The second time Satya sees Junkrat, he's taken up more than half of her space in the workshop.

Her schematics have been haphazardly thrown about and shoved off to the side. Different models of her hard-light turrets lie on the floor or crunched together against the back wall. The prototype base of her teleporter has been tucked into a far corner and various boxes are resting on top of it. Wires, casings, and bottles of what she can only assume are flammable compounds have spread over multiple table lengths and consumed her personal working space. Markers and blueprints and things that look suspiciously like mines surround him, and a spiked ticking tire rests against the column closest to her.

This was her safe space, and he's destroyed it.

Satya wants to scream.

"Real nice place you got," says the man, swiveling about on her work stool. His blond hair is thick and wild with a sharp widow's peak, the very ends fading out into a crisp charcoal. A good deal of him appears to has been… singed. Somehow. Is that ash? His face and shoulders have smudgework all over them. "Think I could get used to this. Clean floors, big halls, all the fancy tech work you could want. You lot make a bloody good bargain, y'know."

"You moved my things," says Satya, fists clenching. Her throat is tight and it takes a great deal of willpower not to construct a weapon to smash him over the head with. He had no right to just invite himself in and invade her space and destroy all of the order she had created. Now everything is strewn about and her projects are askew, and it's all thanks to this sloppy and disheveled man. "You are not welcome here. Who are you? Who let you in? Why are you here?"

"Oi, easy, easy, lady." He holds up his hands in mock surrender, wrinkling his nose with disbelief. "Yeesh, didn't think I was gonna be interrogated just for setting up shop. How am I supposed to do my job if I've got nowhere to work?"

Satya approaches him with purposeful steps and allows herself to craft a blade of hard light between her fingers. "You did not answer my questions."

"Uh, name's Junkrat." His adam's apple bobs in a swallow as he eyes the shimmering blue construct. "And your mate let me in. Short bloke. Big muscles, bigger beard. Claw arm. Ring any bells?"

"Torbjörn," she groans through clenched teeth. With resignation, the blade winks out and dematerializes into nothing, and she is not happy about it.

"Yeah, that sounds right," says Junkrat, leaning back against the table. His elbows rest upon the edge and his posture curves to accommodate. The harness he wears frames his neck and shoulders rather nicely, the central strap stretching across lean pectorals. "Something like that. Tor-burn. Said I could have a chunk of the place to myself for keeping up on stock. Gotta keep a good supply, right? Won't be doing no jobs 'less I got the proper stuff."

"Stock?" Satya arches an eyebrow, now acutely aware of her surroundings and exactly how many finished casings are stowed about the tabletop. "What do you mean by 'stock'?"

Junkrat smirks and shrugs a shoulder to the mess around him. "Yeah. You know, stock. The good stuff. Grenades, mines, explosives. You need something blown up, you won't find no one better than me. Everything's hand crafted. With love. And other components, of course."

Cold realization sets in and something in her stomach starts to coil in on itself. "These are… are live explosives?"

"Well, pff, yeah," says Junkrat, plucking a round cherry-looking item from beside him between his thumb and forefinger. "How else am I gonna blast things to smithereens? Toss some empty shells at 'em and hope they go running? Nah. You need some power packing behind it. Some real good explosions. Something that'll make 'em run like hell. Or die. Or both!"

"Gods." Satya takes a step backward, her heel digging into the hard tile floor. Everything in this room is a real, ready-to-explode bomb, and she's in here with the maniac that makes them. What sort of people have Winston and Tracer been looking for? "Why did Torbjörn let you in here? Why did the rest even let you into the compound? You're—you're mad."

"All geniuses got a touch of madness, mate. Bet you're a bit mad as well." He taps his temple with a mechanical finger and tosses the little cherry upward with his other hand. Satya's eyes lock onto it as it makes its ascent. "You are, ain't you? Why else would you be in this little band of misfits and mercs? It's sure as hell not 'cause you're bloody normal."

There is a knot in Satya's throat and there is a bomb being thrown into the air and there is an idiotic man with a need to prove himself in front of her and—

"Junkrat—!"

"Oh, calm it." He snatches the cherry out from above between the same two fingers and holds it out for her to examine. "See? No harm to you. Perfectly safe. No explodey. 'Sides," he says with a wink, "this one's not done."

The urge to smash him across the face arises again. For her things, for her workspace, for this, for his obvious stupidity—any excuse will work. All she needs is to make it happen, but she resists. This man is already chaos incarnate; she doesn't need to coax him further. "You. You let me believe that was going to go off."

"Oh, did I now?"

Junkrat hops off the stool and rises to his full height. After a roll of his shoulders, he lopes forward with uneven steps. The scuff of his boot and the clink of metal to metal echo throughout the workshop. His grubby patchwork shorts sag to his pronounced hip bones in spite of his belt, shifting with his odd gait. Satya finds that she has to crane her neck in order to keep looking at his face. She doesn't remember him being this tall. Why is he so tall?

"I don't remember saying everything was ready to go pop. Some of it is, sure. Good bit of it. But not everything." He scratches at his angular chin with a thumb, as if pondering. "Hm. Suppose I can see where you'd get that, though. It all looks finished to the untrained eye, yeah? Ah. Warms me heart. I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was not a compliment." The distinct smell of gunpowder permeates from him and it makes her eyes water. Spinning around on the ball of her foot, Satya starts to leave the workshop, equal parts uncomfortable and irate. "And I'll have you know, I am not mad. I'm not the one playing with live explosives. I create things, not destroy them."

"Is that right?" Junkrat laughs behind her as she passes the workshop's threshold. "Keep telling yourself that. Gotta do some demolition work before putting up your lovely buildings!"

Satya covers her mouth, bites her tongue, and goes to find Winston.