Today was unpleasant.

It seemed Talon became recruiters of prisoners now that doomfist has joined the council. Reaper had joined us, and eventually I heard Sombra was scouting for the quick shooter from the west. Ashe, as I've heard her referred as, was imprisoned by the outlaw McCree, a former Overwatch agent. Naive McCree supposedly invited her to a bar downtown. I do not understand his intentions. It's just another cold winter night.

Reaper began writing a thorough plan for the recruitment of Ashe. Her freedom for the membership of Talon. How silly, she was trapped either way. The ship ride from London however, was unpleasant. Sombra began annoying everyone with jokes and strange information she'd find about politicians. Doomfist, as he asked to be regarded as, was restless. He lifted a weight and stared at the floor. I'm sure he was thinking, but his face still looked bored.

Sombra was dressed in a holiday sweater she had bought two days earlier. It had a bright flashing lights that looked like they were strung around her body. Little bells rang as she bobbed her head around, their little glow on her ears. Reaper looked the same as ever. He is always under thick layers of dark clothes. My tight boots clicked heels as I adjusted my pose. The fur wrapped around my neck was annoying for now, making my skin burn too purple.

I thought of my late husband. Amelies' late husband. I was not ever married, she was. And now both of them are dead. I had shot them both. A black strand of hair swung in a blur as the ship shifted. Sombra dramatically fell over.

"Ah geez! I wish Moira was here to fix my awful pain!" she cried out, then looked at us for a remark. Reaper of course did.

"She'll more likely clone u then kill u and keep the clone, then give the clone a band aid." He grumbled coldly. The mask he wore sucked any light away from his eyes. His shadows seemed to burn unnaturally.

"Eh, it could be fun," Sombra lifted herself back onto a grey metal box. Her hair was a messy purple, too bright for my own preference of the same color. Hers resembled a fire of chemicals I once saw in Moira's lab during a check in. My own purple was of bruises, as Moira explained. She wasn't here of course. She was not needed out on missions very often as she had long before.

Sombra addressed no one in particular, perhaps the ceiling itself, "so I'm heading out to that bar." She played with the light between the fingers at the metal ceiling above her.

"Is that so? You better be working or else." Reaper's deep voice heated the still air. He slouched further into the wall.

"She's what we got. Let it be" Doomfist's authoritative voice ended Reaper's rebuttal. He managed to sink into the wall more. Sombra looked between Reaper and Doomfist, studying them. She looked up again as if she had not been looking. Her purple fingers recently got little gems glued, and shone in the white LED light.

"Amelie, what are you going to do when we land? I would love to go shopping with you," she smiled my way, bringing a tinge of her usual annoyance, "you dress so nice with all of those, pretty things," she pointed at my small bag that held a crystal button.

"If time gives, then it'll be something to spend my fortune on tonight." I hadn't shopped by myself as long as I have been myself. Sombra enjoys my credit card's limitless value.

"Gracious Amelie! I would love to get reaper an ugly sweater too," she laughed, laying on her back, "I would get Doomfist one, but I think he would rip it."

"What says I wont do the same?" Reaper's raspy voice almost startled me. I sat up straighter as Sombra laughed again.

"Gabe, I know you love ugly sweaters!" She laughed again, then lifted an old photo that held and smiling Reaper in an ugly sweater. Except it wasn't Reaper, it was Commander Reyes. He's dead. It's Reaper now. The photo however, had myself in it, in a warm gown. I would never wear such a disgustingly bright dress again. Other faces I barely remember if they are truly dead or not surrounded my smiling figure in the photo.

"Throw that a way!" Reaper reached out for it, but Sombra pocketed it quicker than he could grab it. Her laugh rang again, making Doomfist pause his weights.

"Aww don't worry Gabe! I won't spill your secrets." She smiled looking at Reaper grumble.

"How close are we?" Doomfist addressed Sombra. She opened a window in front of her and looked for a moment.

"Not close enough," she closed the window and laid on her back.

"How close?" He asked again.

"Ah, relax. We're a few hours off the coast. Better?" She opened a window and began to play a game.

"Better." Then it was silence again.

My curtain of hair made a noise inaudible over the engine, but I knew it had made one across my leather back. It felt soft yet it held strands that were thick and sharp. Sombra loved to run her fingers through it, when she got the chance. But that was the only change as everyone quietly hated each other.

And so we sat. Waiting to arrive across the sea. Waiting to meet this Ashe, to get more members of Talon. If what everyone said was true, why would we need to find new members when they should come to us. I felt overthinking it was not needed. The mission had me on it for one reason. I should prepare. I should count the men working to count my bullets.

My eyes suddenly opened as the ship stopped. Sombra bounced stretching her arms. My notebook had little scribbles of numbers, un, deux, trois, quatre... The notebook was closed and my scowl was evident as I remembered the number's purpose, I smiled my usual. I needed something fresh to feel this dead winter. Cinq, six, sept, huit… little pulses suddenly touched my veins with a welcoming fever. The growled at me to get off the ship so they can move the boxes. I faded next to them, lost counting once again. High off the knowledge that I'll feel like a little girl again. Running with fresh air in my lungs and a heartbeat I can warm myself in. I wanted to be covered in that soft beat forever.

The soft chords from the ballet, The Swan Lake's song, The Black Swan, sang into my ears as I felt warm for the first time. The adrenaline pumping as it did my first performance of that sweet dance. My head spun as I felt light, as if I were on my toes spinning. Moira told me she once read that black swans are signs of unforeseen events. But the rush of death was foreseen. It had been too long without such thrills. The soft notes pierced my skin, and I smiled walking into the snowstorm, venom bubbling just beneath my skin.