(A.N: A mix and match of my two favorite games. I'm already so shameless, Kaz.)
There was a time I knocked on Heaven's door.
I'm getting ahead of myself, however. Start off before that. Set things up.
In theory, if the only choice you've got is to do the wrong thing, then it's not really the wrong thing, it's more like destiny. But then again, it's not a choice, is it? I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Not a learned man, but it's the basic knowledge of survival that we wither or flourish with others. At least, that's what I thought when I joined the Deadlocks. They had a name for themselves. They could make mine more important too.
Shadows had chased the crew into the canyons. Sting operation. Instead of being alone in a group, it's better to have real solitude all by yourself to last a fighting chance, I reckoned. So I ran from the batch of yellowbellies. I calculated that they could never put a 'legend' like me in the dirt. I easily lost faith in that notion. While the rest of the phantoms split off looking for the rest of the scoundrels, one man seemed to chase me down. Cloaked in black, even in the heat of the sweltering Arizona sun.
"Aim for the heart, vaquero", he commanded. "You shoot to kill, you better hit the heart."
Senses steeled. Teeth grit as I held the pistol, bang after bang. It felt like a peashooter compared to his gun. Of course, the single shotgun blast sent me scampering. And there I stood, facing the angel of death with a shotgun aimed to my heart. My shoes neared the edge of the river. And I knew that the drop off was a long way down.
My options decreased to three outcomes. Turns out Lady Luck is a hooker, and I was fresh out of bucks. First choice was I either die or get taken by him. Fifty percent chance of still saving whatever scrap of hide I had left. Second was to shoot back. The odds were against me on that one, and greatly so. An old movie told me, if there was a duel between a man with a .45 and a man with a shotgun, the man with the pistol was a dead man. Three, was I take the plunge. Either I'd live, but be beat up enough to wish I hadn't, or die. And that was the lucky part.
"Make your move, McCree", the agent taunted. I was trying to buy more sand for my hour glass. He wasn't selling.
I took the shot, cocking off the Colt as I raised the gun to my hip. But, my options decreased to a singular course. The gun was jammed, a bullet wedged. Before I knew it, he had swept me off his feet, back on the ground. My head felt the rush of water.
"You ejected the first bullet by hand, didn't you? See that in the movies? I see what you were trying to do, but trying a technique you've only heard about right was stupid. You were asking to have your gun jam on you. Besides, I don't think you're cut out for an automatic in the first place; you tend to twist your elbow a little to absorb the recoil. That's more of a revolver technique."
A humiliating blush came across my face. A fist swung for him, only to get planted firmly on the ground like the snake I was.
"But, that was some fancy shooting. You're pretty good. Could use a man like you."
I twisted to face him, the shotgun barrel pointed towards my nose. "Your choice, partner. Either you rot, or you can use that talent." Turns out, his methods were very convincing. I raised my hand for him to take. As I got up, the flare popped, the outline of a VTOL racing through the air. "Welcome to Blackwatch. Address me as Commander Reyes."
Have to knock a little harder, next time.
(A.N: Also uploaded on AO3)