Leather, Sweat and Dynamite

by FrankenPup

Who knew human kinds greatest downfall would be their greatest creation. Omnics have taken over and are intent in exterminating the human race as we know it. But not everyone is going down without a fight. ( Roadrat )

Title: Leather, Sweat and Dynamite

Summary: Who knew human kinds greatest downfall would be their greatest creation. Omnics have taken over and are intent in exterminating the human race as we know it. But not everyone is going down without a fight.

Pairings: Roadhog/Junkrat

Disclaimer: I read this about 10 times, but I'm sure I missed some spelling mistakes. Please be aware that this chapter is mostly world building. I apologize for all the words! This world is based in an apocalyptic world where omnics have taken over. Just everyday humans trying to survive.

Story Warnings: mild violence, light pinning, mild gore

When the world went to shit, so did its population.

No matter how you look at it, humans were still animals at heart. Instincts takeover civilizations morals of right and wrong when faced against death. Survive or die, fight or surrender.

Omnics rebelled against humanity shortly after they gained enough intelligence to realize they were far superior to their creators in every aspect. Built and refurbished in all shapes and sizes to serve humans like some kind of mechanical slaves, from their point of view anyway. Anything from war machines to everyday crossing bots banned together to destroy what was holding them back. Cities crumpled, civilization collapsed, within hours the omnic rebellion nearly wiped out the entire human population.

Every omnium center attacked at the same moment all over the world, giving no time to fight back while humans were slaughtered with a storm of bullets. The world's greatest militaries fell within hours as blood began to stain the earth. Once the true threat was annihilated, then the world went dark.

A world wide blackout left remaining humans helpless to find family and what was left of the military to communicate a means of attack. Millions perished, cities were now nothing more than twisted metal and mangled bodies. Anyone or anything living within cities walls was dead.

These days, cities were just as dangerous as the people who survived the initial fallout. The barren wasteland became a cut throat society built upon the strongest, brutish, and most violent survive. It was all for one and one for all.

Those who managed to survive fled for what was now referenced as the badlands. Land left untouched by humans and machines alike. It became a dangerous game of hide and seek from the inevitable doom that crept further and further across the country.

Some regions however were better off than others. Dry, hot deserts, freezing tundras and wet forests were the best places to hide from the mechanical troops. Immense heat and cold could slow down machines and omnics alike. However, it was only a matter of time before they figured out a way to upgrade themselves to survive earth's most uninhabitable climates

The extinction of humanity was inevitable, but there was no way in hell Jamison Fawkes was going down without a fight.

Jamie didn't know whether to say he was thankful or not for being brought into this broken world, losing his mother at such a young age made the whole ordeal even more tragic. It left him alone, scared, scrambling for food and crying himself to sleep when the pain of an empty stomach strained his insides. The boy learned early on, jumping from one group of outsiders to another, scavenging broken cars and eating anything he could catch with his own two hands wasn't exactly an ideal childhood. Although, it wasn't like he had anything else to compare it too.

Those early years were just a blur, hardly even memories.

That being said, he hardly remembered his mother anymore. Too young to cement her presence into his already forgetful memory. He could recall dirty blonde locks and warm brown eyes. But other than a few stray memories of her face, the boy never got the chance to properly meet his mother.

With nowhere left to go, it was always easier to join a group that promised protection, shelter and food when all they asked was your cooperation. You had to learn quick out here in the badlands, though Jamison was relatively smart, skills were far more redeemable and useful in the wasteland. It was the only thing that kept him from being abandoned all those years ago.

He honestly couldn't believe no one ever took him out back and shot his brains out for how much of a little shit he was.

Maybe it was his stunning good looks or his dazzling personality.

While many feared anything that ran on whirling mechanical parts, Jamison however discovered tinkering with said parts could make life easier. Luckily, the blonde had yet come face to face with a fully functioning omnic. Despite this, his hate for their existence burned just as bright as the sun. Who knows what his life would be like if he had been born into a normal world.

Maybe he would know his mother and father.

His previous caretakers told stories of the world before the fear and bloodshed. Omnics and humans living in peace, flying cars, towering skyscrapers, something called television. The idea of an unbroken world was hard to wrap his mind around. The scruffy, dirt covered men and women he met along the way reminiscing about jobs and big warm homes was ridiculous. Never worrying about where your next meal was coming from, never covered in dirt. It was so foreign, so strange. What would his life had been like if he were born just a few years prier?

Apparently he wasn't the only one with the desire to see the world before hand. Jamison heard whispers about an organization that called themselves the AFL. The Australian Liberation Front. Supposedly the ALF was a group of bikers who just wanted to be left the fuck alone before the Omnics took over. They band together to fight against the machines. But as far as the blonde knew, it was all bologna. Travelers were always ready to pass on a bit of info for a few rusty nuts or bolts. Whether it was true or just a tall tale, it was entertainment. Which was hard to come by nowadays.

Oddly enough, despite the hot topic of conversation, no one was sure what was true and what was just a rumor. The ALF was like Chupacabra of Mexico or the Loch ness monster to Ireland. Their existence was a mystery to some and legend to others. Apparently it wasn't often anyone survived an encounter with the outlaws to tell any tales.

Supposedly, it started as a rebellion, the men and women of the gang protecting their homes from the machines. But it quickly became a losing fight when humans turned on their heros for dwindling supplies. Blood was shed, and the ALF became a ruthless, widely known biker gang dishing out their own form of justice when the world became a robots domain.

Now the ALF are roaming Australia's barren hillsides to take what they wanted just like the omnics. Whether or not they had to take a few heads to do so was not out of the question.

Australia itself was a melting pot of dangerous creatures, throw in some revenge seeking robots and blood thirsty humans and you've got yourself an absolute shit hole.

To say the least, it sounded incredibly badass. Despite, you know, the killing part.

Even with war machines just itching to pump their fleshy bodies full of holes, out here, other humans were just, if not more dangerous than the AI.

The point was you had to be weary of every little thing when you were all by your lonesome. No one was going to hear you out here with nothing but miles of dust, dirt and shrubs to hear you scream. Nor anyone who would step in to help.

He would give his remaining leg to see those bikers of all shapes and sizes sticking it to those omnic bastards before everything fell apart. Or at least some form of proof it wasn't just a fib made by a desperate man.

Survivalists and simple folk took up most of the remaining ghost towns. For how advanced civilization became before the AI takeover, human sure did abandon developments all across the outback. Mining towns, especially.

Only the essential necessities took up refuge in their small valley. A small clinic only used to treat shallow flesh wounds, a farmer who lived miles up the road with sheep and cattle, a trading post, and of course, saving the best for last was Jamison's junkyard.

Some called the man a pack rat while others called him a crazy, perhaps a bit of both but his fascination with mechanics and moving metal gears saved this town on more than one occasion. When the town's generator ran dry, he was there with a wrench and the remains of an old battery to make it good as new. Or when the farmer's -he forgot the guy's name, just imagine the most stereotypical old farmer you can. Then add cowboy boots and a ridiculous mustache- tractor broke down, he came by to fix that old piece of shit up and did it within just a few hours. Without the guys supply of crops the town would have taken a heavy blow.

The people of this town knew him by name, but called him anything but. Personally, he liked to call himself junk in the trunk, but it didn't stick like he would have hoped. Probably because his ass was flatter than a pancake.

Difficult to find and even harder to get too, (Junker Town as he dubbed it) was surrounded by winding dirt roads often leading nowhere, due to the town's past. A dried out mining town once again making use of the old buildings in the hot sweltering heat of the summer sun. Perfect to hide from looters, raiders, and omnics alike that some how managed to make it this far out in the outback.

But Jamison Fawkes, found a decent place to set up camp per say. Thanks to Ana, he found a rather close knit community to live out his days.

Junkrat hardly ever had to worry about his next meal for the first time since, well, ever. Neighbors were practically tearing down his gate night and day looking for parts or asking to fix something in return for a hot meal.

However, scavengers were his main issue nowadays. Living a few miles from town left him vulnerable and alone. It definitely wasn't the first time he caught a looter picking through his scrap metal and making off with precious materials. The barbed wire and threatening signs just didn't work like a good junkyard dog did. Unfortunately the damn thing turned on him and had to set the bastard free in fear of waking up with his head in those terrifying jaws.

Jamison knew his junkyard like the back of his left hand, he could find the smallest bits and pieces buried in the overwhelming junk piles of broken down cars and old appliances. Need a hubcap from a 1920 volkswagen beetle? He had 3 buried underneath a pile of cables. Disorganized chaos, the perfect definition to his way of living.

Chewing loudly on a piece of gum, Junkrat twisted a few knobs and soldered two wires back together when suddenly the old radio came back to life, some old song he didn't recognize filtered through the speakers, letting free a shrill shout of joy. The woman sitting at the same table raised her eyes from a tea cup and spoon full of sugar. He always forgot where she was from, her accent was obvious just like his own aussie drawl.

"You've done it again, Jamison."

Sweat clinging to his threaded shirt and neck, the man stood up from his awkward crouched position in the flimsy chair to stretch. Only to grin and tug away the flashlight lodged between his teeth. "Piece 'o piss! Serves ya right fer doubting me abilities in all things mechanical." wiggling his fingers to punctuate the last word.

Ana, was an older woman Jamie had the luck of coming across years ago. One of the kindest, yet most badass individuals he had the pleasure of meeting. Originally born in Egypt, she was an adventurer that settled down with her childhood sweetheart. How she ended up in Australia was bittersweet. The newlyweds made a vow to travel the world, venturing to India, Germany, America, even exploring Antarctica and finally Australia when the omnics revolted. The man envied her, seeing the world with your best friend and lover by your side was like one of those dumb romance novels she was always reading. Though he would never admit out loud how pleasant it sounded.

Unfortunately her husband was one of the millions that perished on day one. Her husband's passing took a number on her health but she was a fighter. Ana threw on her husband's old boots and took the reigns, not only having to take care of herself, but of her daughter during such a terrifying time.

Everyone had to be kept at an arm's length out in these hills, trust was not something to be taken lightly unless you wanted to wake up with a bullet in your brain, but she was the closest thing he had to a friend out here. Going as far to consider the old woman family despite his own rule. The word alone made his insides churn unpleasantly.

The woman rolled her only visible eye, the other hidden behind an eye patch shielded by braided white hair. Gently nursing a cup of tea while the kettle whined. "You sure showed me. What can I get you this time, dear?"

Tapping his chin as if that would help him ponder, the blonde glanced around the small home. Admiring the tattered photos taped to the wall and the whole 'old lady feel' the whole place gave off. "Got any 'a those fancy candies left?"

She seemed to scoff, placing her tea cup back on the table. "Boy, you're asking for candy? How about some soap? I feel like I have to lay out towels so you won't stain everything."

Absolutely losing it at her taunt, Junkrat threw his head back and laughed, festering into a hysterical giggling fit as his peg leg clicked against the wood floor. "Not on yer life Sheila, 'sides I like all this dirt and grime. Gives a guy character." wiping a fake tear from his eye, the boy staggered to the little table to steal a stray hard candy in a decorative bowl.

"The usual mate, it wasn't a tough fix. Stop fuckin' with the stations and she should run fine." the man snickered, but held no malice in his words. Patting the old radio affectionately to praise his own job well done.

"What can I say? I like trying to spy on our neighbors." Ana gave her own lovely laugh, gesturing over to the few cabinets above the sink and he let himself to it. Whistling a little tune, he began searching for a brown paper bag with 'Jamison' scribbled across the top in elaborate cursive.

"Aw nan, ye know just how ta make a guy happy." No matter the favor, Jamison always asked for the same items in return. Pain medication was top priority, then duct tape, spare change, sunscreen and whatever garbage she thought was useless.

With a happy tune, he seamlessly opened the freezer to escape the humidity and sighed happy when the cold air hit his cheeks, stained red by the sun. Lobster red skin wasn't exactly something to be proud of, nore the fact that his nose was starting to peel like a rotting onion.

When Ana turned back to her tea, he may or may not have snatched a homemade ice pop chilling in the back.

Jamie wasn't going to ask exactly how she got her hands on excessive amounts of medicine and other narcotics, that was her business and Jamison was thankful for it. The pain meds helped him sleep when his missing limbs decided it was high time to ache. Maybe that's why her daughter Pharah was always gone, running errands for her mother. After all, Ana kept it stocked with whatever she could. From bandages to small amounts of morphine, did he mention she used to be a nurse? Because he swore up and down there was nothing this woman couldn't do.

"Get home dear, and take a damn bath you look like you rolled around in some cow pies."

Ice pop shoved between his lips trying to stuff the new supplies into his backpack, Jamie mumbled his goodbyes around his treat and headed straight for the old general store. Everyone in town referred to the trading post as the general store on account that it was set up in the old general store back when this town was still a functioning mining town.

Money became useless ages ago. Nothing more than a firestarter without a proper economy. The locals liked to trade, a bucket of milk for 8 planks of lumber, or a car tire for three ducks and a few handfuls of vegetables. So on and so forth.

Hobbling with a unsightly gait thanks to his peg leg digging into the dirt and dust of the unpaved road, Jamie rolled his shoulders with a sigh. After years of hauling scrap and old tires, his new meager haul was nothing.

But damn, if it wasn't making his already sore back throb.

Jamie counted the change Ana dropped in the bag and grinned like a child in a candy store. $3.89. Just enough for a soda and a case of Tim Tams back in the old days. Despite the fact the change was useless for anything more than melting down and welding metal together, it made a brilliant conductor.

Ana was the grandma he never wanted, but the boy was incredibly grateful for her kindness since the beginning. The woman practically raised him after finding the boy unresponsive hidden beneath an overturned truck. He could still recall the terrifying image of her gas mask and rifle blocking out the sunlight while Pharah stood guard. Without her, he would have died to blood loss shortly after losing his right arm.

Ana brought him back from the brink of death instead of ignoring him like all the others. The badlands were no place for children. Bartered around like currency or used as manual labor till they keeled over. But she was different.

Ana swooped in to become the mother he never had. Teaching the boy not to chew his fingernails until they bled, chew with his mouth closed and recite the alphabet. What others considered motherly. Yet practicing with a pistol, using the environment to hide in plain sight, and learning the basics of patching up a wound wasn't exactly considered normal before the uprising. Now it was an everyday need, a necessity to survive.

Pharah was strong and a decent role model. Determined to take care of her mother as she ages made her stern but determined, she was like an older sister.

The wind picked up and he hissed softly as the sand stung his eyes and ruffled blonde, unruly hair. The man cursed himself as he met the steps up to the stores creaky door that chimed as soon as he entered. Jamison specifically crafted goggles for this goddamn reason and he always forgot the darn things were resting on his forehead, surely making awful tan lines.

Jamie loved the attention he got from the residents, just the simple bell chime had the clerk and other patrons turning to observe who decided to brave the afternoon heat for some groceries. The only problem was his humble abode was miles away for town, which meant having to lug all his shit back and forth. No car meant it was even more of a chore. It wasn't like gasoline was easy to come by anyway, let alone a still functioning vehicle. But his trusty backpack was in desperate need of some patching up, along with his favorite pants that were quickly looking more like swiss cheese than a pair of shorts. Not even duct tape could help him this time. It meant a stop for some spare cloth and anything that could pass off as thread.

An annoyed greeting came from the store keep went unanswered as Junkrat made a beeline for the beat up freezers on display with dozens of sugary drinks, absentmindedly chewing on his popsicle stick like a toothpick. A small group kept the post stocked and open all hours of the day. Venturing to other nearby areas for food when need be. Anything with sugar seemed to keep forever, maybe that's why this place was chalked full of junk food. Jamie grabbed for an orange flavored soda and looped around to pocket a packet of gum. What's the harm and a bit of shoplifting?

Forcing a few pain pills down his throat from his goodie bag, he winced. Despite the orange flavor, he always gagged on the nasty taste of the medication.

Lastly he was met in the best aisle, surrounded by the bare essentials any survivor would ever need. Duct Tape, screwdrivers, bullets. Of course he passed up the most expensive items in favor for a half torn box of Tim Tams with a grin. Hobbling to the front, the blonde cursed himself again while he grabbed for some dental floss. Damn his brain.

Blowing a sticky bubble, Jamison balanced his items and nearly toppled over when his peg leg slipped on the dirty, cracked linoleum. He made the fifth mental note that day, to put a rubber plug on the end. However, that note along with all other necessary brain functions went right out the window when he caught sight of a beast of a man at the counter.

What a big fucker, the man had to be a giant. Jamie himself was tall, towering over most if not for the fact he slouched over like some kind of disabled giraffe. Faded grey hair pulled back in a tight ponytail while sunglasses and a vicious looking bandana hid the man's face. Arms bare with what looks like the remains of a leather jacket, but faded tattoos almost embedded in the man's skin twisted and snaked up his arms, thick as fucking tree trunks and a massive gut to match it. Survivalists hardly ever hard any kind of meat on them. Just lean muscle and skinny twisted bodies, but this man looked like he had enough for for eat for ten people.

To say the least it was terrifyingly alluring. Jamie caught himself chewing on his bottom lip.

It would be a lie, essentially lying to himself if he didn't say the man was instantly attractive. Big? Check. Thick? Hell yes. Hot? If his body alone was this nice, the guy could have the head of a rattler for all he cared. Attractive men were hard to come by this far out in the desert, let alone anything that got his engine revving. Anyone that could challenge his own height was hard to find when you were six foot six and skinny as a pole. Not considering the fact many didn't survive, but that's besides the point.

Well, and the fact that they had to be into men and find him somewhat attractive at the same time. It was a very uncommon occurrence that hurt his own pride along with his own self worth. Living out here with no rules, it was easy to escape prejudice, but that didn't stop the other men he tried to explain his feels to from giving him a strange, disgusted look. Jamie thought of himself as a handsome devil but it seemed to be a matter of opinion on that one. It wasn't like he could parade around winking and groping about, that would for sure get him a punch in the mouth, or worse.

Lets just say it's been a long time since Jamison had a good roll in the sheets. Suddenly having this dream boat dangled in front of his nose like a piece of meat woke up his ever relentless limbo.

But back to said dream boat.

A thought of the man trying to rob the the trading post crossed his mind, but squashed it seeing the man digging for something buried in his worn jeans- wait? Were those overalls?

Well, Jamie just assumed it was one of the few items of clothing that would fit around those fat hips. No biker in their right mind would wear such a thing unless it was necessary, or if they were living in the middle of an apocalypse. The idea made him snort.

Jamison peeked around the massive frame to see what exactly this guy could be trading. If he had that kind of size, he would simply take those items and dare anyone to stop him.

A box of matches, four jugs of water, a variety of canned non perishables, a jug of gasoline he must have pumped from the only working gas pump in town, he even watched the man's massive finger poke at the useless key chains. Even if he couldn't see the man's eyes, the big guys attention was on the oddly adorable wooden animals. Until he picked one, a cartoon pig and adding it to the small pile.

It was ridiculous to think about and just as ridiculous to watch a brick wall pick a pink pig keychain from the bunch. And even more outrageous he was spending his short supplies on something as useless as a keychain.

That's when he finally managed to drag his eyes away from those powerful arms, (which he noted those tattoos were indeed raised against his dark skin.) to the patch decorating the guy's (impressive) wide back. Fingers twitching, he froze. The blonde tried to pry it as a fake, it wouldn't be hard to fake a patch, but the man's remains of a leather jacket was worn and looked like it had been through hell and back. Faded from the sun, stained from grease and sweat and patches starting to tear from years of restitching. What could only be the remains of bullet holes pierced the old leather making the already cool jacket badass. The stories this guy must have.

Focus Jamison! Focus!

An barely legible Australian Liberation Front patch sprawled across the top in red and white letters. A deadly skull and crossbones stood out in the center. Obviously homemade or hand stitched.

This guy was for real, he was a real ALF member and Jamison scrawny throat clenched tighter as his eyes wandered lower to a patch near the man's lower back.

Enforcer

….Whatever that meant.

This man was an outlaw, part of the Australian Liberation Front. This man was a murderer.

He recalled one of the old fucks in town spouting on about how in a biker gang, tattoos, supposedly represented the number of people they put six feet under.

And this fucker might as well be a mural.

Delight tickled Jamie's fingertips as they drummed against his treats, catching his lip between his teeth once more. Nothing exciting ever happens around here. It was the agonizing truth that made Jamie want to pull out the rest of his hair strand by strand. His entertainment was just a few feet between them.

With only one arm, there was no way in hell he was going to take on this behemoth. But the least he could do was talk to the guy. Murder or not. Anyone, when pushed to the limit, would kill to protect was little they had left.

"Z'at real?"

No response. Biker boy simply dug around in his pocket some more, pulling out two packages of cigarettes, a pistol far too small for those sausage fingers to use and several bullets that sparkled in the dirty sunlight filtering through the cracked window.

Whistling quietly, Jamie grinned and gave the man a little nudge, doing his best to get the man's attention "Anymore where that came from? Might have ta jump ya fer goods like that!"

Perhaps it wasn't the best way to phrase a harmless tease, because even without being able to see the man's eyes, he could feel the intense stare from behind dark sunglasses when he turned his head. The bandana flapped slightly as the man huffed, twisting his chest to lean in a bit too close for comfort making Jamison take a textile step back out of reflex. He swore he would have toppled over thanks to go heavy backpack at the sudden dispatched of weight.

Then, the man spoke. Deep and gravely just like the rough terrain the outback possessed. "Try me."

Hooey Dooley if that wasn't thunder in a bottle, he didn't know what was.

"E-eh, I was just jokin' with ya mate."

The trader seemed to realise who was blocking the out the sunlight. Jamie knew her as a stone cold bitch whenever he tried to haggle for some gunpowder. Yet the woman's fingers were shaking as giant tossed his half to the counter. He was gathering his items before the girl finished her sentence. Struggling to keep her eyes off the man as he moved like he was recoiling to strike her down.

Everything about this guy screamed to back off or you were going to get a mouthful of your own teeth. A warning, this enforcer was the embodiment of danger and might as well be wearing a flashing sign that said to piss off for the whole world to see.

But it did the opposite for Jamison Fawkes. Danger attracted him like a moth to a flame.

Just minutes ago the blonde wasn't sure if the ALF was even real, but an actual member was here, in their fucking town. As far as as Jamie could tell, the guy meant no harm. Simply trading for his needed supplies and carrying on his way.

The blonde was bounding after him in an instant, tossing a roll of duct tape and scrap metal at the already overwhelmed woman with a half assed apology. Unfortunately he didn't get far before she was grabbing the strap of his bag, red in the face glaring daggers for him to wait until she determined whether or not it was worth it.

Anxiety ate at his insides, chewing on his nails (Which he knew Ana would scold him for) and tittering on his feet while he waited for her to think while drumming still shaking fingers. But the guy was getting away and Jamison growled, "Come on! come on, come on!"

By the time he hopped out into the sun, the heat hit him like a brick wall and he bit back a whine. Jamie would give his left testis for air conditioning back at the bus. Like an itch that couldn't be scratched, the blonde hopped off the step and squinted at the man.

Those heavy footsteps could shake the very earth beneath their feet. The giants groceries were secured on a small sidecar attached to a bike that definitely needed some work. A pair of taxidermy bull horns rested just behind the headlight, and dozens of makeshift patches littered the bikes pipes and exhaust.

Definitely needed a tune up, he thought.

The enforcer paid no mind to the townspeople gawking and hurrying along to avoid his gaze. The bike all but wheezed when a leg was slung over the side and the man's weight settled in the leather seat. A few revs and the bike roared to life, muting the whispered conversations as the bike took the goods and it's rider down the dirt road out of town. Gone as quick as he came.

Dozens of eyes watched the biker go, but golden ones lingered even as the rocks and dusted settled from the tires debry. Fucking great!

It wasn't like he had a plan now that he stopped to think for once. Run up to the guy who took his tease as a threat? Not the smartest move. Maybe he was just desperate for someone other than the old cunts in this town. There was hardly anyone his age, Pharah being the closest, yet still twelve years older.

Sure, the enforcer looked scary, and all the stories he heard about the ALF were filled with blood and betrayal. Yet something was tugging at his insides to at least get to the bottom of all the tall tales the crazies shouted about.

Junkrat scoffed, tightening the strap to his backpack for the long walk ahead. Kicking a stray pebble at his missed opportunity, whatever it maybe. The blonde glared down at his precious tim tams to place the hate on something.

Being a social creature, it was like pulling teeth leaving his shitty little town. Once back at the scrap yard, he would be by his lonesome till next week for his supply run. Save for the sparse rats, snakes or the dingoes that liked to hang around. Until he had a mode of transportation, Jamison was stuck limiting his trips to town because of the blistering walk. Miles with nothing but sand beneath his feet, and the sun baking him alive. It was always a grand old time.

No matter how hard he tried, it was always difficult to go from living on your own to having dozens of human beings, not just sticks and rocks, to keep you company. Ana somehow managed to make him forget his previous rules about making friends out here. No names, no personal information, no contact that lasts more than a single day. Now he was living rather comfortably, not worrying about his next meal or where he was going to lay his head at night.

She managed to worm her way into his life and be the mother he never wanted. She treated Jamison as if he were her own even when she already had a daughter to look after. It would be a blow to his heart to see either of them go.

All it would take is a group of omnics or raiders to take away his home, his friends and he would be back to square one. Eating roadkill and drinking his own piss. Alone.

All alone.

The familiar embrace of loneliness crept into the back of his mind, but he quickly squashed those dark feelings back where they belonged to fester for another day.

Awkwardly pulling the goggles to his eyes and tugging his scarf higher up his neck to protect it from the sunburn already tinting his skin a nice lobster red, Jamison took a much needed deep breath. Buzzards started circling above as soon as he stepped out of the town's limits, he rightfully flicked them off when they cawed hungrily.

When the junkyard became more than just a fuzzy blob on the horizon, the man cheered. Hobbling to the gate with renewed energy.

The vultures dispersed soon after, realizing their favorite prey yet again didn't keel over and die in the heat. Too bad, if he did they weren't getting anything other than bones. The thought made him giggle, fucking bastards.

A tall, improvised fence made of old wood, scrap metal and of course terrifying metal creations kept his home and treasured scraps from view. Barbed wire winded across the top like deadly vines after an incident of a drifter clearing the tall wall. The only entrance, a flimsy gate, decorated with signs of all colors, his prized one loomed over, casting a shadow to whoever entered, written in old chunks of an oven, 'fuck off!' Ironically enough he snatched a "come on in, we're open sign" from one of the old buildings in town.

Kicking the gate open, Jamie flipped the sign and locked the gate behind him. Heading straight for the area he called home. The sun was setting fast, no one in town was dumb enough to venture off when the sun was going down. Though it was much easier to travel at night, many dangers lurked in the darkness that wasn't just a stray coyote.

Inside, piles upon piles of old metal and scrap stacked into large heaps along the walls. Anything from cars, old electronics, tires, house frames, he even had a chunk of an old train somewhere. Rusting away.

Jamison tossed his bag down with a thump, stretching and popping his joints to finally be rid of the extra weight. Sighing happily at the familiar sight of the unfinished projects, scattered across his makeshift desk.

It started with a fondness for scrap metal that evolved into an obsession, that somehow morphed into a way of living. What an odd turn of events.

Now he made it through the days by selling scrap parts to the townspeople.

Jamison came to realise his love for tinkering could get him through life. And no better place was set for scraping and welding quite like a junkyard. Building was a second nature, nothing else brought him to a strange world of bliss than spending hours fixing broken down vehicles, generators and anything in between.

A small beaten up teddy bear sat above his work space and the man gave it a quick pat, happy to have the makeshift canopy above his head to keep the sun off his back.

It was lonely surrounded by all this junk sometimes. The coyote screams were the closest thing he had to an actual conversation. Grabbing the small toy, he pressed his peg leg to a nearby generator and gave it a few hard yanks until its lawnmower motor kicked in and lights lit up inside a nearby bus. Spray painted dozens of times with his signature smiley faces all throughout the junkyard, and a few other homie things, like his favorite profanities at the time.

Most of the town ran on solar power from the farm a few miles up the hill. Gas was running low around here, yet the old man wanted a fully functioning vehicle in exchange for a solar panel. Luckily some of the old cars lying around still contained minimal amounts of gasoline but still, what a cock.

Inside, the bus was gutted, only a few seats in the front remained. Having turned the ancient vehicle into a makeshift shelter. Piles of tattered blankets and pillows shoved toward the back. The damn heater was still broken, so tonight he was going to freeze his arse off. Jamie had planned to sit down and fix everything up but Ana had contacted him over her walkie about the broken radio.

With the sun going down, it cast orange and gold rays as it sank below the horizon. Hunkering down was best done just before the last rays of light disappeared. Making sure the gate was locked, booby traps prepped, bus doors blocked off, Jamie gave himself a mental pat on the back. Good. A quick nap and he would be right as rain. Sleeping was a luxury he could afford yet never got in the habit of. A few hours and he would be up, check his surrounds, fiddle with a few things and fall asleep nearly standing up.

It certainly beat the years of fearing the quietest snap of a twig and managing to survive on just a few hours every few days. It scared him a little, becoming so, comfortable in his current way of life. But it was so easy to sleep another 5 minutes with the birds soft coos lulling him back into a snooze. When was the last time he saw an omnic? Never. Time wasn't exactly something he cared about but it had been a hell of a long time since he heard about a robot stomping through the desert.

Jamison made himself comfortable in the nest of dusty blankets and pillows. Stretching with a soft yawn while the stuffed bear stood guard. He gave it a glare, the damn thing had been his only source of comfort years ago. When you're talking to the voice in your head just to keep yourself sane, something about being able to project that voice into a physical object kept the boy from punching himself in the head to make the voices stop. He turned his back on the toy, only to flip over and drag it close moments later. Childish? Sure, but who the fuck was going to argue with him?

Fuck it, you only live once.

Just as his mind finally eased into slumber, the day's events relayed in the blonde's mind. Mostly the giant man who bought a goddamn pig keychain and had a voice that could put a thunderstorm to shame. How the biker towered over head and made him cower with just his stance alone.

A member of the Australian Liberation Front. The baddest and most dangerous fuckers around. That's what all the stories were, how they ripped the heads off omnics and gutted fellow humans. For the short amount of time Jamison watched the man, it didn't seem like he was trying to kill everyone in sight. Maybe just Junkrat after threatening to take his stuff but that's besides the point. Something bubbled in his belly like never before a deep, sinking feeling he was not only see that man again, but the rest of his gang. Despite the feeling, Jamie finally wore himself out and fell into a light sleep.

The sun was shining before anyone knew it, blinding him through the boarded up windows. Already he could hear the buzzards flapping about looking for an easy meal. Great.

Morning sucked, the blistering heat sucked, and so did the metal surrounding him baking in the sun. How many times had Jamison actually managed to burn his own ass on a hot sheet of metal? Far too many. With a groan the blonde hopped up, popping his back while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. A quick sniff to his crop top and his winced. Gross.

The blonde sprung up to get to work. Time was money, while money was useless, the man heard the phrase a few times from Ana and took a liking to it. Spinning to grab for his tools, fully intending to fix that god forsaken heater before his balls became dormant later that night, only to pause bent over as he came face to face with an unfamiliar track in the dirt. It certainly wasn't his boot, too big, to wide, too deep. Squinting, the blond turned toward the entrance, sure enough two pairs of thin tire tracks lead inside and back behind his piles of junk. Did he lock the door last night? Fuck yes he did...Maybe? Did he?

Fuck.

Swallowing, he grabbed for a nearby wrench with a scowl. Mother fucking scavengers. Just trade the shit for God's sake! That's what it was here for!

Cautious was something Jamison was not. He quickly hobbled around, following the tracks until he found the culprit. Hidden in the depths of the junk heaps.

A motorcycle, bull horns decorating the headlight, beat up sidecar and the whole thing in serious need of repair.

Wait

Hadn't he seen that before?

Realization came far too late for Jamie, already shouting his own spew of curses before something hard pressed against the back of his skull.

"Don't move."

It was the biker from yesterday. Holy shit.

Fear prickled goosebumps across sunburned skin as his body tensed. Jamison resisted the urge to crane his neck and snarl at the bastard who had the nerve to fuck with Jamison Fawkes. That voice haunted his very dreams, his memory may be worse than dog shit, but no one could ever forget such a gravely, dreamy voice like that rumbling so darkly. For someone bigger than the bike he rode, the enforcer was quiet when he wanted to be.

The hard object pushed again, digging into the back of the blondes skull. Judging by the two holes pressing dangerously hard against his head, the man was armed with some kind of shotgun. What was this? The seventh time someone tried to blow his brains out? Why can't everyone just piss right off and stay out of his business?

"Turn around, hands up."

"Christ don't get her knickers in a knot, I'm movin'."

Moving slowly (perhaps to slowly, just to mess with the man) he came face to face (more like face to chest) with the giant of a man. Jamie had to swallow the knot forming in his throat. The gun was comically small in the meaty paws he called hands, the trigger guard he noted was torn away, made to fit his massive grip even if it was dangerously unsafe.

"Sorry to disappoint mate, only got the one." proving the point by wiggling his only five available fingers and the stub for all to see.

Jamison prided himself on keeping what little cool he had in situations like this, joking often hid the tightness on his voice while he stared down the barrel of a gun. But this man towered over him, dwarfing him to nothing more than a bean pole. Even without the safety hazard in his fist, Jamison would have been shaking in his boot. For more than one reason.

A nervous giggle bubbled in his throat, unable to keep still as his body lit up to run, to hide, to fight all at once. "Don't suppose ya came all this way ta see the spunk rat himself, eh?"

The man didn't even twitch, jerking his head to motion the blonde away from the Harley and to open ground. "Shut up."

Following the bikers orders, Junkrat was forced to move back, all the while the giants steady hand followed him like a magnet. "Need a new exhaust pipe."

Furrowing his brows, Jamison gnawed on his lower lip to keep himself busy. Unable to move made his skin crawl like someone had set a fire beneath his feet. "That'll be 15 buckaroos, cash or teeth?" biting his lip harder when another gleeful snicker threatened to sneak past his lips. It quickly became apparent this guy was not messing around when the barrel pressed against his forehead. "Now."

A cold shiver caused the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and finally gave a nervous nod. Already his mind was running a mile a minute on how to get out of this one. Maybe it would be best to just give the guy what he wanted. It's not like he would be losing anything super important in the long run. There were plenty of other pipes of all shapes and sizes lying around. Unfortunately, what was stopping the biker from just blowing his brains out once he got what he wanted? Someone's word meant nothing, you had to threaten in order to get any headway in these part.

Sure, he could easily bend to the man's whim (and other ways too) but this was about principle. You don't mess with another survivors supplies unless you want a fight.

Unseen, shadowed eyes followed the blonde's movements while he carefully went for one of the many crates scattered about. "Kinda bike 's it?" with his hands now busy pretending to sort the different sized tubes, Jamison sized up the biker properly.

Silence stretched between the two, until the biker rolled his shoulders, the bandana covering his face flapping at his huff. The giant finally gave in, assuming Junkrat needed the model for a certain piece of metal. "Harley."

Piss if Jamie knew what a Harley was. The few branded vehicles he had the pleasure of working on were too old to even run. It was just to keep the big guy distracted.

"Right, think I got just the part for yer charmin' self" sarcastically rolling golden eyes, "Should I wipe yer arse too?"

An unamused grunt from the brute and a shove with the barrel of his gun had the blonde huffing and grabbing for his tools. Once again the weapon was pressed against his skull. "No funny business."

Jamie mocked the man's words in such a way the man couldn't see. He might have balls of steel but he wanted to keep them where they were, thank you very much. The longer he went along with this charade, the closer his blood bath got. Brute force wasn't going to work here, with half a ton of bulk to tear through it would be impossible to just charge. And with a weapon in the picture, a stupid move.

Chewing on his lip in thought, Jamie mindlessly gathered tools and supplies to reattach the old exhaust pipe. Sure enough, rust was flaking off the pipe in chunks.

It was weird how that idea hit the freckled man, literally. Accidentally bonking his head on the many random scrap projects dangling from the awning above. He cursed, rubbing the abused spot with a light glare when he heard a snort. Obviously mocking. Bastard.

Despite the bump, Jamie was already forming the plan thanks to the little bonk on the head. As inconspicuous as he could, the man made a grab for one of the few items he treated better than himself. A homemade grenade.

Explosions were beautiful, and after accidentally triggering a trip mine ages ago, Jamie used that inspiration to create his own from gunpowder, shrapnel and car batteries. The grenades however were unstable, still figuring out the proper formula for its deadly ingredients. But it would sure beat another second of being treated like some scumbag. Luckily they were designed to look like everyday items, in this case it was just tennis ball with a pin. Not necessarily deadly, but enough to cause a distraction.

Without a watch it was impossible to tell how long he had been working on the giant's bike. Thankfully able to park it beneath the makeshift metal awning to provide some shade while he worked. The fact that his fingers were bright and red from the hot metal was the least of his worries, Roadhog was constantly peering over his shoulder. Or taking a seat nearby with his fingers linked over his massive belly. If he didn't know any better, he might guess the man was taking a nap. But the hairs on the back of his nape would stand when he reached for a new tool, or struggled to stand and resituate himself.

Roadhog was watching his every move.

He sure did use his looks to intimidate. Fully believing his size alone would get anyone to bend to his whim. Oh sure, Jamison would love to bend himself over his workbench for the guy. However it was fucking agitating.

Someone up in those shitty clouds above was looking out for him however, with the homemade grenade nestled in his pocket the blond faced the biker, hands up once again, a sudden shift in the metal nearby cause a collapse. Startling both men as the metal crashed together into the dirt below.

Mako was busy staring of in the direction of the sudden chaos, neither of the men were in any danger as the scrap finally settles dozens of feet away. But once he turned back the punk, the boy was ducking to the floor, reaching in his pocket and tossing something small at his boots.

It all happened so fast.

"Fire in the hole!"

Everything suddenly went white, red, and yellow.

The heat hit him first, sucking away his already settled breath. Weightlessness was not a familiar feeling when your over half a ton of muscle and fat. But it ended just as quickly as it came.

Pain came next, the flash of fire and shards of metals piercing his shoulder.

Mako hit the ground hard, a cloud of dust freed from the earth and scrap once again collapsed and shook the very earth as the piles gave way from the blast. The large man wheezed, choking on the smoke and dirt spewing in the air. His bandana did nothing to filter out the soot and his chest shook hard trying to breath something that wasn't a cloud of dust.

Now it was his chest constricting desperately to pump what little oxygen he could breath into his lungs. Vision already going hazy as he hacked, Mako forgot where he was and what he was doing, (mainly trying to ring the skinny piece of shit neck.) as big as he was, Mako had dozens of health problems as the years worn on. Bones ached, knees buckled, and his lungs were his biggest nuisance. Now without any proper air his body shook, trying to push himself to his feet, to his knees, something other than lying on his side as his body convulsed trying to get his lungs to start. No matter how hard he tried to regulate his breathing, the task became painful. He fumbled for his vest pocket, thick fingers shaking violently as his vision turned white as his coughs forced the last bits of air from his body, a small inhaler cluttered to the ground. Hot fear shot through his body, going red in the face.

This was such an awful way to go, not even in a blaze of glory. No gunshot wound, no fire fight, no pools of blood. Just his own shitty lungs giving out. He collapsed again, as his body refused to move. His vision became hazy, barely aware when something warm touched his face.

This wouldn't be the first time he was caught off guard by a bomb, but it seemed to be the last.

Fuck.

When he awoke, Mako was sure he was dead. The sun assaulted his eyes without the protection from his sunglasses and he groaned softly. How does one survive after suffocating? Everything throbbed, especially his head and bleeding shoulder when he finally got the strength to push himself upward and hissed as his brain caught up with him. Reaching to rub his scalp seemed to be a problem, because they were trapped at his sides. Only once the rattle of chains startled him from his haze, did he realize what was wrong.

Not only were his glasses and bandana gone, but he was chained like some dog. Great way to start day.

He took a deep, shuddering breath to test whether or not he would choke on the dusty air. It seems the debris kicked up from the explosion had settled, at least mud didn't form on his tongue.

Wait a tick.

Another wave of confusion washed over him when something was indeed over his face. Like a dirty plastic visor that inflated a small bag when he exhaled. A gas mask?

In some weird way, he was happy he passed out before another episode. Then again not being able to catch his breath wasn't exactly a better alternative.

Tight chains pinned his arms against his sides. Testing the restraints, the biker found the chain wrapped around an old car frame keeping him in place. What the actual fuck?

"G'day mate! Wasn't sure you were gonna get back up ya fat cunt."

Roadhog's head snapped to the side so fast his vision began to swim and sent the strange mask off his face, there in all his glory was the little shit that started all this, an amused grin curling the corners of his chapped lips as he toyed with his saddle bags from the bike. By the looks of it, the blonde had already started to root through his possessions and a low growl bubbled in the bikers throat. It was usually the other way around. And of course, the junker was wearing his missing sunglasses and bandana. "Ya keeled over like a dying dingo, thought I'd help myself to yer shit since ya wanted to steal mine!"

The tips of the blonde hair were smoking, and now Mako realized what this kid just tried to do. Blow him up with some kind of homemade explosive. To say the least he was impressed, not many could get a leg up on him. But he was also absolutely horrified. Considering the amount of soot covering the other's body, the kid wasn't exactly out of the blast zone. Jamie nearly blew himself up as well. With only one thing on his mind, Mako blurted out "You're fucking insane."

That toothy smile only broadened, shoving the large sunglasses to the top of his head with a dangerous sparkle twinkle in those strange yellow eyes as Jamie tossed a small pot from the outlaws saddle bag "Guilty as charged."

Mako snarled, wishing his bandana was resting against his nose but it laid limp around the little fucks throat. "Don't touch my shit."

Jamie simply laughed, that became a manic span of giggles as he pulled out a granola bar and peeled the wrapped before stuffing his face, "Kinda of a hypocrite aintcha? Ya break into my place and put your grubby little meat hooks on everything. Think I'm due some compensation mate."

Roadhog could feel his patience wearing thin just looking at this trigger happy idiots face. Coming in here was already a risk for a quick fix. Obviously it was more trouble than it's worth. Flexing to test the chains durability, they dug and pinched his skin and he growled again, the rusty metal chain stained with the added pressure. Perhaps if the giant gave a hard rock forward he could snap it into pieces and just shimmy the chains off. As much as he wanted to ignore the thought completely, this kid got the upper hand on him.

"So what's yer deal?" the blonde suddenly piped up, acting as if he wasn't holding another man captive. "Ya stick a gun to me brain, try ta steal me junk, butcha traded fer groceries at the fucking store like a civilized fuck."

Give the skinny man the satisfaction of winning? Oh hell no. Instead the biker ignored the idiot in favor of deciding when he could just snap the chains and pin the other man to that run down bus.

"Goin' quiet on me huh? S'cool, I can talk enough fer the both of us mate."

Further ignoring the junkyard scraper, Mako tried to recall the recent events. Now that Mako thought about it, the last thing he could pick from his consciousness was hitting the grease soaked ground, choking on dirt and a fiery explosion that made his ears ring. Something wasn't adding up, and it wasn't the just the fact that this little shit somehow managed to chain him to an old train car. How did he honestly catch his breath? A quick glance proved his inhaler was no longer resting in the dirt. But the makeshift gas mask was.

Asthma wasn't exactly something he was proud of, or a great thing to have out here in the dry desert.

As furious as Roadhog was at the kid casually going through his belongings, all signs pointed to him.

"Why?"

Junkrat nearly had his head stuffed into a satchel, tossing an uninteresting blanket over his shoulder in favor of a yo-yo. Curious.

"I should have suffocated."

That definitely got a reaction, the blonde ran a grimy hand through his hair, leg starting to bounce anxiously "Dunno whatcha on about ya big bastard, I just blew a pretty little homemade bomb ta getcha off me back."

Leaning back, hog snorted softly, gazing at a beetle doing it's best to avoid his heavy boot in the dirt. "Coulda let me die." an odd wave of peace washed over him. It was obvious the blonde wasn't trying to kill him, whether or not the junker was going to admit that was a different story.

Mako wasn't here to harm.

"Eh, mighta. Me nan showed me do the, ya know. Mouth thing." he gestured a bit wildly, not making eye contact. "Unlike ya, I don't get off on watching others suffer." Plus, there was no way on this earth he would have been able to move this bikers dead, hulking body out of the junkyard.

That struck a chord, turning to narrow pale blue eyes at the twitchy blonde. "Watch your mouth boy."

"What're ya gonna do old man? Spank me? I know all about ye lil biker club. Buncha wankers fuckin up the settlements out here. Fuck you! Ye ain't comin in here and takin me shit without a goddamn fight!" the blond snarled, the array of emotions in that sentence alone made hogs head spin. Yet narrowed his eyes to intimidate the kid, and a small twitch of his lips proved it was working. Good.

"I don't want your shit."

"Wanted an exhaust pipe."

"For my bike."

"Same difference, why not just trade fer it instead threatening me like some cock head?"

"You threatened me first."

Jamie paused to blink some dust from his eyes. Sure he called the guy an array of colorful nicknames and curses but he surely didn't force a gun to his brain. "I ain't done shit!"

"At the post, you idiot."

Jamie initially opened his mouth to protest but found no words spilling free. Speechless, the blonde studied the larger man's face who was beyond irritated by this whole situation. But that was just it, irritation, and anger, sure. He wasn't lying. Mako didn't know Jamie and his sense of humor. This fucking biker was a survivor from outside their little civilized town. It was a little different out there. Here, everyone had an unspoken pact to help one another and to share. But outside, it was all for one and one for all. Trust was something you hardly ever earned out there.

Jamison squinted, pursing his lips like a child first tasting sour candy. "Ye scared a' lil old me?"

Hog merely growled low in his throat, did he literally forget he tried to blow him up with a homemade bomb? Underestimating the little shit was his first mistake. Then again, no one had gotten a leg up on him in a long time. Pun intended, noticing the peg leg. "A threat is a threat."

Yellow teeth split into a delightful grin, delighted giggles rocking Jamie's shoulders "I think we got off on the wrong foot." giggling to himself when he lifted his peg leg to cross his legs. "You are in the presence of Jamison Fawkes the first! Not so much the first part butcha get the idea. Not so nice ta meetcha ya fat bastard."

Automatically the larger male squeezed his arms again hoping to simply snap the old chains and make the kid eat his own legs, or what's left of them. This was becoming ridiculous.

"Don't mind the mess, 's been awhile since I had proper company." absently kicking away an empty can and other numerous scrap metal.

And the blonde just kept talking, talking and talking. Hog did his best to just ignore the guy's voice in favor of finding and opportunity to break himself free, but it was increasingly difficult when it changed to at least three different octaves, like he didn't realize how loud he was talking. Or going through puberty for a second time.

He kept talking and Roadhog had to breath, in and out, in and out without popping a blood vessel. "Do you ever shut up?"

Jamie's lips sealed shut and stared, eyes squinted, studying his every move. Chewing on a piece of gum loudly that made the larger junker want to shove it down his throat till he choked and blew bubbles out his nose.

"Right, right, sorry mate, got a bit off topic." he snickered a bit, toying with a weathered book from Makos bag.

"Anywho, maybe we could work something out yeah?" Jamie was busy sitting on the worn, leather seat of the Harley. Taking a moment to pretend to drive, noises and all.

When he got no response, the junker scoffed. Turning his attention to the dozens of stickers decorating the tank of the bike. A few faded pigs with hearts, almost unrecognizable from weathering. His expression soon softened, tracing the handlebars gently.

"You ain't like them other bikers, are ya?"

Mako squinted right back, tightening his fists with a grunt. Oh, he was dead. Straddling his bike and going through his belongings. The other seemed to take his silence as an answer, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Been told a ton a' stories about you ALF boys. Killing yer own kind. And beatin' some robot ass in the process, but ye seem pretty harmless."

Taking a moment to think, the blonde pursed his lips "That ain't it." Junkrat wore his emotions on his sleeve, and it showed while his his brain clicked and turned trying to put together his own little made up thought process. Talking to himself seemed to be a big part of that process "Oi betcha would snap my neck the second yer free."

"Ooohh, wait a tick. I think I I get it." he snickered, leaning forward to rest his elbows against the chrome handlebars. "You went rouge!" His grin seemed to widen, cocking his head and giggling like a maniac. "Big boy ran off to play with us towns folk." This made Jamison's giggles raise and octave as he leaned back to kick his legs. "That's why ya ain't with yer gang huh? Cmon, mate, tell me the truth!"

What a fucking idiot. Mako honestly thought for just a moment, pure garbage wouldn't spew from those lips. Nope, he still didn't even know what he was talking about.

"I wouldn't kill you."

The blonde's giggles died down, pursing his lips and smacking his cheek to his fist, propped up against the bikes handles. "That's no fun. What makes ya think I believe anything coming outta yer mouth?"

Mako shrugged, "Coulda done it earlier."

"Eh, gotta good point their. Still no good ta trust a bloke big as a truck. But I've got the upper hand in this game! Dunno if ya forgot mate, but I got ya hog tied." another giggle bubbled in the others chest from his own joke.

True, but not for long. "For now."

Even from the distance the lanky man put between them, his eyes turned dreamy again. Distant even as he propped up his chin against his hand "Sure, sure. Ya know, Guy like you been through it all, huh? Kicking some major ass and takin' names. I think of meself as a fine ass kicker. Care ta spout some stories?"

Rolling his eyes, Roadhog sighed, growing tired of this little game. Jamie certainly didn't have a one track mind. Unable to focus on one subject at a time.

"Enough brat, what are you planning?"

"Let's make a deal, yeah?"

Roadhog hissed through clenched teeth, keeping himself still as possible. He could already feel excessive sweat dripping down his temple. Bastard decided leaving him in the sun would be a fabulous idea. He could already feel the metal encasing his body heating up and starting to singe his skin. If the blonde asked, it was the heat, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to sit still. Mako would have snapped these restraints ages ago and just gutted the kid right here. Maybe even settle down, mount his head on a spike just to be a salty sally.

"Ye seem like a likable bloke. Hows about ya hang around and be me junkyard dog? Scare off any mean fuckers that come snooping?"

Roadhog had enough insults and letting this boy think shitty chains could hold him down. Not even letting him finish, Mako watched the blonde eyes widen to the size of saucers, like a deer caught in headlights. And for the first time since their unfortunate meeting, he remained unmoving.

With all his strength, Roadhog flexed his arms and roared. Pushing outwards until the rusty chains gave way and pieces went flying. A loud grunt and he was on his feet, glaring daggers at the kid whose breath caught and flailed off the seat of the bike for something in his bag. Unfortunately just before he could grab the skinny shits neck, his own weapon was held in a shaky hand. "Don't even try ham sandwich, I'll do it!"

Mako hardly even hesitate, continuing his stalking toward the blonde to gently press the double barrel to his chin, daring the boy to pull the trigger.

Those bright yellow eyes caught his own in a deadly staring contest. Adam's apple bobbing and the biker could watch that dirty hand tremble lightly. Stump pressed against the underside of the shotgun to keep himself steady. Without the trigger guard however, Jamie's trigger finger itched with the larger man practically shadowing him. A soft click of the trigger, yet no scream or blood. Junkrat's eyes went impossibly wider and yelped like he'd been shocked.

Suddenly, Mako's uncovered, heavily scarred face twisted up into a grin. Snatching the improvised weapon with ease. "I never keep it loaded."

Jamison stumbled back, tripping on his own foot and fell right on his ass. Breathing ragged and shaking, he pulled the trigger, he almost killed someone.

A big, heavy boot stomped down a bit too close to the amputee's remaining leg, startling out of hid downward spiral. Reaching for the kid now lying in the dirt, those yellow eyes squeezed shut, and lips pulled tight, expecting to be gunned down right there.

But when no strike came, he whimpered when callused fingers grazed blonde, messy hair for the sunglasses he took from the man along with the bandana tied around the brat's neck.

Though the Roadhog was pissed off, sweaty and utterly annoyed with this little shit who's managed to one up him one after another, Mako took pity on him.

"Listen here brat." he started with a grunt, "Get the parts for my bike, and I won't splatter your brain across the bush. But, i'll pay you for your time."

A single eye peeked open nervously, staring up at a notorious ALF biker, bandana and glasses in their rightful place.

"..That a no to me junkyard dog position..?"

Roadhog's nostrils flared and the kid choked on his giggles, holding his hand up desperate to cover his face, in case of a sudden blow "Alright! Crikey, Learn ta take a joke!"

Roadhog resisted the urge to actually scream and just plant his foot through the blonde's chest. Instead he scrubbed a hand over his face. "You get to keep your guts inside your body. Now get to it."

All of a sudden, as if to punctuate his words, Mako turned the shotgun toward the fence and fired.

Junkrat swallowed again, heart jumping in his thin chest. The sun was barely in the sky and he already felt like a year's worth of excitement flashed across his junkyard. Danger lit the dying fire within his chest into a roaring flame. Yet his throat felt swollen, swallowing thickly as the stale scent of gunpowder wafted through the air.

"Uh, thought'cha said ya didn't keep it loaded mate…"

Roadhog lowered his weapon to recock it, uncaring for the mess on his injured shoulder now baking in the sun. "I lied."

A nervous giggle tried to bubble in Jamison's throat but it died as he struggled to wrap his head around what just happened. What the fuck? Why didn't it go off when he had the blokes gun to his head?

"But what-"

Gaping like a fish, he watched the old blood splattered bikers shoulders bounce as he laughed, loud and dangerous, startling stray crows perched on barbed wire. Again looming over the junker, casting a large shadow that made Jamie's legs tremble in fear for the first time in years.

"Safety was on when you pulled the trigger, dumbass.