Title: Rearrange
Characters: Junkrat, Roadhog, (Mercy)
The rooms were clean, polished to a pleasing sheen, with only the faint scent of cleaning fluids and bleach permeating the air. The hallways were equally immaculate, not a single floor panel unscrewed or uprooted, the walls devoid of any graffiti or damage from the outbreak of battle. The workers within Overwatch had been hard at work to restore their watch points and bases to their former glory, and most of the Agents remained housed in a single base whilst things were settling down. Expansion was the least thing in their unofficial leader's mind – safety and security was.
Yet all the cleanliness, the perfection, it absolutely disgusted their newly recruited demolition expert. The only thing resembling close to home or familiarity was that dwarf's workshop, which was currently out-of-bounds during his 'development period' whatever that was. Immediately he missed the irradiated air of the Outback and the harsh conditions, and more importantly, the mess.
Junkrat was beginning to regret going legit (the first time he decided, didn't count, as that was a set up.) and at first the process wasn't easy. He and his bodyguard were notorious criminals, constantly coming under suspicion whenever something ended up wrong, though the agents knew they had little to no affiliation with Talon. He is a terrorist of a different kind – or rather.. was.
"This place makes me sick." he grimaced, always one to speak his mind. Wild amber hues darted across the same-looking floors and he felt as if he was going (more) crazy. Even walking was difficult, as his robotic peg-leg struggled to find suitable grip on the smooth surfaces, with each step the explosive strapped around his wry shoulders jiggled dangerously. "What do you think, mate?"
Jamison turned his head to the bodyguard, a sizeable older man with no means lacking muscle compared to his belly. His meaty arms were folded, the pig themed gas-mask completely obscuring his face and muffling his voice. Whatever he had said, it came out as filtered grumbles, which seemed to be enough of an answer for the smaller, leaner Junker.
"You're totally right!" the Australian expert proclaimed. "We should christen this area – y'know, like making it more homely! Now.. how are we going to do that.."
In his twisted mind, there was one solution: explosives, and lots of them. He was in no shortage, as he always carried a personal case full of them, not to mention materials and ingredients to make his own unique blend of fiery destruction, to which he considered himself a connoisseur of. A maddening grin spread askew across his crooked face, and he ambled along as fast as he could, with Roadhog in tow.
Going to the edge of the room, he fell to his knees, hands splayed against the cool metal surface that made up the floor. By some logic that only made sense to the psychopathic expert, he marked a few of the panels with soot from his stained hands, which were littered with callouses and varying degrees of burn scars, with his trademark logo of a deranged grin. Satisfied, he unhooked a crate of mines and shoved them in the enforcer's hands.
"Set up them mines on the crosses, mate." he instructed, using the bulk of his friend to stand up with a slight struggle and hobbled to the other side of the room to do the same. Roadhog shrugged, nonchalantly obeying; though his arrangement of the remote-detonated mines were far neater than his wayward, torched companion.
At the very least, there was method to Junkrat's madness. He wanted an area that was sturdy and resistant to test out any future projects Overwatch might assign him to. The Swedish engineer would not be happy with a wrecked workshop, and Symmetra's laser turrets had already left him running with his cargo pants on fire, so he would go by each unoccupied room one by one if he had to, until he found a suitable test site.
Pleased at the sight of the explosives, a giggle worked it's way to maniacal laughter when he set the last of the mines into place. He briefly tossed his gaze over to Roadhog to check his progress, but he had long since finished and was standing off to the side, giving him a slow thumbs-up. The smaller man made a series of crazed hand gestures that the biker understood, stepping away to safety as Junkrat remained dangerously close in the area. He wanted to see his pride and joy in action up close – not filtered behind a safety screen.
A crude looking detonator was drawn out of his pocket, paying no mind to the fact any of the mines could've set off as it was pressed firmly against his leg, he looked left and right, grin remaining and plugging one finger into his right ear.
"Fire in the hole!" Click.
The entire watchpost shook, with any workers, agents, diplomats flailing or grabbing a hold of the wall to steady their balance. Many assumed it was merely an unpredicted earthquake or a rupture in an underground pipe, yet minds were quick to change at the sight of black smoke invading the hallways, leaving many hazardous and unusable for the time being. An alarm bleared out in times when the base was under attack, a computerized voice ushering non-fighting personnel to their respective quarters.
The first response was indubitably Mercy, donned with full medical equipment, staff and additional precautions – a mask to protect her lungs from the acrid smoke with a see-through glass visor to cover her eyes so they didn't sting. There was no fear as she charged through the smoke, wings of her suit springing free to provide light through the dense smog. Even as the siren screamed; her strong voice carried out over it in Swedish, instructing her auxiliary staff to clear the area.
She strained her eyes until she finally caught sight of two figures, one large and utterly unharmed, while the smaller one was plastered against the wall, the outline of powder and soot splashing up like blood marks. She grimaced, but as far as she could make out from her position, he wasn't dead, thankfully. The doctor approached, using her wings to propel her forward. The first call to order was to get them both of of the fog.
The standing man – whom up close she recognized as one of the two new recruits, Roadhog – wore a gas-mask, protecting him. He, quite disturbingly was laughing at his friend's misfortune; a low chuckle that was accented with a few coughs here and there.
"Get out of the smoke and get to my clinic!" she hissed, surprisingly commanding when in her duty. Her arms slipped under Junkrat, swiftly unhooking the explosives strapped around his shoulders to offer them both safety in case they went live with such a collision, and also to make him lighter. He was coughing, eyes streaming yet still maintain a smile all throughout. Mercy was genuinely surprised he wasn't dead by the smoke inhalation, but musings could wait.
At some point, Jamison had fallen unconscious, but when he roused awake, he was not greeted with a site of total destruction, but instead a foul clean smelling clinic, to which he appeared to be an occupant of. His wits were scrambled for a moment, before he blissfully recalled the zone testing. Speaking of which, he felt lighter, which panicked him. Everything ached, but that was secondary to the fact he was missing all of his personal effects.
Calloused hands patted his chest, leaning up suddenly and cursing quite colourfully at the sharp sting of pain through his body. He'd been in explosions before, but he admitted begrudgingly to himself that maybe he was a step too closer than usual. Bleary amber eyes darted around in paranoia, before his gaze landed on a familiar face.
"Roadhog, you saved me, you big lug!" he exclaimed happily, before stopping and checking him out once over. He was sitting beside Junkrat's bed, with a comically small book in his hands. He looked up regarded his employer with an unknown expression.
".. I didn't know you could read -"
"I told you to stay out of trouble." the older man rumbled. "Not get yourself killed. Idiot."
"I'm not dead, mate." the Junker protested. "C'mon, you know it takes more than that to kill me off. Barely even a scratch!"
To demonstrate his point, he hopped off of the bed, instantly regretting it, as the moment pressure applied to his foot, pain worked it's way like a lightning bolt. He doubled over, once again reduced to blurting out swears in his own attempt to alleviate the pain. The noise and language grabbed the attention of Mercy, whom stormed out of one of the patient's cubicles, shot a brief glare to Roadhog and hauled a whining, writhing Junkrat back on the bed.
"Oi! Mate, if you don't get your tiny hands off of me I'm gonna shove a mine up…" he trailed off, finally managing to get a good look at the true saviour of his life. The Junker stared into the firm yet concerned blue eyes of the doctor, still wearing her Valkyrie suit. With his momentary gawking, she took the opportunity to (gently) shove him back in his bed.
"My nanobiology technology managed to stabilize you – do you even realise how close you were to suffocating? At least your irresponsible friend wears a mask. You will likely still experience some lingering pain. A day's rest should be enough." Mercy informed. "I sincerely hope I do not have to issue doctor's orders to not stand next to mines, young man."
"Blimey." he said, snapping out his stupor. "You're the one that carried me out, didn't you? Pretty sure that was some kind of, mechanical angel. It had.. wings."
Mercy rolled her eyes, muttering something about continued delirium due to oxygen deprivation, which got the enforcer at the bedside in a wheezing laughter, and subsequently Junkrat giggling too, even if he didn't know why Roadhog was laughing.
"A day's rest." she reiterated. "I am also instructing you, Mako, to watch over him. If he tries to get out of bed, please stop him this time."
He gave a snort and a thumbs up. Folding hands behind her back, she left, briefly hearing the smaller Junker shout; "Whose side you working for, 'Hog?!"
Mercy shook her head, but gave a small smile. Winston sure knew how to find the strangest heroes.
