Gunslingers and Lightbringers
Chapter 10
McCree awoke inside the saloon, then saw the town doctor (a feminized omnic), the Preacher, the Bartender, and various other people inside there with him.
"Look, he's up!" the Bartender alerted the small crowd, "You had a rough night." he chuckled.
"Here's your consolation prize." The Preacher said and pulled out the titanium tomahawk that had led the cowboy to his bed ridden state, "Have any words?"
McCree grumbled and looked around, "Where's Symmetra?" he asked in a hoarse voice.
"She's downstairs in the bar proper." The Preacher responded, "But hey, I brought the nearby community leaders from the nearby towns." he pointed to 8 men, some old men and some young strong men that were donned in guns and glory.
"Pleasure to meet ya, Mr. Cree." the oldest of them told the cowboy, "We came as soon as we heard." he cocked his antiquated rifle, "Where are those Vihskarian sons of bitches?" he growled.
"Hold your horses." McCree chuckled and sat up on his bed, "You need to know what's going on here." he said and pointed to his pack, "Preach, can you get me the packet?" he asked.
The Preacher walked to the sack and pulled out the large packet, then handed it to McCree.
"Listen up." McCree told the man as he shuffled through the papers, "Operation Westaria is what Vishkar is doing."
"What's that, Mr. Cree?" one of the younger men said as he chewed on tobacco, "Battle plans?"
"No no." McCree shook his head, "Now listen up... Vishkar just got Grit, and they wanna spread all across Route 66 and West into a Californy."
"Californy." the men grumbled amongst themselves.
"They're gonna spread all across the West, and they may push South to connect with a plant in Mexico." McCree informed.
"I knew it was them damn Mexicans." one of the middle aged man, "I told you they were gonna invade after the Omnic Crisis!"
"Relax!" McCree laughed, "It ain't the Mexicans... Vishkar is from India."
The younger men looked at each other in confusion.
"India's 'cross the sea." one of the older men informed his younger compatriots, "Under China and whatever other lil' Chinas there are."
"So... China's Mexico?" one of the younger men muttered as he rubbed his head.
"No... just India." McCree sighed, "Anywho... I have a plan to stop 'em in the nest." he told them, "We hit them before they expand... Dead on Grit." he grumbled.
"So you want all the towns to rise up and bring down Grit?" the oldest man stroked his beard, "Do you have any idea on how many guys they have?"
"Not a lot... Probably only been there a week. Now way they could bring in so many mooks to the West in such a small time." McCree said, "But they do have advance weaponry." he warned, "Laser rifles and the such."
"The gun won the West, Mr. Cree." another old leader muttered, "And it will win it again." he smirked, then saw the cowboy frown.
"What's wrong, Mr. Cree?" The Preacher asked him.
"Can I talk to ya alone... I'm feeling a bit sick." McCree said, and The Preacher dismissed everyone else.
"Mr. Cree." The Preacher sat down next to him, "Somethin' wrong?"
"Preach... am I good to go?" McCree muttered, "I want to see Symmy."
"Not yet, just wait until it cools down so you won't strain yourself." The Preacher said, "But I feel there's something else."
"I lied to her, Preach." McCree scoffed, "I guess this is confession." he laughed a bit, but then turned bitter, "Preach... I told her the West can never be defeated." he said, "Ever since I bumped into her, I made her think that the West was invincible... Yet I know that's not true..."
The Preacher looked at the hurting cowboy, then felt a bit of pity.
"I lied to Symmetra." McCree grumbled, "The West ain't invincible, Preach... And I even fear it's dyin'. Just like back when, when the railroads came in, and the business men.. and the towns... The West already lost once, and I think it's happening again."
"Nonsense." The Preacher tried to cheer him up, "Ever since the Omnic Crisis, no business wants to creep in here... And the only highway in the whole of the West is Route 66, which we had to build ourselves."
"But it's starting." McCree looked at him, "Vishkar is already set here... Maybe we should call this whole thing off." he became raspy, "Maybe it's Destiny that the West should stay dead."
"Hey..." The Preacher said, "Strap your boots, cowboy, because you're going somewhere with me." he said.
McCree and The Preacher walked out of the Saloon and into the evening sky which was radiated by the desert heat. The two walked a bit away from the town until they reached the border between wasteland and civilization.
"Now, Mr. Cree." The Preacher finally spoke, "While you were out, I was reading the Vishkarian Plans." he pointed to the setting sun, "No one except law enforcement and doctors can stay up long enough to see that sun." he said, "Now I know we are all God's Children, and we have the right to see His Creation. You think the same way, Mr. Cree-" he saw the man was still skeptical. "Ok, let me tell ya something else." Preach still continued, "My wife was struck down by the Tuber, and she was in bed for 3 months." he muttered, "You know what happens in the Vishkarian Doctrine? If person is bed ridden for more than a month... he is kindly removed from the hospital for more room."
"What?" McCree said in awe, "Are you serious?"
"And guess what." The Preacher responded, "If a person is disabled and cannot afford VISHKARIAN prosthetics, guess what... they're also kindly removed for a larger workforce. You think Simon's son in the general store would survive in that society." he shook his head, "What I heard from you was that you were a man on a mission, and that mission was to save the West with all its freedoms." he poked his chest, "But if that man dies... if that leader goes down, who else can hold up the force to drive back Vishkar?"
"No one deserves what Vishkar brings." McCree spoke, "Freedom is given to all God's children... The West hold's that up." he grinned for the first time.
"See... That's why we need a man who stands up for Freedom." The Preacher chuckled, "You're the one who risked life and limb for the plans and your Indian Tigress." he joked.
"Now now, Preach." McCree stammered, "Imma return her back to Vishkar when we push them out." he chuckled he started to walk off.
"If you wish to tell her your fear, do so." The Preach called out, "Maybe you'll appear more human than an uberman." he saw the cowboy walk to the Hotel.
McCree walked to his room and knocked on the door, then had it opened by Symmetra, who frowned.
"Oh... it's you." Symmetra murmured, "I guess that the hatchet was a failure."
"What is wrong with you?" McCree growled, "I sweat and shed blood for your safety, and you cannot say I have wronged you while you've been around me." he pointed at her, but then retracted his action, "Goodbye, Symmy." he turned and walked to his hovercycle, which was at this point crusted by sand and brazed by the Sun.
However, the cowboy, not being able to let go on a person he worked so hard to save and help, stepped off and walked back towards her.
"Symmetra." McCree said, causing Symmetra to cross her arms.
"You can go, Jesse McCree." Symmetra told him off, "Relax... Your record with Vishkar is clean."
"What?" McCree did a double take, "Did you say, a record?" he growled, "Did you put me on the grid!?" he yelled and stormed over to her, "You put my name and likeness online!?" he was enraged, "There's a reason I live here! There's a reason I never move anywhere large! There's a reason I tell everyone I'm MR. CREE!" he could not contain his anger anymore and he unleashed his fist upon Symmetra.
Symmetra fell to her knees and felt her aching cheekbone, then looked up to McCree.
"What you have brought upon me Is-Is-Is-Is..." McCree knelt next to her, "I'm sorry." he held her chin and looked at her hurt eyes, "I just... If I'm on the grid, that means I can be found by some evil people." he sighed.
Symmetra looked back at him, then looked down to the floor.
0000000
"We got your hit." a dark suited man walked up to a black figure, "A Jesse McCree popped up in the American Southwest, in New Mexico, a town called Grit."
"Good." a hoarse voice responded, "It's about time he sees the Dead Man walking." he cackled and stepped into the light, "Call the Widow."