A/N: I was bored at work and I had batteries in my Bluetooth keyboard, so I wrote a thing after only the slightest prodding. I'm in love with the OG Overwatch team, and I'm developing an unhealthy obsession with McCree. The world always needs more Young McCree, amirite?
Overwatch and all characters belong to Blizzard.
Volunteers wanted for: Mission US-34-#7
Mission Description: Disrupt operations of the notorious Deadlock Gang in the New Mexico area.
Mission Notes: A recent deal they brokered means their weapons cache should be depleted; regardless, intercept before the Gang can access their supplies to ensure the swift resolution of the mission. Confiscate or destroy contraband goods.
Estimated mission length (insertion to extraction): 1 hr
Mission Commander: Gabriel Reyes (Supervised by Commander Morrison and Captain Amari)
It was supposed to be a simple job, in and out. There was never supposed to be a running firefight from the Deadlock Gang's hideout to the outskirts of town, there were never supposed to be RPGs or prototype laser turrets, there weren't supposed to be more than 2 or 3 casualties max, even with Gabriel spearheading the operation.
The gunfight had been carrying on for an almost comical length of time, though the humor was somewhat dampened by the slowly growing body count; not from getting new wounds, but from the total exhaustion of all first aid equipment. After another three and a half hours baking in the desert sun in a standoff, even Captain Amari was growing impatient. Morrison couldn't tell if he was more annoyed by the delay or his wounds. Reyes was apoplectic.
"Just come on out with your hands up," Jack yelled into the smoldering, bullet-riddled diner, "We've got your goods, we've got your boys, it's time to call it a day."
"Sorry, friend, but I ain't too keen on that plan," a drawling voice replied.
"Either you're coming out, or we're coming in!" Reyes spat.
"Like to see you try, with all your compadres out of commission."
"Trust me, you don't want to see me get creative," Reyes growled, his gaze narrowed as he tried to peer through the lingering haze of gunsmoke and plaster dust.
"That so? Reckon you're quite the artist with those pieces," the man inside called back, "Let's see that sensitive side."
"Gabriel," Ana warned over the radio. She didn't need a cybernetic eye to see him vibrating with frustration.
"For God's sake, just let me kill the little prick!" he snarled, turning to Jack for support—a last ditch effort. And a rookie mistake.
As soon as his head turned, another volley of shots rang out, heavy slugs sinking into the softened asphalt and bullets pinging off of red stone and steel struts. Gabriel fired back with a warrior's cry, only thinking after a few moments to count shots. Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine—damnit, what kind of gun did he have? He fell back behind the wreckage of a hovercar to reload, ducking just in time for a bullet to merely rip the hat from his head rather than his head from his shoulders.
"Y' must be one o' them abstract artists."
"I swear, Jack, I swear to God, I'm going to kill him so much," Gabriel snarled, reloading with fury.
"Keep him talking, I'm going in on the right," Ana voice crackled over the radio, her tone remarkably cool given the situation. She knew she didn't have much of a chance if he came around for a one-on-one duel, but as long as Jack could keep Gabriel from charging in with blind rage, she had a feeling this guy would keep needling him. So juvenile, but she'd take what she could get. This mission was already far too costly.
Picking out detail in the shadowy diner would have been difficult for a pair of regular eyes, but digital optics could adjust so much more quickly, could detect infrared through the dust, could zoom and enhance. Granted, the whole point of those features was that she wasn't supposed to be within spitting distance of a target, but sometimes a woman has to do what a woman has to do.
The scene inside the diner was no better than outside. Several bodies cooling in the shade, a few gangsters barely clinging to life (and certainly not consciousness), and one figure still darting about.
Up close, the target was surprising. He was tall and lanky, and didn't look a day over 18. His messy brown hair was matted with sweat, and he grit his teeth against the pain of several shotgun pellets in his shoulder as he quickly reloaded what looked to be about 8 or 9 guns. He'd load a pistol and slide it across the floor—Ana's first thought was that he must be passing them to an accomplice, but nobody moved to take the gun. He'd load a shotgun and lay it across a booth seat, he'd arrange flashbangs within arm's reach, his eyes darting around the ruined diner all the while seeking out new positions to move to, extra places to stash rifles and magazines, checking the reflection in the picture frames to keep track of Gabriel and Jack.
"In my sights," Ana whispered, though she didn't move to raise her rifle. The space was too small to maneuver in with a sniper rifle—it was a death sentence if he turned and saw her in the shadows. Slowly, she drew her sidearm, her expression one of pure concentration.
"This is your last chance before we let Reyes off his leash," Jack yelled, "I'm gonna give you a countdown, and I want to see you come out with your hands up. Got it?"
The target simply continued reloading.
"Ten! ...Nine! ...Eight!"
"You can count all you like, you ain't takin' me alive," the young man muttered under his breath as Jack continued his countdown, scooping up a pair of large revolvers and peering carefully around the booth he had holed himself up in.
"Five! ...Four! ...Three!" Jack continued, his grip tightening on his rifle as no movement came from inside. "C'mon Ana..."
The target sucked in a breath and moved to stand, his teeth grit as he swung his guns up to fire. "It's High Noon, motherfu—"
He never knew what hit him. He slumped to the floor with a sleep dart in his neck, his guns clattering heavily to the checkered floor.
"Target neutralized," Ana smirked, giving her gun a little twirl before holstering it. Somehow, it felt appropriate.
It wasn't long before he started to come to, his arm painfully pulled back and bound. "Aw hell no."
"What's a nice boy like you doing getting mixed up with a group like this?" Ana asked, calmly hog-tieing him. The tranquilizer kept him from struggling too much, but it was quickly wearing off—especially with that much adrenaline in his system.
"Y'ain't gonna take me alive!" he slurred angrily, squirming pathetically on the floor.
"You're too young to be that pessimistic," Ana sighed, puffing the hair from her face.
"Whaddyou know?" the boy growled, glaring up at her out of the corner of his eye. "I ain't got nothin' now, no thanks to you."
"Good work, Ana," Jack called, waving the dust from his face and clutching his side as he and Gabriel finally entered the diner. "Let's get him locked down with the rest."
"Over my cold dead body," the youth snarled, spitting at Jack's feet.
"I can arrange that," Gabriel growled and returned the favor plus interest, the steel of his armored boot meeting the boy's face.
"Gabriel! Enough!" Ana snapped.
"Why is it 'enough' for me but not him?" Gabriel frowned, the vein in his temple still throbbing.
"Because you're supposed to be one of the adults in the room," Ana huffed.
"Let's just get out of here, I'm sick of this place," Jack sighed, grabbing the loose end of the rope and dragging their squirming, swearing captive behind him.
"Wait! Wait!" he hollered, his head shooting up, "One of y'all grab my hat, will ya?" Jack shook his head and Gabriel let out a disgusted sort of grunt as Ana picked up a well-worn Stetson from one of the tables, brushing a bit of ceiling tile from the brim. "Thank y' kindly," he said, shooting Ana a lopsided smirk. "Guess I ain't lost everything."
"There might be hope for you yet," she smiled in return. "What's your name?"
"Name's McCree," he replied, grunting in pain as he was dragged down the steps, thudding on each one in turn.
"Great, she's named him, now we'll never get rid of it," Gabriel grumbled.