Jesse James McCree held his side as he lay in the dark alleyway and groaned. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but he was damn sure going to make someone pay for it when he got his hands on them.
Tracer and that asshole Reyes had been going at it, Tracer had time slipped back through the asshole just as he went immaterial.
McCree was pretty sure he had heard that idiot, Junkrat's motorized bomb buggy rushing up on him, too. Now he was somewhere else. It was dark, cold, wet and he was pretty damn sure something had pissed on him at some point in the recent hours.
Forcing himself to his feet, the onetime Blackwatch commando let the world settle down before he gingerly made his way to the mouth of the alley. He needed to clear out before the military showed up and arrested him for doing the right thing. Again.
Unfortunately, whatever had happened had burned the Vox system out, leaving him without a method to communicate.
Cursing his luck and the world in general, McCree did a quick gear check. His Peacekeepers had come through in good order, as had a trio of his flashbangs. His armor was a little battered, but none the worse for wear and even his hat had made it through with only a few more scorch marks than it had started with. Unfortunately he had landed on his smoke pouch and the tobacco, papers and lighter were all ruined.
Cursing the world in general, McCree shifted his serape around so it covered the more dangerous looking items of his inventory before he stepped out into the street and tried to put a name to the area of the world he had found himself in. That of course came to a screeching halt as he took note of the line of cars parked along the side of the road. Old model cars, like fifty plus years old. With wheels.
The last time he had seen a wheeled automobile had been in a museum back in San Antonio, yet here were a dozen or more, all parked as pretty as you please out in the rain.
Cursing again, the gunslinger stepped over to the nearest car and knelt down carefully as he ran his hands across the worn rubber.
"HEY! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO MY CAR!"
Glancing up at the voice, Jesse took note of a half dozen young men as they ran down the street towards him. His eyes easily picked out the distinctive colored shirts or bandanas the boys had on their persons and a memory of his earlier years surfaced as he stood to face them.
"I'm doing nothing, felt a tad sick and stopped to clear my head," He said with his hands out to show his lack of threat. If he was lucky, he could talk his way out of this.
"Oh yeah, well you you stopped in the wrong neighborhood. This is 'Work Crews' turf," The self appointed leader of the kids said with a sneer as he pulled out a rather stupid looking knife.
Shaking his head at the fantasy blade, McCree let his hands drop and carefully looped his thumbs into his belt, the overly large BAMF belt buckle glinting gold against the poor street light that struggled against the darkness and rain. He knew what was about to happen, his time in the Deadlocks had been a long time ago, but he still remembered the way things worked. Watching as the others pulled out an eclectic showing of random, 'Thug' tools, McCree shifted his head so that his hat hid his eyes from the gang members sight.
"You're about to make a mistake kid, and I guarantee it will be the last one you ever make," he growled as his left hand clutched the flashbang.
With a scream, the half dozen teens rushed the retired gunslinger, weapons at the ready.
A negligent, but accurate toss and McCree let the flashbang fly, hitting the small mob dead in the middle even as his Peacekeeper cleared leather.
There were others in the Overwatch family that would have advocated for mercy or restraint. McCree was from a much older school of thought. A school that would have seen Reyes dead in a ditch long before he became the problem that he was.
Fanning the hammer, the gunslinger let a single .75 caliber Hyper advanced round slam into each of the teens chests, dropping them like puppets with their strings cut. It was over so fast, most mortals wouldn't even hear the shots fired over the pop of the flashbang.
Carefully reloading his six shooter as he stepped over to the downed leader, McCree patted him down quickly for ID and smiled as he came back with a half pack of cigarettes, a disposable lighter and a wallet.
"Jake Mayhews, eleven thirty two Magnolia walk, Brockton Bay, Massachusetts," He muttered before he dropped the wallet on the corpse and very carefully pulled out a cigarette. He lit it up, careful to keep the smoke stick out of the rain. "Brockton Bay? Never heard of the place." Not that his lack of knowledge of the place was anything special, especially as he seemed to be stuck almost a hundred years behind the times.
Turning away, the old Gunslinger walked down the dark streets alone.
The next day the PRT would be confused at the sudden deaths of six, low level Brutes that had banded together to carve out a territory on the fringe of the Merchants area of control.
In Brockton Bay, the deaths wouldn't even rate the six o'clock news.
I don't own Overwatch or Worms, I'm not sure if I will continue this, Worms is a rather depressing story overall and I have a hard time enjoying it.
This actually came about due to a plot bunny concerning Reyes and Shadowstalker and a rather amusing scene idea where the ABB tried to forcibly recruit Genji.