War never changes, no matter where a person goes. Internal or external, the fights are always the same. And so was the aftermath. War wreaked 90 percent of Australia, reducing the land into a radiated rock in the middle of the ocean. Death counts were high, flora and fauna mutated, and the radiation was a constant thing to deal with; even decades after the war. Survival of the fittest was the country's new motto. Survivors either perished from the radiation storms that came in or turned wild humans living day by day, stealing or killing.

That's what Junkrat was doing.

Well, to some extent. Mostly, he was running. Lots and lots of running. He was a wanted man after all. Everyone and everything wanted a piece of him. The attention from various Junker gangs and many hit men was great. Junkrat loved that shit. But he was wasting too many explosives trying to get these morons off his trail. Though there were many, many lovely explosions those grenades and mine created. The parts he needed to make more repeated like a broken record in his head. Wiring, scrap metal, chemicals; all things easily obtained in scrapyards everywhere.

It had to be sometime around early afternoon. The rays from the big explosion in the cloudless skies toasted his shoulders, upper back, and the uncovered sections of his scalp. A small amount of the supplies he had rattled in the worn blanket turned to sack as he hobbled onward. The joint in his peg leg squeaked every so often in protest with his continuous walking along the dirt road. Nothing a little oil couldn't fix, some he could just siphon from an abandoned car somewhere. He slowed his walk for a moment but never stopped moving completely. He couldn't afford to lose daylight.

His amber eyes darted and scanned over his surroundings. Orange sands and dry bush went on for miles in every direction, with the occasional rusted piece of metal stick out of the ground. A whole lot of nothing as usual.

Something on the horizon caught the Junker's ever fleeting attention: a dark mass miles and miles away from his location. Junkrat's eyes narrowed at the mass, skeptical. Was the heat and radiation playing tricks on him again? Or was it the pang of hunger gnawing at his stomach? Whatever the reason, he had to keep going. It had to be better than roasting alive in the sun. He would estimate he could make it there by nightfall at the rate he was traveling.

The sky looked like a wildfire as the sun began to dip below the horizon, a beautiful mixture of oranges and reds. Junkrat always found himself craning his neck upward to stare in a stupor. The sight was a norm in the Outback but each time he saw it, he had to stop everything and look. It took all his mental energy to tear his eyes off the sky and focus of the giant landmark in front of him. It wasn't just a scrapyard, but dump. A dump meant a greater chance of salvaging parts. A 10-foot chain link fence encircled the entire perimeter and a rusty padlock kept its gate firmly shut. There were holes under the fence, none big enough for him to fit in.

He could just climb the fence and get in. No, that wouldn't work. Last time he did that, his peg leg got stuck in a hole and he was left hanging literally. Had to take it off and spent about 10 minutes trying to unwedge the damn thing. It was an embarrassing experience that he rather not relive again. Taking a notably large rock in his hand, Junkrat raised it over his head and smashed it with all the strength against the lock. Both the lock and the rock crumbled to pieces. Locks were never a challenge to him. Would have been better if he used a bomb. He had to save the three grenades and single mine he had left.

The gate let out a loud creak when Junkrat pulled it open, slipped through the small opening, and pushed it closed. Mountains upon mountains of metal and garbage towered over his head. It threatened to block out the evening sky and made him feel somewhat small. The scent of rotten garbage hit his nose caused him to frown in disgust for a brief second. He was use to those kinds of smells but it still hit him like a brick at first.

The man's muscles ached from pure exhaustion, almost on fire, it felt like. He had been walking since the break of dawn or was it earlier than that? Who knows, it sure wasn't him that remember. As much as he wanted to rest, he couldn't, not yet. The sounds of creatures skittering in the trash, the creaking of the metal above him, the night quickly approaching; Junkrat focused on everything and yet nothing at the same time. Shelter, he needed shelter of any kind. His head told his legs to press on deeper into the dump. Junkrat felt animal eyes watch his every move from afar, something much larger than dump rats. It had to be either dogs or dingoes, he hoped it was the latter of the two. With dogs, he could just rig his last mine or a bear trap to scare them off or even get food. Not like he hadn't skinned and eaten dog before. You learned to take what you get in the wastes. Dingoes were smarter than dogs, they watched and adapted quickly. If they saw him setting a trap, they would avoid it. Cunning bastards, they were.

At the back of the compound, up against the dump's fence, was a dilapidated shed made out of dented and rusted metal. It beckoned Junkrat, striking a similar resemblance to his old shed, if not a little smaller. Junkers probably tore the thing down looking for his treasure. The thought caused him to snicker at himself uncontrollably for a while. What a bunch of idiots. They'll never find it, especially if they killed him. If he could just see the pure rage in their eyes once again…

He gave the shed a good kick to the side with his good foot. It shook but held together nicely. It wasn't fancy but it was in better hands with him than anyone else. He tossed his sack on the ground and started digging his fingers in the warm dirt at his knees. The shuffling in the trash around his drew closer as filled the several inches deep hole with old newspaper and other flammable material in arms reach. 'Just get a fire going, Rat,' he thought as he shoved his hand in his shorts pocket and retrieved at lighter. 'They'll keep their distance from the flames.' The kindling caught fire quick but he knew it wouldn't produce a large enough fire. He needed more. That meant searching through the trash for wood, or anything that burned slow, in that matter.

"If any of ya mutts come closer, I'll blow ya up!" warned Junkrat. He turned his back to his things and headed for the nearest pile of trash. An old wooden dresser became the victim of Junkrat's brutal disassembling. He ripped the probably once pretty furniture apart mercilessly, and also threw it against the ground several times for good measure. The fire grew in size when he added wood pieces one by one, slowly bathing the area in a warm, orange light. When he came back to his supplies, a figure was hunched over it and rifling through it. It had its back to him so Junkrat couldn't tell who or what it was. He couldn't that any chances.

He pulled a board out of the fire and wielded it like a torch. "Oi, hands off my stuff!" Junkrat shouted and he swung the board just above the figure. The sound of low growls behind him filled his ears along with his own blood pumping in them.

The figure stopped its searching and turned to face the man's crude torch. Junkrat's face immediately contorted with confusion. Staring up at him was a kid no older than 7 years old. Dirt and grime coated his tanned skin and his clothes hung like rags on his body. His eyes, dull and blue, looked back at Junkrat with equal confusion. The skin on the boy's cheeks was pulled taut on his skull, as if he never had a good meal in his life. The short, brown hair on his head was matted against his scalp. He stood up from his sitting position and got to his hands and feet, eyes still locked on Junkrat.

Most kids left or abandoned usually ended up dead or forced to join a gang for survival. It was a rare sight to see a kid living on their own. The sole of his boot crunched in the dirt when he stepped towards the kid. The kid's body stiffened and his lips parted, baring yellowed sharp teeth while growling like an animal.

Junkrat heard about feral children before; kids so detached from society that they mentally turn into animals. That could be said about most people in the wastes, including Junkrat. At least he kept his charming wit and looks. His eyes snapped back to the burning wood in his hand and he threw it back into the fire. There was plenty of light now to see everything around him completely and his stomach dropped.

Dogs, over a dozen of mangy dogs now surrounded him and the kid. Their yellow eyes were sunken in their skulls, glaring at the man. Not a single strand of fur was on these dogs' bodies. Only dry, flaky skin like leather on their bones what was left of the beasts, not a single bit of fat on them. Drool dripped in vigorous amounts from the dogs' agape maws. From the hungry glimmer in their gaze, they were considering making Junkrat their next meal.

His heart thumped hard in his chest. 'No more sudden movements,' he thought. 'One more step and yer dog food.' He could worm his way out of this, he always did in the face of danger. Junkrat relaxed his shoulders and cackled, a high-pitched laugh that echoed in the late evening. The laugh was loud enough to cause the kid to flinch and lower his body to the dirt.

"Look, kid," said Junkrat. "You and yer mutt friends don't wanna eat me. I'm just skin and bones. And I taste horrible! Bleh!" He twisted his face and stuck out his tongue to really seal the deal.

The kid cocked his head to the left and replied with a short and sharp 'bork'. The dogs around them even stopped their choir of growls.

Then the craziest idea came to Junkrat. Crazy enough to work or it just might get him shredded to bits. He was certainly crazy enough to try it out. Junkrat inhaled then screeched, "Ooga-booga-booga!" as he flailed his arms wildly over his head.

The kid yelped and had to have leapt up about 1 or 2 feet into the air in fright. When he landed, he bolted pass the fire and right out of Junkrat's line of sight. The dogs ran after him, barking like mad, and disappeared into the shadows of the dump once more.

Junkrat erupted in more manic laughter, clutching his abdomen and gasping for air. He couldn't believe it actually worked like a charm! When his episode came to an end, he fell on his backside and went through his things a few times. No, that kid hadn't stolen anything. Good, everything was still here. Was he just curious? Well if he did come back, Junkrat knew how to scare him off. It seemed like the dogs followed wherever the kid went so almost all danger was lost. He didn't have to worry about getting eaten or caught in the sight of unwanted eyes. He would stay in the dump as long as his supplies lasted.