! I am a scientist– why am I hurting people!?” He pauses after completing another circle on anxious feet, stopping in front of her some ways away.
“... Miss Widow, can– c-can you… keep a secret…?” SIGMA speaks up after a moment of muttering to himself, mirroring her vacant, glassy stare almost perfectly for a change. “I, ah… A-aha…. On nights like these, sometimes I– um… I… I wish I was still at the facility…” It felt like a sin, to verbally acknowledge the wretched desire to return to the fetid lair he’d been left to rot alone in. He feels sick even just saying it aloud. “If I had known what I know now, I would have never left that cell.”
But that’s all it is, isn’t it? Wishful thinking– the lot of it.
They both know that TALON had no intention of leaving him alive if he wouldn’t live his life in service; a tool was only as valuable as its use dictated– to not have a use would be the same as being utterly worthless. Oh, how he wished she cared-- could care-- if only just enough to be willing to lie to him and assure him otherwise. That's what friends were supposed to be for, weren't they? Wasn't there supposed to be comfort in commiseration...? And yet, he finds none at all.
To say he was heartbroken would be an understatement.
He’s spiraling again.
“... I will never see the COLONY again in my lifetime, will I, Miss Widow...? They lied, didn’t they…?”
"... Oh, just what have I gotten myself into...?"