Amelia (One Shot)

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"I see. And what do you want me to do about it?"

The short, beefy man stopped pacing the small, hidden room and turned toward the slender feminine figure that gracefully leaned against his doorframe. "Kill him, of course!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

The woman considered her potential client thoughtfully, her face hidden in shadow from the well-lit hallway behind her. She twirled one long strand of purple hair around her deceptively delicate trigger finger.

"Two million," she spoke calmly in a deep, silken voice, heavily accented by her French childhood. The man just stared at her incredulously, as if she had offered him a cockroach for lunch.

"Two million?! No fucking way," he fumed, resuming his aggressive pacing. "That's waaay too much, this guy ain't worth all that, I'm telling you—!"

"No. I'm telling you," The woman said, her yellow-green eyes narrowing. The man frowned as she took a step closer, backing him into an old, messy desk. Faint evening light coming from a window slit near the ceiling bounced off the reflective material of her strange red goggles perched upon her head. The last of the sun's rays cast a sickly purple glow on her skin. Leaning over the man, she brought her face dangerously close to his. "Three million. And your life."

The taller woman's chilly tone sent waves of cold rippling through the small man. His throat bobbed slowly as he eyed the rifle on her back. The man knew just as well as she did that it would take her less than half a second to swing it around and fire it off. His jaw suddenly turned to rubber. "Amelia, you can't—"

The woman tilted her head and gave him a curiously raised eyebrow, daring for him to go on. Her arms were crossed loosely. "Oh? Amelia now, is it?" Her purple lips parted into her signature unsettling smirk, like a cat toying with the mouse trapped beneath its paw. "I haven't heard from her in ages. How is she?"

The man wisely did not answer.

The woman frowned again, her expression leeched of emotion once more. She moved away from him, and started toward the door. "You're no fun."

"W-Widowmaker, wait!" the man called out, a slight tremor in his voice. The woman called Widowmaker paused with a foot half-raised and inclined her head in his direction. "Are you going to do it?" he asked in a desperate whisper.

Widowmaker turned halfway around and regarded the sniveling man, whom she was starting to find repugnant. "No," she replied flatly. In one practiced movement, her sniper rifle appeared in her hands, and she hip-fired a single shot directly between the man's eyes.

"You're not worth it," she commented to the gaping man with the gaping hole in his forehead. The corner of her mouth twitched upward in a satisfied smile as the buzzing power of adrenaline flooded her body. Stepping over the man's legs with cat-like grace, she crossed the threshold and closed the door behind her with a soft click.

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