Jessie was a normal guy. He grew up on his dad's ranch with his parents, grandparents, 2 older brothers, and little sister, fighting Omnics side by side with them as he grew up. Once Overwatch was created, the Omnic attacks almost stopped completely, and things settled down. When he was 15, his mother died. Jessie ran away, not really knowing why. He joined forces with a really bad crowd but made friends with most of them. They nicknamed him McCree after someone in a western film: he hadn't ever watched a western before, so wasn't sure what movie. One day, the leader, who hated him with a passion, dared him to go on a raid without his pistols. He accepted, and he, the leader, and 2 local kids wanting to join went to rob the bank. He wasn't expecting any trouble: hardly anyone messed with them in fear. He was barely paying any attention when he heard the leader shout, "Don't you know who we are?!" *He's doing that stupid drawl again. Everyone knows you're from New York, not Texas.*

"Gang. Doing my business and leaving. Waited an hour." He looked up at that with a frown, straightening his hat. It was just a normal looking African American with a slight Spanish accent. He had his back turned to them and was wearing all black with a beanie on in the middle of summer. He glanced but continued his business. The leader screamed turning purple in rage,

"Kill him!" *Seriously, you have an inferiority complex, Percy. Someone even slightly questions you, and you say kill them.* One of the hopeful locals went forward to attack the man. He glanced again, this time catching something. He turned on his heel, hitting the local in the throat with a flat hand, choking him. *Oh, shoot.* The local tried to punch him in the gut, but the man dropped down, hitting the hopeful in the gut after accepting the hit, then hitting his temples. The kid dropped. The lady helping him continued trying to help the man, and he continued calmly responding to her questions casually. He seemed disappointed at the kid but looked up at Jessie's group. Percy turned white and grabbed the bag they had gathered before they had started a fight, running off. *Coward, but I won't leave that kid. At least he won't be able to join this hell of a gang.* Jessie straightened himself, looking over the relaxed man and the other local looked at his friend in worry.

"Get him. I got the black guy." *Why'd you say that? You aren't a match for this guy, and you just got him mad.* Jessie got in a solid stance as the locals fled, looking over the man in concern. He just looked annoyed and half-amused. Jessie went for his guns before he remembered that it wasn't at his side. *Shoot!* The man took 3 steps forward. Jessie started to swing, but a fist hit his nose before he could react, wrapping him into a chokehold. *Shooty-shoot!* He tried to drive his elbow into the man's kidney, but Jessie couldn't get a shot in, the grip only tightening. He slowly passed out as he heard,

"H-how much would you like to transfer?"

"One-fifty…" Jessie woke up handcuffed by his legs and arms to a chair in a blank room with a mirror in the wall. *One-way mirror, table with 2 chairs. I'm in some interrogation room. Looks like police or something. Great.* He pulled against the cuffs furiously. They didn't budge. *Of course. Percy gets off scot free and I go to prison. Perfect…Pa'd be furious if he found out what happened to me.* He tugged once again, muttering nonsense under his breath in anger. Someone he didn't know came in. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and looked like he wasn't even tempted to help Jessie in any way.

"Where is the Deadlock gang's base of operations." Jessie didn't respond. *I ain't squealing on anyone, not even Percy.* "If you don't help us, we can't help you, kid." He still didn't reply, waiting until the man began to sit up, putting his face within reach. He jumped upwards in his seat, ramming the soldier in the nose. He jumped backwards, grabbing his nose in pain as it began bleeding. "You little punk!" He cursed, walking out of the room in rage. *I ain't helping some goody-two-shoes who won't bother even trying to help my friends.* Jessie didn't know how long he alternated between a cell and the interrogation room. The soldier was the only one who ever came in. After several visits, Jessie couldn't take the constantly repeated questions, and shouted,

"Shut it! I ain't no squealer!"

"They aren't helping you."

"You ain't either, Yankee." Jessie retorted, falling silent once again as the soldier continued trying to reason with him. He no longer kept silent in interrogation, insulting the soldier constantly. Jessie had almost gone crazy when the people who moved him from cell to interrogation forgot to put his leg shackles on and Jack moved the table out of the way. Jessie wasted no time, kicking the soldier right in the family jewels. He groaned, retreating backwards as he recovered.

"…You-" He punched the prisoner right in the gut, and Jessie felt himself cough up blood. "I want this guy shoved so far down a hole no one can find him!" The man sprinkled curses throughout his sentences as he exited the room, limping slightly. Jessie chuckled lightly. *Mission success.* He winced from the pain, and as his eyes began watering, he saw a familiar face: the man who had taken him in here.

"What the hell do ya'll want?" The man paused briefly before responding.

"…A kid. S***." Jessie felt his face go red. *I'm 17 years old!*

"Yeah?! I bet that old guy out there figured out otherwise when I kicked him in the balls!" The man lost it instantly. Jessie's anger drained away at the bizarre response.

"Jack was kicked in the d*** by a kid!"

"…Pardon, but what?" The guy wasn't even close to calming down, leaning against the wall to try and catch his breath. He took a deep breath, getting serious.

"Kid, you're an idiota. Throwing away your life for criminals?" Jessie said hotly,

"They ain't criminals!" He paused, retracting his statement. "Well, they are, but that's not all they are! I ain't squealing, especially to a cop."

"Tell us where the base is." The man's humor had disappeared, replaced by a cold, even stare.

"So ya'll can kill them? No way!" Jessie stated in defiance. The man corrected coolly,

"We don't kill unless we need to. Way I see it, you've got two choices. Say nothing and waste the rest of your life in a cell, or work for me, and make a difference." *He wants some hero, not me.*

"I ain't a hero." The man replied,

"There aren't heroes: there's people who talk about the wrong in the world, and there's people who f****** do something about it." Jessie was running out of stalling methods: he couldn't insult someone with reasoning so much like his own.

"The hell do you care? Your buddy probably busted my gut!"

"I don't: you do. One-time offer, cowboy." He leaned back, thinking as pain jabbed him in the gut. *I'd probably do some good here, and I won't get a chance like this again.*

"Why the hell not? Got nothing better to do." The man laughed.

"What's your name, cowboy?" *I don't trust him enough to tell him my real name.*

"Jessie McCree. Yours?"

"Boss. Let's get training."

"Your name ain't actually boss, is it?" He didn't answer. "…Right. Deadlock's got a hangout down on Route 66. Ain't too easy to find, and it's a bottleneck." 'Boss's phone rang, but he didn't answer it, letting it ring. They entered a seemingly empty room with a viewing room to the upper left, and Jessie's new boss said as he left,

"Level 2."