Chapter Summary: A soloist deals with her ornery teammates (or rather, just one ornery teammate in particular). A reaper re-encounters a man he’d rather forget (or rather kill, if he gets a chance). A falcon begins her mission (or rather, she thinks so). A shadow prepares for trouble (or rather, she tries to). A sharpshooter moseys INTO trouble (or rather…nah, he just straight up walks into it, lol). A soldier barely arrives on time (or rather - actually no, that one is accurate).
A deadlock begins.
[Traveling to Route 66 - Select Your Hero]
Chapter Preview: (NSFW language)
A cool, blue, metallic
lighting barely casts any glow on the large, concrete warehouse, and even
though Reaper has been sitting in the dim, ungodly haze of the secret
compartment for six hours, it still takes his eyes a second to adjust. There
are a number of burly tatt’ed men and beefy women unloading the crates and
boxes from the trailer, some of them just haphazardly piling them on top of
each other around the truck. Crates, boxes, packages - all sorts of shit,
really - are packed into shitty pillars and stacks in this receiving area,
crammed into corners and shelving units in disarray, and Reaper vaguely wonders
if Deadlock is dealing in munitions or just grabbing literally anything they
can. Pockets of white light are speckled around nearby rooms and
doorways, and he can see that some of them lead to lounge areas with old,
broken couches and chairs.
Widowmaker and the Talon
quad have formed up beside a walking cement truck of a man - he’s like 70% pure
fucking muscle and 30% ripples of fat, mainly around his gut, smothered in
tattoos of skulls and wings and all sorts of cliched biker shit that Reaper
(the man dressed in a fucking skull mask) eyes with mild disdain. He
neither loves nor hates tattoos (his father had been covered in them, so maybe
there was…some prejudice lingering there), but at least be original about
them - his own tattoos stings a little at the mere thought and he feels a
bitter, acrid taste sear his tongue. The dark-tanned man has a
surprisingly trim beard and a bunch of zigzags shaved into his head, and he’s
folding and unfolding his tree-stump-width arms in what Reaper assumes is an
intimidating or impressive manner.
Reaper as he sidles up to the little crew of fuckwads and the bulldozer of a
dude turns to him, giving him a dark-eyed squint of a glare.
says as conversationally as her dead soul can manage, “This is - ”
Reaper mutters tartly, choking back the way he actually wants to spit the name
mixed-hertitage biker sizes him up for a hot second, and then gives him a snarl
of a grin, rumbling out, “I see my reputation precedes me.”
I put your ass in jail,
And your ass was supposed to stay in jail.
You also got Jesse
addicted to cocaine.
Do you know how long it
took me and Jack to help get him clean?
Of course I remember
your punk ass.
I’m going to die
thinking of your shitty fucking face and how much I hate it.
Reaper half-wonders if
he can put a shotgun shell through the man’s skull in the middle of the mission
God, he fucking wants
He doesn’t like
consuming the souls of douchebags like Hernandez, because they feel fucking
slimy going down, but he’d take special pleasure in eating this fucker -
As if reading his
goddamn mind, Widowmaker shoots him the ugliest glare her pretty face can
manage, and Reaper bites his tongue. A stray bullet may hit Hernandez at
some point today.
…A stray one.
“You…have quite the
reputation,” Reaper growls back. Reaper’s a big dude - just over six feet
and a couple hundred pounds of muscle and…whatever souls are made of - but
Hernandez looms over him at nearly six and a half feet. Reaper’s willing
to bet, however, that Hernandez has neither the cocktail of drugs that SEP
pumped into him, nor thirty-plus years of military training, nor the ability to
turn into a fucking ball of smoke, nor the ability to suck the literal life
energy out of a human.
I could take you in a
Because even though
Reaper could win in all those other ways, he just wants to revel in beating the
living shit out of this fuck. “
continues with his shit-eating grin, “I got quite the dick too, amigo.”
“Really? We’re gonna get
into a dick size contest right now?” Reaper drawls out, lolling his head a
little, “I don’t need to see your penis, cabrón, my own satisfies me
just fine.” Behind the mask, though, Reaper grins viciously, “Although if
you wanna bend over, I’m sure it can satisfy you too - ”
Widowmaker hisses, stomping over to Reaper and shoving at him, “Be’ave
yourself. If you fuck this up for me, I will not ‘esitate to put you
mutters to her, pulling back a little, “I did not enjoy the six-fucking-hour
truck ride here. I was practically riding on Iñigo’s lap.”
“And did you enjoy that
part, little man?” Hernandez asks with a smile that seems to imply he thinks he
has the most cutting of wits. Reaper rolls his eyes.
“More than I’ve enjoyed
being around you, pendejo.”
“Says the man who was
begging for my ass just now - ”
“Oh, I’ll fucking teach
you how to beg - ”
“Stop!” Widowmaker snaps
at both of them, “Just stop. Boss man, gang leader, motorcycle driver,
just tell us the plan and where to go and we will leave.” She glares with
deadly precision at Reaper, adding bitterly, “I need to ‘ave some words with my
“…Did ya just call yerself ‘shadow?’” Jesse drawls out against the tiles of the steps he’s laying on, pretending like that’s the part of the conversation he’s fixated on. Really though, he’s buyin’ time to get these handcuffs off. His fingers find the switch -
“I assume it’s a codename,” the other man, an American…Midwest accent, maybe? Hard to tell, they’re all so bland when they’re from Ohio or Illinois or wherever - Jesse’s fingers flick the button and the small door to the compartment slides open.
“El soldado está correcto, it’s a nickname,” the woman - Sombra - replies happily with a small flourish of her hand, “It’s not like anyone cares about my real name anyways, and Sombra is just…so much more badass, yes?”
The soldier behind him shrugs, and Jesse just kinda mumbles something about wishin’ how he got a cool codename, when, shockingly -
Sombra bends down and helps prop him into a sitting position.
He jolts a little at the touch of her slight fingers, but she doesn’t even seem to notice, saying to him cordially, “You got yourself in a real situation here, vaquero.”
He feels the small lockpick drop into his normal fingers.
“Yeah, well, they dun blindsided me and then cuffed me, and then threw me on the floor and that was when an explosion happened?” Jesse sighs, quietly snapping the pick into the small pinhole of the handcuffs, and the masked soldier props himself up more too, eyeing both of them warily, rifle never leaving his hands and his aim never shifting off the woman. Jesse continues seemingly without care, rambling, “I’m ‘fraid I’m a bit lost on the rodeo that’s goin’ on ‘round here, what’s this I hear ‘bout a bomb?”
“The United States military was transporting a special new bomb on that train,” Sombra answers him easily, and Jesse’s grateful that she’s so forthcomin’ with that handy bit of info, though he had managed to piece some of it together.
That said, that don’ make him stomach the situation any easier.
“…They dun transported a new bomb by train?” Jesse asks, feeling the lockpick switch some of the pins in the cuffs, “Are they fuckin’ dumbasses?”
“Yeah,” the soldier decides to join in, voice gruff and firm and…irritatingly familiar but Jesse don’ know why and at the moment, he don’t care much. The soldier pulls himself up, sighing, “They certainly are.” Sombra looks up at the soldier and gives him a wicked grin and the soldier continues to aim his rifle at her when -
“TA-DA,” Jesse declares loudly, jumping up with a flourish of his arms as the handcuffs fall off of him and Sombra is jerking back, swearing something in Spanish, and the soldier is snapping the rifle in Jesse’s direction, but the cowboy literally just grabs Sombra by her collar and hoists her in the air before she can get away.
Aw, she’s kinda cute like this.
Like a kitty that he’s pulled outta the river.
“PENDEJO, PUT ME THE FUCK DOWN,” she’s hissing and flailing angrily, taking swipes at him, but he holds her out at arm’s length, chuckling at her, “Missy, you outta know that every good bandito can get out of handcuffs.”
“You would have a fucking lockpick in that damn secret compartment,” the soldier mutters, just barely lowering the rifle a tad.
Well ain’t that somethin’.
Chapter Preview 2:
“Sir!” Aizad replies, as Khalil launches himself into the air. Fareeha follows suit a second after, rocketing into the skies, feeling a tremendous relief to finally be out of the cramped, cluttered tin can of a train car and -
Something glints on the cliffs below her and reflexively, she lowers her propulsion, dropping a few feet as something whizzes right where her head was a second before.
“SNIPER,” she shouts, both aloud and over the comms, “EVERYBODY DOWN! GET TO COVER!”
Fareeha rockets back to the road, aiming for what she hopes is cover - there’s a slight sandstone ledge just south of the road, right before the sheer drop into the canyon, and she swoops in low, breathing a quick sigh of relief as her feet hit the ground. She ducks behind the ledge as Khalil and the others plop beside her. Khalil is shouting at them:
“Okoro, get to somewhere safe and hole up, I do not want you involved in this at all - I need you to keep our comms and systems up and running. Pharah, take your half and flank to the west, I want you on the other side of that wreckage - get as close as you can to those لصوص (tn: thieves) as possible, but be wary of getting too close. My team, we are gonna scope out those snipers and push them back, remember to weave in the air! You have space, those snipers do not!”
“Sir!” they all shout, but suddenly Okoro is saying loudly, “Captain, the Deadlock gang have acquired the package.”
“What?” Khalil demands, as they peer over the ledge out towards the wreckage -
The massive men - six, maybe even seven of them - are guiding something round, white, large, apparently extremely dense, already prepped on a hover carrier out of a train car and onto the road, and Fareeha feels her breath leave her as Mahmud gasps, “Is that a bomb??”
“And a big one,” Khalil mutters to her right, and Fareeha can practically imagine the anger on his face behind his visor, “خرة (tn: shit), these American military, not telling us what we were guarding, we were guarding a bomb the whole time - ”
“CAPTAIN,” Fareeha screams, as her eyes slide past him to the edge of the ledge just to the right of him -
Three individuals dressed in all grey - grey uniforms, grey body armor, grey tactical visors - and hefting sleek, black rifles have rounded the corner and are squaring up for them -
Talon agents are here.
“GET BACK,” Fareeha hisses, snapping her wrist up and firing her concussive blast towards them. The mini-rocket hits them with a shock wave, and the three Talon agents are blown backwards several feet, with only one of them staying upright, the other two stumbling over themselves as it knocks them away.
Chapter Preview 3:
“PULL BACK,” Reaper’s shouting at the three goons who got blasted the fuck back with a concussive rocket, “ASSHOLES, THOSE ARE HELIX MARK VI, IF THEY FIRE A REAL ROCKET YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD.”
Louis is, remarkably, the only one who stays on his feet, although now that they’re all wearing their visors it’s getting difficult to tell who’s who. The other two roll backwards, flipping over a few times before slamming into the cliff wall behind them. Reaper could fucking push both of them off the ledge and into the depths of the canyon with how annoyed he is at them, but that’s not important right now.
Three of the Helix fliers pop up from behind the rock ledge, hovering just a bit above the ground - low enough to get shelter again, but just high enough to give them a subtle height and maneuverability advantage over the Talon and Deadlock ground units. He hears Widowmaker and Henri fire off a few more rounds, but distant screams are the only reward for that - they’re aiming at the U.S. military soldiers who are stupidly rappelling down from the stable parts of the train still up on the tracks and making themselves easy targets.
“Widowmaker, Helix units, on the ground, below you!” Reaper growls out over the comms before he fucking dematerializes -
- and reforms himself directly behind the three Helix fliers.
God, that hurt like a FUCK.
He punches one of them in the back to make up for it.
FUCK THAT FUCKING HURT TOO
WHY DIDN’T HE JUST FUCKING SHOOT THEM LIKE A REGULAR ASSHOLE
“Sir, behind us!” another Helix flier screams, before launching himself high into the air and god, that’s gonna make them a fucking bitch for the snipers to track. The sir - the one Reaper assumes is some sort of squad leader - says something in Arabic before his own propulsion generators kick in and he too shoots up high, beyond the reach of Reaper’s shotguns. The one that Reaper had hit shoots off to the left, just above where Widowmaker and Henri are sniping out and -
“WIDOWMAKER, ABOVE YOU,” he shouts into the comms as the three Stooges cluster back to him. On the bluff ledge above him, he sees her drop to her knees and Henri follows suit, disappearing behind the edge of the cliff.
Ok but 76 and McCree not really talking to each other (McCree thinking 76 hates him because of his past lifestyle/ the whole association with Reaper thing) until one day they find themselves alone in awkward silence and finally 76 just goes “so anyway uhh….I heard you like bikes or…something?”