"Lizard! Order in!"

That familiar old screech never stopped annoying her, same as the smell of hot grease and old coffee, but there was a comforting undertone to it this time that Liz couldn't explain.

She reached for the ticket and hung it on the holder over the line. Burgers. Always burgers. She pulled a couple pre-formed patties out of the floor cooler and carelessly tossed them onto the flattop. As she watched the raw meat sputter its juices every which way, she felt a nondescript itch. It was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Anxiety.

"God, I'm sick of this shit," she muttered, passively scratching her elbow. She yearned for something more, but she didn't even know what it was. A vacation? A thing? A person?

That's what it was. She missed someone.

She flipped one of the patties over as she wondered who. Dad? Jesse?

That didn't quite feel right.

"The person or the burgers?" She held the spatula out over the pink side of the unflipped burger. She could see her hand there, but it felt like it was still at her side, pins and needles. She shook the hand, but the sensation wouldn't fade. Another shake and she dropped the spatula. "What the fuck?"

She looked over at her side where she felt like her hand was, just to be sure it wasn't there, then looked back at where she was actually holding it, comparing the feelings.

"I'm dreaming," she told herself.

"Lizard! Six minutes, where's my food?"

She turned deadpan to Brigette. "I'm dreaming," she echoed. "And you're dead."

With that, maggots started crawling out of Brigette's eyes as her face shriveled on her skull, all grey and green. "Li-zaaaard!"

"Oh, fuck me… " That pins and needles feeling intensified, and she began frantically flinging her hand back and forth. Her heart began to beat faster. "Please wake up, Liz! Please!"

Brigette's bony sack suddenly fell on her, and she jumped back, catching herself on the sizzling hot griddle with her left hand. She froze, turning to stare at her hand. It just laid there, turning red then black from the infernal heat. She tried to move it, but she couldn't "Fuckfuckfuck-!"

She began to scream, Brigette's body howled, and her hand... Her hand just laid there squealing like a teapot as blood-red steam escaped, the skin melting and flaming all at once, dead on the grill.

"Cookie!"

"Help me! It won't move!"

"It's okay, Cookie, I'm here!"

"Where?"

"Right here. She'll be right…"

She opened her eyes, quickly adjusting to the dim light. She wasn't in the diner anymore. Realizing she was back at the ocean shack nestled between Junkrat and Roadhog, she knew she was awake, but the dream didn't stop, that intense burning and stinging still plaguing her hand. She sat up with a jolt as a particularly painful shock throbbed through her limb. "Jamie!"

He shot up in bed beside her and cradled her to his chest. "Shh, you're safe."

She began shaking her arm again. "I can't… I can't…"

He grabbed hold of her hand and began rubbing it between his. "It'll pass. Try not to think about it."

Roadhog bent over her with one of those yellow cans, administering it to her without her even noticing in her panic. She just kept staring at the moonlight glinting off the metal of her prosthetic. That's not my arm…

Once Roadhog had finished with the canister, Junkrat moved her offending limb around his back out of her view. "I told you, we'll get you through this."

After a few more breaths, she could feel the chemicals working their way through her body, and the pain downgraded to the original itchy sensation. She slowly pulled her mech arm away from Junkrat to examine it again.

His other arm still around her, he ran his fingers through her hair, pulling her face to his to get her attention. That unstable look in his eyes was replaced with warm concern as he looked into her dilated pupils. "All better?" he asked with sincerity.

"I think so."

"When that happens, you have to stay calm, okay? Try not to think about it or even look at it…"

Following his advice, she found herself focusing on Junkrat's abs. Shirtless, hard, sculpted...

He kept speaking to her reassuringly, but it was just a jumbled mess in her ears. "Okay," she replied automatically. The physical pain was gone, but she suddenly felt an overwhelming emotional drain. She let her face fall to his chest as she fought a cry.

He continued petting her hair. "Can I get you anything?"

"No." She took a ragged breath. "I just need a minute."

"Have all the minutes, Cookie." He rocked back and forth with her in his arms, vaguely realizing how strange that sounded coming from him. "I don't mind."

"Han pasado tres días, y aunque el poder se ha restablecido en la mayor parte de la ciudad, todavía hay muchos lugares esperando. La única señal de 'Los Junkers' desde la explosión es el graffiti de la bomba en toda la ciudad, muchos de los cuales cubren pistas anteriores dejadas por 'Los Muertos'. Muchos temen que la intención sea una guerra de pandillas ..."

Although the TV's audio was turned off, Junkrat kept reading the closed captions. He turned back to Liz and Roadhog at the cantina's table with a giggle.

"I can only make out a little bit," Liz told him, impressed that he knew so much Spanish. "What are they saying?"

"I have no idea," he confessed, laughing more. "But they said 'Junkers' so I know it's about us!"

"Keep it down, drongo," Roadhog urged him.

"Who cares who's listening? They whole point was to get Sombra's attention," he reminded him.

"Yeah, but I don't want anyone else's attention if we don't need it."

"We're gonna need it if she's ever gonna find us." Junkrat took a gulp of his beer. "Three days has been long enough. She should be here by now."

Liz glanced around at the other cantina patrons, noting that no one seemed to care they were there. Not even the neon skull-faced Los Muertos members lingering in the shadows. She shuddered. "What happens after Sombra finds us?"

"We have a 'talk' with her. Make some arrangements. Move onto the next phase of the plan."

"There's more?"

"Hell yeah, there's more!" He leaned in, huddling over the center of the table and switching to a whisper. "You're one of us, now. I can trust you, eh?"

She came closer, emphasizing her unity with the group. "Absolutely."

His smile grew, really believing her this time. "Ya know how America has the largest military budget and all the major American corporations are the main companies that manufacture and distribute tanks and weapons to the rest of the world?"

"Sure, I guess? I never really noticed."

He snickered. "Yeah, the lobbyists would love to hear you say that. The same ones that want the conflict with the Omnics to continue so they can keep making money. It's always about the money."

"Okay…"

"We blow up Wall Street, all their stock drops, and then they're all broke!"

She grimaced. "I don't think that's how Wall Street works."

"Oh, like you're real knowledgeable on Wall Street when you don't even know what's going on with your own military!" He leaned back in the booth, knocking back the rest of his beer. "Either way, they're war profiteers, and they deserve it, so fuck 'em." He punctuated that last sentiment by slamming his glass down on the table.

"Doesn't that make you a war profiteer if you sell the Goddess to Sombra?"

"Who said anything about selling her?"

"I just assumed that –"

"Never assume anything, mate. You know what they say about assuming? It makes you look like an ass."

"That's not –"

"I need her help to enact the final phase of the plan. Without the meddling hands of the suits, the war would play out naturally, which we all know what that means."

"No, what?"

"You ever read a sci fi book?"

"Have you?"

He smirked. "The Omnics would wipe out humanity, of course. Everyone knows that. But with the Goddess released on the world controlling all the Omnics, the outcome would be the opposite. She'll shut them all down, make them turn on each other and such."

Liz raised an eyebrow at him. "I was wrong. You're not a war profiteer. You're a terrorist."

"C'mon, you know you hate the Omnics, too!"

"I'm not talking about that. You know, the logic behind the meat of your plan is hard enough to follow…"

"It's okay, I know you're still new to all this."

"So lemme just start with the most obvious question I've got. Essentially, isn't the AI an Omnic, too? How can you trust it?"

"Because this one's gonna do what I want."

"Okaaay, so for the sake of argument, let's say you do have full control over the AI, and it has full control over the world's Omnics. There's still no controlling the humans, and there's bound to be a fair amount of human casualties directly caused by our actions."

"Yeah, well, the ends justifies the means."

"Like the gas station attendant?" Her arms crossed.

"You still on about that?"

"I just want to make sure I'm not endorsing a coup that wipes out half of humanity in an effort to 'save' it."

"Yeah, but I'm not trying to…" He stopped mid-sentence, hung up on a previous comment. "Wait. Isn't 'terrorist' kind of a strong word?"

"I know what I said."

"You really think I'm a terrorist?" His feelings genuinely seemed hurt.

"If you're not, then what are you?"

"A freedom fighter…eh, er, a misunderstood one."

"Uh uh." She waved her hands in front of her face. "I'm not nearly drunk enough to explain everything that's wrong with that statement."

He shoved his empty mug her way. "Then go get us another round."

She snatched it up as she stood. "Fine."

Once she had approached the bartender and gave him their order, she leaned on the bar, casually directing a whisper to the man in the adjacent stool. "Why are you here?"

He tilted the brim of his cowboy hat up so she could see his smirk better. "Hey, darlin'."

"You're really pushing it, Jesse."

"You're one to talk. Where's that program you promised me?"

Her elbow began to itch again, and she scratched it idly. "I know where it is, but I can't get to it right now."

"I don't know if I can afford to give you more time. Where is it?"

"I'm handling it, okay?"

"I'm not stupid, Liz. All these waves ya'll have been making are specifically targeted to get the attention of Los Muertos, and I got news for you." He motioned a hand around the bar. "It worked."

"Is that a fact?"

"They want an audience with Sombra, they got it. And if they're going to sell that thing to her, I can't let that happen."

"Don't worry, no one's selling anything. It'll be fine."

"Liz, I gotta tell ya, I don't think you understand what you're getting yourself involved in."

She glared at him. "I do understand. More than you'll ever know. I was right about him. He's really not that bad."

"Him?"

"Junkrat."

"So he's the one you're crushing on."

"What?! I-" She clapped a hand over her own mouth, glancing across the room at Junkrat to make sure he wasn't paying attention. Both of them stayed quiet as the bartender came and set her drinks down.

Once the bartender was out of earshot, McCree continued, "If he's such a good guy, why is he looking for Sombra instead of Overwatch?"

"There is no Overwatch anymore. Even you said so."

"What if there was?"

"What are you saying?"

He nodded their way. "AI or no, we need to get them off the streets."

Her expression involuntarily softened. "We?"

"They're doing way more harm than good, and if you won't let me bring them in, they still need to be stopped... Or at least given some guidance. If I provided a way, would they work with Overwatch?"

"I-I don't… I'm not sure."

"Why don't you find out and get back to me?" He stood up from his stool. "I'm gonna go take a leak. When I get back, I'm gonna need an answer." He started toward the door marked 'Hombres'. "So sharpen that tongue of yours."

She brought their drinks back to the table, easing uncomfortably into her chair.

"Oi, what took so long?"

"I…" She took a deep breath and held it in.

"What? What is it, Cookie?"

She let the breath out in a sigh. "Know what? I think maybe we should get out of here."

Before either of them could react to her statement, they were interrupted by a disembodied female voice with a native accent. "Looking for me?" The voice's owner seemingly appeared right before their eyes, an attractive young woman with half-shaved purple hombre hair and, for some reason, toe shoes.

Junkrat laughed hysterically. "As a matter of fact, yes!"

"No manches. We should definitely talk, but… not here." She sneered, beckoning them with a wave of her fingers, but Liz couldn't quit staring at her feet in those shoes. "Vámonos."

…

When McCree emerged from the bathroom, he took a look around, not seeing Liz or the Junkers anywhere. He pushed his hat up, rubbing his face in frustration. "Goddammit."