Everyone was rightly leery of missions involving Talon. Like the sun and moon, Talon had only grown in strength and influence as Overwatch had decayed.
The climb back up was going to be doubly difficult, as well. In the mind of the international community, they were both merely extranational illegal militaries, which didn't tend to be a popular tagline to put on recruiting posters. And Talon had resources Overwatch didn't—a lack of morals made that easy, along with a more up-to-date set of contacts in the criminal underground; one ex-Deadlock gangster and the former head of the now mortally crippled Shimada clan didn't make for a particularly powerful set of clandestine allies. Nothing like what Talon now had.
But Talon's power was as fragile as moonlight—their resources were not endless, and their presence stepped on a lot of toes. Overwatch had been able to throw its weight around thanks to its legitimacy as a UN-sanctioned organization and the warm fuzzy feelings that blue overcoat gave people, but even then they'd made powerful enemies. Talon themselves, for example. But without that public adoration and the blank checks to keep them afloat, Talon's dominance in the seedy underbelly of the world was always precariously poised, one bad day away from being torn apart by ambitious rivals.
Finding the perfect moment to give them a shove from that perch was Overwatch's current raison d'etre.
"Bad news, everybody," Winston sighed, "It looks like Talon is positioning themselves in central Japan."
"What they got there that's so interesting?" Lena asked, cocking her head to one side.
"Analysis suggests they're trying to capture weapons and supplies from the Shimada clan," Winston said, looking over at Genji. Genji merely peered back politely.
"I don't have the information you need. My brother was entrusted with the organization's secrets." There was a quiet scoff at Genji's words.
"We never kept our 'merchandise' inside Japan for long," Hanzo muttered, "It was too great a liability. Talon will find nothing of value."
"What about information?" Jack asked, crossing his arms. "Couldn't they hack in and steal data?"
"Hardly," Hanzo chuckled. "Everything is still written down on paper."
"That explains why they're in town, then," Torbjörn remarked, "They have to actually go in and steal something."
"Sounds like they need a little 'negative reinforcement'," Fareeha smirked, cracking her knuckles.
"Winston. You don't have to go and give everything an official number anymore. It's just us," Jack frowned.
"Well, it's good for recordkeeping," Winston replied, pinning the sign-up sheet labeled 'Mission Number A-JP-482-#1'. "And seeing how this mission is over how other people keep records…"
"Think you're pretty funny, huh," Jack muttered, though he did chuckle as he walked away. Hanzo's name was already defaulted to the top of the list.
The mission roster was quickly swarmed, thought it wasn't the usual crush of new recruits volunteering. When it came to missions against Talon, too many of the older members had skin in the game.
"Aw man," Lucio pouted, "I always wanted to go to Japan…couldn't somebody swap places with me? Doc? Commander?"
"Sorry, love," Tracer smiled, giving him a little pat on the bicep. "Maybe next time we'll get a crack at those Talon wankers." The cheerful way in which she spoke almost let her get away with the swear.
"Hey hey hey, my ears are delicate," Lucio grinned for a moment, before turning back longingly to the list. Hanzo, Genji, McCree, 76, Winston, Mercy… "Would anybody notice if I added an extra line underneath?"
"You're too wet behind those delicate ears, kid," Jack said, "We need as much experience as we can bring to bear on this one."
"Hanzo's new!" Lucio whined.
"Hanzo has mission-critical knowledge. He doesn't have a choice—he's going on this mission."
"'Sides, he n' Genji know the lay of the land, and no offense, they got a lot more combat experience than you, compadre," McCree replied, his hat pulled low. He tossed the butt of his cigar to the floor and crushed it out under his heel with particular disdain, turning and slowly retreating from the common room. He didn't want to argue the point any further—while he was normally happy to bring any one of the new kids along on a mission, this one didn't come with training wheels. Going toe to toe with Talon needed tight teamwork, that muscle memory that came from working side by side with someone for years.
It was bad enough that Hanzo would be there. He had too much bad blood with both himself and Genji just at the Watchpoint, let alone on a mission. Best to steer clear until the mission briefings—break out that politeness that he hadn't had much call for in a while.
The salty Mediterranean air filling his nose only did the slightest bit to calm him. It certainly brought back memories, bittersweet and distant as a mouthful of sarsaparilla under the summer sun.
'Aim with your eye. Shoot with your mind. Kill with your heart.'
'That's from a book, that is,' McCree had said, grinning widely as he peered into the scope.
'It's good advice.'
'There's a seagull out on that rock.'
'Don't shoot it, it hasn't done anything wrong.'
'Gon' scare the shit out of it, at least.'
'Language,' she had scolded, though her tone was playful. 'You're taking too long again.'
'Yer distractin me,' he muttered, though she had sat as still as a stone—the way Papa could sit still as death watching the herd at night.
'You think there won't be distractions in the field? Aim. Fire.'
The memory of that rifle's crack like thunder could still shake the very breath in his lungs. The way it kicked like an angry bull, the way pulling that trigger felt like wielding the power of the old gods had given him new, visceral respect for Ana's ability. He lived only by her grace—she could have taken his head clean off his shoulders with this rifle that day on Route 66…
'…You missed.'
He'd always hated disappointing her. She was just like Papa that way, too…
"Jesse?" He almost didn't hear the call over the sound of the waves below and the memory of Ana's disappointed sigh. He turned after a few long moments, surprised to see Angela there.
"Howdy, Doc," he murmured, turning back to the sea again.
"You've been awfully quiet. Are you going to be alright?"
"I'm doin' jes fine, Doc. Got my mind on this mission, is all," he replied, speaking to the mist and foam below.
"That's what I'm worried about. Will there be trouble between you and Hanzo?" she asked, crossing her arms and stepping closer.
"Ain't too concerned with that," McCree said, his eyes searching out that old target practice rock—the red paint had been scoured away by wind and surf, but that outline was branded into his memory so starkly that even without a scope, he could pick it out just beyond the lighthouse.
"…Well, I'm worried about it," Angela frowned. "He swore to kill you."
"Aww, Angela, you worryin' after me?" McCree asked, glancing over his shoulder and chuckling softly.
"Just because we have our differences doesn't mean I want you murdered," she smiled.
"Well, thank y' kindly," he nodded, turning away again. "Naw, I'm thinkin' about Talon. An' Reyes," he added, frowning at the way the man's name tasted in his mouth now, greasy and acrid with hints of silver and gunpowder. Reyes wasn't the only one on his mind, either, his expression hardening as the moments wore on.
"Is it true? 'Bout their sniper?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder. His gaze was as sharp as chips of flint, and the weight of all his years and kills settled into the lines of his face, hardening the longer his thoughts lingered on Talon's living weapon. Angela almost flinched at his look, unused to seeing the cowboy so steely and harsh. His boyish charm from only moments before had evaporated away, leaving the battle-worn Blackwatch warrior behind—the McCree she'd always hated, the McCree she'd always feared.
"…What about them?" she asked quietly, as if afraid to startle him into action.
"That it's Amélie," he growled. Gérard had worked closely with Blackwatch in his counterterrorism work—he and Amélie were family. When McCree had helped bring her back home, everyone thought the nightmare was over. Gérard's blood was on his hands, too…and if Gérard's blood was on his hands… "That she killed Ana," he rasped, his voice blending with the wind and the foam below, icy venom rising like bile in his throat.
Angela couldn't stand against that deadly gaze. When she finally looked away, she was able to breathe again—how had she grown so comfortable among such deadly creatures as these? How had the fact that the other agents treated Hanzo's threat like a joke bleed into her own life? She barely even flinched when she saw guns being drawn anymore…was it hubris? Was she so confident in her skill as a healer now that such petty concerns as the death of her friends didn't trouble her? …Was she really so sure she had improved since Zürich?
Or had her own humanity started to slip away? 'Man is the only animal that fears death'…what was she if she no longer feared the grave? She dared to look up again, his gaze still boring into her, burning with righteous fire. She swallowed, clenching her hands to hide the trembling in her fingers.
She still feared death.
"I don't know," she replied, her voice soft. "It's only rumors…" The fiery glint in his eye told her that it was truth enough for him.
"I'll kill her," he whispered, "I swear on all that's good an' holy, I'll kill her."
There was no taking his threat lightly.
"You're covered, Doctor—let's get out of here!"
"Damn, think they're a little pissed off?"
"I cannot blame them."
"Keep the chatter down and don't get split up!"
"Sniper at 10 high, got yer cover fire—"
"Genji, clear the lane, Hanzo, watch our flank—"
"Kuso—!"
"Genji! Report!"
"She's here—2:00 high coming out of the castle. I am going to dislodge her."
"I'm coming to help—Commander, cover Angela—"
"The right flank is clear. Follow me if you dare."
"We don't dare, Hanzo, ain't none of us can climb like you 'n Genji. We need another route."
"Tch, fine."
"Don't you 'tch' me, jes' find us a new exit."
"Gah! I'm hit!"
"Doc and I are moving up. Don't trickle out—McCree, Hanzo, get your asses in gear!"
"Coverin' your six, sir."
"I will take the high ground."
"I've got you, Winston, don't worry!"
"The sniper has moved to a new location. Anija, do you see anything?"
"No. Scout ahead, make sure the path is clear."
"Yosh."
"Shit! Hanzo, 5 tangos comin' up the left side, watch yer back!"
"I said don't get split up!"
"Go on, Jack—we'll pin 'em down back here an' meet you at the extraction point."
"Damnit, McCree, you're not pulling this shit, too!"
"I'm comin' out at yer 7, Hanzo, hang on!"
"Genji, help Angela and Winston get to the extraction p—gah!"
"Jack!"
"Tch, sniper's back—"
"Jes' go! We'll catch up!"
"It is a pincer attack—disengage, Commander!"
"We don't leave men behind—YOU disengage!"
"Barrier is failing, sir, we're sitting ducks!"
"McCree, I swear to—"
McCree muted his comm with a growl, fanning the hammer on his pistol into the backline of their attackers. He needed to focus, and the last thing he needed was Morrison nagging in his ear. "One down—You alright, Hanzo?"
"For now," Hanzo replied, his arrow scattering and lodging in another soldier's throat.
"Head down," McCree ordered coolly as he reloaded, drawing a steadying breath as he took a moment to aim. He could only get a clear shot on two—damn. He'd take what he could get, though, this wasn't about notches in rifle stocks. Hanzo was one of the few people alive now who knew the locations of Shimada assets, bank accounts, weapons caches, the works. Letting him fall into Talon's hands was unacceptable.
Shots rang out and two Talon agents fell, one tumbling from the parapet and falling to the wooden floor of the castle with a heavy crunch. Orders of 'fall back and regroup' were yelled as McCree leaped across to the parapet, hurrying to Hanzo's side.
"Nice shot," Hanzo remarked, his tone dry as he clutched at a wound in his shoulder.
"Got yourself a nice little mosquito bite there," McCree remarked, giving him a crooked smile. "Don't you fret, Doc'll get you patched up real nice."
"I am not worried," Hanzo frowned, "We have to hurry."
"You jes' watch my back," McCree smirked, "Sure hate for someone else to kill me before your perfect chance comes up, right?"
"I expect you to die in no other way," Hanzo replied, smirking through the pain. "Let us try the far wall. We will have cover through the courtyard, at least."
"Sounds like a plan," McCree nodded, hurrying past the window. "Oh! One last request, if I may."
"What is it?" Hanzo asked, frowning.
"That sniper. She's mine," McCree growled. Hanzo merely shrugged, hurrying past McCree. He certainly understood grudges and rivalries, but he cared little for other people's troubles. For now, it was merely a matter of completing the mission and getting home alive. Hanzo's footfalls were like a cat's as he lead the way down the parapet, McCree following noisily behind, their eyes focused out into the courtyard.
"Down!" Hanzo barked, drawing his bow and firing on a dark-clad agent in a high window, hissing all the while. He crouched behind the wall and took a steadying breath, glaring at his wounded shoulder in frustration. His preoccupation distracted him from the wordless 'crunch' as the dead target met the earth.
"That don't look so good," McCree murmured, kneeling next to him.
"It is nothing," Hanzo growled, "My aim is not harmed."
"Ain't your aim I'm worried about," McCree said, his gaze flicking from the other man's bleeding wound to his stony expression. "Your speed. How well you climb. All that's gon' be damaged besides your aim."
"I will manage," Hanzo snapped, though McCree had a feeling that it was his pain talking rather than his burning hatred. "We need to keep under cover," he continued, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself.
"That courtyard out yonder's gonna be a bitch," McCree remarked.
"It is a garden," Hanzo corrected.
"If you like," McCree shrugged. "But that sniper can take us out any which way no matter what we call it. Any cover through there?"
"…Cross to the right here," Hanzo advised, "Take the stairs inside the tower to the high ground."
"Alright, stick close," McCree nodded, adjusting his hat and creeping forward, gun drawn. They could hear a few Talon agents scuttling about, but he was confident they hadn't picked out their position. His Peacekeeper would change that… "Reckon we should prolly keep things quiet," McCree mused.
"An impossible task for you," Hanzo muttered.
"Not 'silent', jes 'quiet'," he smirked, darting forward, whipping around the part in the wall and rolling into the gazebo. No gunfire—that was good. Quiet. Hanzo sighed and quickly followed, silent as a shadow as they leaped over the most recent downed agent, taking cover in the shadows. "That makes all five from before, ain't it?" McCree asked, nodding toward the body outside. "Got some time to move."
"We still must be wary of the sniper," Hanzo added, looking up the stairs before darting forward, an arrow knocked as McCree followed for this leg of the trip, watching their exposed flank as they moved for the next tower. Just a moment out of cover could be life or death, after all.
But there was nothing.
"I don't like this," McCree muttered, following Hanzo up the steep stairs. "The hell she at?"
"You cross the garden first. I will cover you from there," Hanzo said, gesturing to a high walkway around the belfry.
"No can do," McCree said, shaking his head. "I ain't leavin' you anywhere."
"My wound is not so debilitating," Hanzo frowned.
"That ain't it. You're my new objective."
"I beg your pardon?!" Hanzo spat, his eyes widening for a moment.
"If Talon gets their mitts on you, everythin' we done here today ain't worth nothin'. Best case scenario there is you die alone, headshot, an' then I just wanna kill that damn sniper all the more—everythin' else is downhill. But my mission now is to get this here payload back to the extraction point, whatever the cost, an' that's exactly what I'm gon' do," McCree explained softly, as if speaking too loudly would draw the sniper's fire from a thousand yards off.
"We are going into a sniper's view," Hanzo growled. "If we stay together, we are both dead. Separate, perhaps we can counter." McCree sighed, shaking his head.
"Yer good, Hanzo…but she's better than you," McCree murmured. Hanzo merely scoffed in response.
"We shall see." McCree opened his mouth, a touch incensed at Hanzo's remark, but he reined himself in. Hanzo had no idea what McCree's yardstick for snipers was. "Clear the garden, so we may walk with only one concern."
"…Alright, but I'd feel a lot better if y' were behind some cover…that walkway's awful open," McCree remarked.
"It is no worse than our planned route," Hanzo remarked, gesturing toward the walkway connecting to the next building.
"Can y' make it up there?" McCree asked, looking back at Hanzo's bleeding shoulder.
"Of course," he replied, his typical arrogant confidence shining through the pain. He leaped from the window, rolling through his landing and leaving a red stain on the stone where he landed—he had suffered far worse in his life. He grit his teeth as he scaled the wall, his heart quickening slightly as he heard the crack of a sniper rifle and the roar of a high-powered round streaking by behind him. The boom of McCree's pistol echoed the sniper, the sound of spent shells clattering to the ground below amplified by adrenaline.
"Damn, missed her!" McCree spat, reloading as Hanzo hurried forward, peering out from the corner of the building before firing a sonic arrow, listening intently. He held up his thumb and forefinger—McCree nodded and replied with two raised fingers. Americans. He disappeared from sight before bursting into view along the walkway firing two shots along with the harsh thrum of a bow. Two bodies fell; clean kills, but no dead snipers. McCree vaulted over the railing and peeked up at Hanzo, no worse for wear from his perch, flashing him a thumbs up before he slipped through the shadows toward the other doorway.
"Clear!" he called, peering through the massive gates out into the town proper. His gaze raked the rooftops as he listened for Hanzo's approach, the crunch of gravel followed by his light footsteps reassuring him. He would never admit Hanzo may have been right about this approach. "How you wanna do this next leg?" he asked, taking a moment to glance back at the other man.
"There are no safe routes through the town," Hanzo murmured, "There are many alleyways and windows and patios to fire from."
"What's yer best option?"
"The best I can offer is to empty my quiver of sonic arrows—move cautiously."
"Y' ain't got an infinite supply of those things, Hanzo," McCree murmured, "And if we take too long, we're done."
"Very well, let us hear your suggestion," Hanzo frowned. McCree sighed, pulling back from the doorway a bit.
"…I'll go first, you follow behind. If she takes me out, then you'll know where she's at."
"McCree!"
"You know this town—I don't. You can make it back through all them alleyways a lot better n' I can." He paused, giving Hanzo a weary smile. "If'n she don't kill me with the first shot, you go ahead and finish me. Don' let that bitch steal your kill, too," he winked.
"This is not the way," Hanzo replied, frustrated—he certainly didn't want to have such a glorious, skilled, infuriating rival get gunned down like a dog in the street. There was no honor in such a death, and certainly no honor in killing him like a wounded animal. Genji would be terribly upset with such an outcome, as well…and he wasn't sure he wanted to be followed by vengeful ghosts, tormenting him for letting an ally die in such a way.
"You tell everybody I wanted it that-a way," McCree said, reaching out to squeeze Hanzo's shoulder but hesitating at his wound—his steel hand came to rest surprisingly gently on Hanzo's arm for a moment before he reached up to tip his hat, one final salute to an honored rival. "Good luck."
McCree dashed through the gate, his arm raised as if it could protect him from a sniper's bullets like rain. He supposed, assuming the sniper wasn't on his right, that his arm might be sufficiently armored to deflect a sniper's round. He knew it was enough for small arms, but he'd certainly never put it to the test quite like that…
He felt the crack of the rifle in his body the same way he'd felt it when he'd trained. He wasn't sure he heard it at all, over the sound of that armor-piercing round ripping through his arm, pistons rupturing and delicate wires snapping and his arm exploding with pain. Pain far beyond what he'd felt when he lost his arm the first time. Pain worse than getting kicked in the chest by an angry horse when he was a boy. Pain upon pain.
He collapsed to the ground in a heap, screaming into the pavement as he clutched his arm to his chest, blue ichor spraying out of it like neon-bright blood, his joints quickly starting to seize up and grind without lubricant while his hand hung on by one twisted, blackened strip of steel. He squirmed and thrashed blindly like an angry drunken fool, praying to any god that would listen that Hanzo would just put him out of his damn misery already.
He heard footsteps, but they certainly didn't belong to Hanzo. They were slow, measured, tortuously long strides, each step sounding with the 'click' of a high heel. He rolled over and attempted to raise his gun, but he could hardly see straight for the pain, let alone aim with the way his breath was coming and going in quick, pained pants. One of those high-heeled boots crunched down on the remains of his forearm, earning another scream of agony from the man.
"Like mother, like son," she smirked, raising her rifle and, for a touch of poetry, aimed for his eye. McCree grit his teeth and bared them like an animal, focusing his tunneled vision on the sniper's face. Her face was so distant, but the pain focused what would have been a foggy memory into sharp relief.
Amélie.
Judas.
Time stretched to infinity between his hatred and pain. Her eye slowly closed as she looked down her scope. His fingers spasmed, the signal to a few of them lost in the severed wires, arcing and crackling in slow motion. Footfalls somewhere in the distance. A phrase he couldn't translate, but which he understood perfectly.
"RYUU GA WAGA TEKI O KURAU!"
McCree heard a few rounds fire from the rifle before the sound was swallowed up in the thunderous roar of the dragons, their maws wide and their eyes wild. Somewhere in the deep rumble, he heard Amélie's cry, and he squeezed his eyes closed against the lightning flash of Hanzo's beasts. They swept over him with an electric thrum, pushing him down the road, a cry half of surprise and half of pain leaving him at the sensation. He tumbled slightly, watching with fading vision as the dragons gave chase, lunging and surging after his would-be murderer, consumed with a hunger that would not be slaked without traitorous blood.
At least, that was what he hoped as his vision dimmed, the echo of a voice calling his name rattling in his ear as he faded.
McCree awoke with a gasp, his eyes wide and his arm somehow both painful and numb. His stomach lurched as he looked at where his hand ought to have been, finding only empty space.
His arm was gone. Again.
"Relax," came a rough voice at his side, his head whipping around to find its source. "It was doing more harm than good. I removed it."
"Hanzo," McCree gasped, struggling to find his breath. "The sniper…!"
"I have seen neither hide nor hair of her," Hanzo murmured, gently pushing McCree back onto the futon he had prepared.
"Where are we?"
"A safehouse," Hanzo answered, keeping his hand on McCree's shoulder as he tried to rise again. "Keep quiet." McCree swallowed back his stumbling questions and attempted to relax, but the aches in his body—phantom limbs included—made him restless.
"The others," he whispered, his gaze flicking around the dark room for a moment before landing on Hanzo again, "Where's the extraction?"
"The enemy focused their attack on the dropship. They were forced to depart without us. Another flight is en route. We will be leaving in a few hours. Rest for now."
McCree reached over to his stump, feeling the cold metal connectors embedded in his flesh and restraining a whimper of discomfort. He'd had his prosthesis for so long, he'd come to forget that it wasn't what he was born with—not having the metal limb was supremely unnatural. Still, he'd take the numb tingling of absence over the fiery pain that he knew his arm held any day. McCree tried to settle on the thin futon, his stump jerking upward with almost every movement he made as he tried to get used to not having so much weight at the end of his arm. It was frustrating.
"Please move slowly," Hanzo advised, "You also have several bullet wounds."
"Do I?" McCree asked, frowning. That would explain why he still hurt so much… "Must not've noticed."
"Indeed," Hanzo sniffed. What else could the cowboy have expected, if he ran around in front of everything like he did? The doctor's technology was incredible, indeed, but it wouldn't remove bullets outside of an operating room. Silence settled over the room again for a long moment—only because McCree's attention was momentarily elsewhere. Almost the instant his head touched the bean-stuffed pillow once again, his gaze turned.
"Why didn't you do it?" he asked, blinking up at Hanzo. "Y' coulda done me in. Picked that kill clean out from under her nose. Or here—I was passed slick out."
"It would not have been right," Hanzo murmured. "I am not a scavenger, picking off the weak. When I kill you, it will be because I am better than you, Jesse McCree, not because you were unlucky. My victory shall be honorable. Your death will be glorious."
"Now why do I got the feelin' that you've been practicin' that line since we got here?" McCree asked, giving Hanzo a crooked smile.
"Because you are so predictable," Hanzo replied, smirking. "I am surprised that it took this long for you to ask."
McCree laughed weakly, his eyes sliding shut as he gently shook his head. "This keeps happenin' to me."
"Hm?"
"Y'all keep sparin' my life." His eyes fluttered open again after a moment, the face he saw behind his eyelids too painful to look at right now. "…Last time someone had such a clear shot on me, they spared me, too."
"What did you do?" Hanzo asked, motionless in the semi-darkness. McCree was struck with a strange feeling of déjà vu.
"I loved her like a mother," he rasped into the darkness. "More'n anyone else, she had my loyalty. More'n Jack. Helluva lot more'n Reyes. More'n Overwatch itself," he whispered. He glanced up at Hanzo, a wry smile coming to his lips. "You done messed up now, son—y'ain't never gonna be rid of me."
Hanzo rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Does the saying not go 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer'?"
"Sure do," McCree chuckled. "Though the idea is that I'm a friend now."
"We shall see," Hanzo replied, though even in the dark, McCree could see his smile.
