Back in the Saddle, Again
AN: This is the eleventh Jesse McCree (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!
I'm aware that this chapter is out of order. Read Authors Note for more info. (If you've been following this story for a while, you may want to read the Author's note first.)
Chapter 21: Bloodlust
Among a patch of tall savanna grass, three men waited. McCree knelt, picking pesky prickly seeds off of his wide brimmed hat. To his side, Jack Morrison sat. He twisted at a few blades of grass, weaving them into a thatch basket the size of a cup. Behind them, Reyes paced impatiently. His heavy steps crushed the dry grass, filling the otherwise quiet morning with crinkling and crackling.
What's taking so long? McCree wondered. Is Angela holding Captain Amari up? Did the sniper team run into trouble?
McCree suspected that the correct thought was the more mundane of the two. He hoped that Angela was proving herself, but his gut told him that the opposite might be true.
We only had a week. He reminded himself. She can't be expected to hold her own. Yet…
McCree waited for a while more, and decided to air his question. He knew there weren't any answers, but he needed someone to say something. They had been waiting in silence for far too long.
"What's taking Captain Amari so long?" He asked as innocently as he could. "Any word from the sniper team?"
"None." Reyes grumbled angrily. "Ana's never been one for sticking to the schedule."
Morrison chuckled and plucked another blade of dry grass. "You're one to talk. You've been late to more administrative meetings than everyone else on the council combined. Hell, you skipped so many we cut you outta the roll call."
Reyes paced a little faster. "Admin meetings don't count. You know I skip those on purpose."
Morrison chuckled again and didn't press the issue. McCree had noticed he'd been avoiding conflict with Reyes. The trio continued procrastinating as the sun inched higher and higher over the horizon.
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
Everyone snapped to attention as Commander Morrison's radio transceiver buzzed to life. The commander dialed in and broadcasted the incoming message to the team's earpieces.
"Enemy in sight. Prepare for mission commence." Angela said through the radio.
McCree blinked and almost dropped his hat in surprise. Angela? What was she doing manning the radio dispatch?
Reyes seemed irritated, but Morrison ignored him. "Ground team is ready. Spring trap when ready."
"Acknowledged." Angela replied. The radio died again. McCree thought about how odd it was hearing Angela's soft melodic voice instead of Morrison's crisp rapport.
Cra-Bang!
A shot rang out from above the valley. Despite knowing that the fire was friendly, McCree instinctively ducked and cringed. Something about far off sniper fire always got to him. Some primal fear that made him want to hide from an unseen hunter.
The trio waited and readied their weapons as the grassland came to life. Men shouted in the distance. Softer gunshots rang out in all directions as the enemy tried to flush out the sniper.
Cra-Bang!
McCree winced as another shot rang out. This time a barrage of gunfire erupted in response.
"Let's move out!" Morrison shouted over the sounds of battle. "Stay low, and go around the fighting. Meet up at the silo if we split up!"
Without another word, he dashed into the grass. McCree unholstered his Peacemaker revolver and broke out into a run after him. Commander Morrison was fast and lithe, and McCree had a hard time keeping up as he darted between layers of thick grass. Reyes, the largest and slowest of the bunch had an even harder time. McCree could hear him huff and swear as he tried to keep up.
The mad dash continued as the sounds of gunfire and shouting grew thicker. Captain Amari's sniper rifle made a sharp retort every now and then, but her rate of fire seemed to be falling. McCree assumed that the enemy had zeroed in on her position, and had finally started applying effective suppressing fire.
McCree pumped his legs as hard as he could. He was heaving with effort now. His legs were aching in protest, and his feet became heavier with each step. The silo became closer and closer. Soon they were in the shadow of the towering building, still hidden from sight behind tall grass. Morrison was long gone by now, but it was easy enough to follow the path he'd trampled into the brush.
McCree followed the trail, slowing to a jog and hunching over to lower his profile. Reyes caught up to him and crept along behind him. Together they rounded the silo, following Morrison's path to a garage entrance cut into the silo wall.
"Late as usual Reyes." Morrison jested from within. "And you say I'm the one who's outta shape."
Reyes stumbled into the garage, bent over, and heaved as he caught his breath.
"Alright!" He gasped. "You're fast Jack I remember. We'll see how slick you are when we get in back into the thick of things."
"Wanna bet?" Morrison challenged. "I'm game if you are."
Reyes eyed Morrison suspiciously, but broke out into a rare smile. "Fine. What's the wager?"
"First one outta here buys the expensive stuff at the Officer's Lounge." Morrison offered. "The really expensive stuff. The stuff that even Lindholm can't afford with all his gun running money."
"No deal!" Reyes chuckled. "We've already established that you're faster than me. What if… first man to draw blood?"
Morrison winced and shook his head. "I never did like betting on blood. Kinda morbid in my book. And it's too… spontaneous anyway. I want something more… competitive."
Reyes hummed in agreement and motioned to McCree. "How about we let McCree pick. What should be bet over rookie?"
McCree rubbed his chin and thought. He could see was Morrison was doing here. If there was one thing Reyes loved it was getting competitive with Jack, and winning. For Morrison, this bet was a way to get back onto Gabriel's good side. A way to brush off the hostility and anger that had driven a wedge between them last night. With a bit of friendly competition, Morrison probably hoped to get a fresh start. To renew his friendship and cast away doubts.
McCree thought for a moment and flicked a piece of grass off his riding leathers. His hand brushed over his vest pocket, and suddenly an idea popped into his head.
"How about a game of dog tags?" McCree offered. "Whoever has the most enemy ID's at the end of the mission wins. Winner gets this…"
McCree reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a Sherriff's badge.
"Looser has to wear this…" McCree pulled out a Deputy's badge. "Looser has to call the winner Sherriff for the rest of the mission. Sherriff gets to call the Deputy… Deupty."
Morrison nodded in approval, and Reyes seemed to get a kick out of the idea. "I'm in as long as Deputy still pays for booze." Reyes rumbled.
"Deal." Morrison agreed. "McCree you're getting in on this too right?"
"Sure, I'll play too."
Morrison picked up his rifle and beckoned. "Alright squad, let's try to find our way down. Intel says there's a disguised elevator in here."
McCree shook a stone in his hand, feeling it's weight. He took aim at the last overhead light and threw it as hard as he could. The light sparked and shattered satisfyingly, plunging the silo garage into a deep black darkness.
"Good throw." Morrison complimented. "Everyone ready?"
"Ready." Said Reyes.
"Ready." Said McCree.
Morrison nodded and whispered into his radio.
"Dispatch this is infiltration team. Making our way down now. We'll make a check in if we find some comms. below, but expect radio silence."
"Roger that." Came Angela's soft voice. "Captain Amari asks that you don't take too long. Things are getting quiet up here. A little too slow she says. Something doesn't… feel right about it she says."
McCree eyed Morrison. It was impossible to tell in the dark, but he could almost sense Morrison's signature scowl. The strike commander wasn't one for superstition, but even he respected Ana's… feelings.
"Roger that. We'll be quick. Over and out."
Morrison clicked off his radio and turned on his tactical visor. He took a breath and reached for a rack of tools hanging on the side of a giant concrete column. Ever so carefully he felt the tools on the rack. A shiny chrome wrench. A moldy old rake. A rusty spade.
The Commander pulled on a saw and paused. "This is it."
McCree readied his Peacemaker and gave a thumb up. By his side, Reyes mirrored him.
Morrison pulled on the tool and sprang back as a mechanism clicked. Soon a deep rumbling began. The men braced themselves. The atmosphere grew tense as the rumbling grew louder and closer. The ground was vibrating up and down. The sounds of turning gears and straining chords grew louder and louder.
Just when McCree was sure the entire silo would come down around them, the tool rack slid to the side, revealing a pair of shiny steel doors. The doors slid open. Instantly two enemies charged out, weapons primed.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Boom! Boom! Boom!
McCree, Morrison, and Reyes exchanged fire with the enemies. One man crumpled as the bullets hit him, he slid down onto the ground and screamed in pain. The other man made it a bit further, spraying bullets through an automatic pulse rifle. A burst from Morrison's rifle legged him. An additional blast from Reyes Hellfire shotgun sent him sprawling backwards. He landed face down, a motionless heap of bloody viscera and gore.
The thunderous roar of gunfire echoed around the hollow silo, growing softer with each reverberation. McCree listened to the sound intently.
Been a while since I killed a man.
The heat of a fight. The screams of a dying enemy. The sticky metallic smell of blood mixed with gun smoke. There was something sickeningly pleasing about it. Some deep pleasure that emanated from within his twisted heart.
"Why did they have to die?" McCree had asked.
"They had what we wanted." Goldwater had replied. "Isn't that reason enough?"
"We didn't have to kill them. We could have tied em' up. Left em' out here for the buzzards."
Goldwater spit into the dirt and turned around. McCree braced himself. He should've known better. You didn't speak out of turn when Jason Goldwater was leading the raid.
Goldwater came close. The taller man towered over him, his huge magnum revolver glistened in the New Mexico sun. "I killed em' because I wanted to. I didn't need their… pathetic little… lives. But I wanted them all the same. It's… the pleasure. The pleasure of taking something from a man as he begs and pleads… and fights… to hold onto what's so dear so him…"
Goldwater took a step back. He took a deep breath, shuddering with pleasure. "I like killing. And I think you like it too."
McCree avoided eye contact. He shook his head and tried to retreat into his mind. The other Deadlocks were staring now. McCree felt alone.
"I saw your face." Goldwater whispered. "It was filled with… Joy…. The pure honest to god joy that comes from killin'."
McCree shook his head. He raised his eyes and met Goldwater's gaze. "You're wrong."
Goldwater grabbed him by the collar. He lifted him up off the ground, holding him captive with his deranged gaze. "There's a killer in you. Don't you deny it boy. Men like me. Boys like you. We were made for this kinda thing. For killin'. For slaughter."
Goldwater dropped him. McCree tried to keep his balance, but he stumbled and fell.
"You've still got a lot to learn. But trust me kid. Someday some sap is gonna wander across your deadeye. And when you blow his guts out. You're gonna like it."
McCree tried to shake away the phantoms. He blinked and took off his hat. He brushed a hand through his hair and hoped that Reyes and Morrison wouldn't notice his absence.
He was right. McCree realized. I do like it.
McCree took his time holstering his Peacemaker. He put his hat back on and joined Reyes and Morrison as they inspected the bodies.
"These aren't villagers." Reyes observed. "He was healthy. Look at those teeth. And his size. He didn't miss any meals."
Morrison nodded reached down the dead man's uniform. He found the enemy's dog tags and pulled at them violently. The body shook for a moment, but the tags snapped off their chains.
"Baba Yetuling." Morrison read. "27 years old, from… Numbani."
Reyes walked over the other body and tried to find his dog tags in the bloody mess. "Numbani." Reyes said. "That doesn't add up with our intel."
McCree nodded in agreement and decided to think aloud. He had to do something to keep his mind busy. The smell of blood and gun smoke was… still… stirring within him.
"Intel said that this facility was being run by a local arms dealer." McCree reminded the group. "Numbani ain't exactly local."
"Right." Morrison agreed. "Find anything on yours Reyes?"
Reyes held up a bloody dog tag. A shotgun pellet had transformed it into little more than a metal shard. "That's one for one." He said. "though I'm pretty sure McCree shot that one Jack. It's his tag, not yours."
Morrison nodded and handed over the tag. McCree hesitated for a moment, but reached out and accepted it.
The elevator hummed as it descended down the shaft. The lift was a big thing. Ten by ten feet at least. Big enough for Reyes to pace, McCree to practice his gun spinning, and for Morrison to think as he browsed intel on his tactical visor.
"How far down does this go?" McCree asked idly.
"Too far." Reyes rumbled. "This must be a nuclear bunker or something. Why else would they bore this deep?"
"It's not that." Morrison said. "No point in building a bunker here."
"What is this then?" Reyes shot back. "McCree is right. We're in deep. Too deep for this to be a drug runner's hideout or an arms dealers stash."
"True." Morrison admitted. "This whole place is too well kept. These aren't criminals we're dealing with."
"An organization then?" McCree asked. "A government maybe? You sure we didn't just waltz into some CIA black site?"
Morrison started to respond, but was cut off by a jolt in the descent.
"Approaching Level A." A robotic voice said. "Please standby for disinfection protocol."
Suddenly, four sprinklers descended from the roof of the elevator. They hissed and began pumping out a clear vapor.
McCree untied his red bandana and used it to cover his face. He pinched his nose and covered his mouth up from over the cloth. Reyes and Morrison covered up as best they could too, backing away into the corners of the confined space, as far as they could get from the sprinklers. The elevator doors opened a moment later, and all three men darted out as fast as they could.
They stumbled into an expansive room. Taller than the highest point of Watchpoint Gibraltar, and wider than the length of Captain Amari's biggest ship, the room stretched on for what seemed to be miles in every direction. Giant steel shipping containers filled the room, stacked into pyramids that went up at least a hundred feet. The whole room was completely silent save for the humming of the giant electric lamps that hung from the ceiling.
"Holy shit." McCree muttered.
Morrison, Reyes, and McCree stepped away from the elevator deeper into the chamber. Their boots echoed as the walked along the polished concrete floor. The clicking and clanking of their gear seemed to be painfully loud in the silence.
"Control room." Morrison whispered. "Split up and find it."
The Strike Commander tapped McCree's shoulder and pointed down a row of shipping container pyramids. McCree nodded and set out in that direction. He walked slowly at first, hoping to dampen the tell-tale jingle jangle of his spurred boots. But as he made his way down the rows and rows of shipping containers, he realized that he was truly alone.
McCree broke into a brisk jog, turning his head as he passed steel containers. He made his way down the row for what seemed like an hour, but no progress was made. The pyramids of stacked shipping containers stretched out into the horizon, never deviating from their uniform pattern.
McCree ended his jog and took a moment to catch his breath. He decided that he was going to head back now. There was no "control room" out here. Just miles and miles of boxes.
What's in these things anyway? He wondered. Who needs all this shit? Why keep so much of it?
McCree looked around one last time. Sensing no prying eyes, he walked over to the nearest shipping container and eyed its freight doors.
Run of the mill stuff… regular four bar freight lock…. I'll have this open no problem at all.
McCree reached into his vest and found his combat knife. He shimmied the blade behind one of the bar locks and got to work on cutting open the plastic backplate.
I used to be so fast. He remembered. Used to camp out at the Clovis train yard. Hide in the boxcars all day. And then at night… pop the locks. Get the goods. Be gone in a flash before the engineer had a damn clue. He smiled at the memory. Thieving was my childhood. Seemed so harmless then. Little did I know…
McCree cut off the backplate and exposed the lock mechanism. He stuck his knife in and fiddled with the pins. He got the knife to the right position and pulled.
Click!
The lock disengaged, and the shipping container door relaxed. McCree pulled it open, and coughed as a sweet spicy smell flooded out of the container. McCree tried to walk into the container, but his eyes watered, and he coughed again. Something in there made his throat itch. It bothered his skin too.
McCree backed out of the dark container, but kept the door propped open. He rubbed his eyes and took a few breaths of clean air. Once he had recovered, he rummaged around in his combat vest and found a mini flashlight.
Clicking it on, he illuminated the inside of the shipping container from a distance. The container was full of small tanks. White and yellow in color, they were stacked neatly along the sides of the vessel. On the back of the door, McCree noticed a sign.
BIOHAZARD: SULFUR MUSTARD GAS | Contains: Bis(2-chloroethyl)sulfide | Bis-(2-chloroethylthio)-methane | Bis-(2-chloroethylthioethyl)-ether | 1,2-Bis-(2-chloroethylthio)-ethane
DANGER: WEAPONS GRADE CHEMICAL AGENT | HANDLE WITH EXTREME CARE
IF EXPOSED: SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION IMMEDIATELY. COMPOUNDS ARE: CORROSIVE, CARCINOGENIC, MUTANOGENIC, VESICANT…
McCree felt his heart stop. He held his breath and backed away.
Authors Notes: This one is for you Melon567. I literally finished this chapter after I read your review.
Alright guys. I promised to deliver two chapters this week and dammit, I'm gonna at least TRY to uphold some of that promise. Here's what happened. I had Chapter 20 about halfway done, and I was going to finish it up and publish it last Monday. Why didn't that happen? Well, I left Chapter 20 in a USB flash drive half a country away. So unfortunately chapter 20 is going to be missing in action for quite some time. (And it is supposed to be a very important chapter. One of the most important in the story for Angela. So I refuse to rush it, or put out some half baked crap.)
I'll try my best to release Chapter 20 sometime this month. But no promises. I have midterm exams this month, and tuition comes before Fanfiction I'm afraid.
Chapter Release: I'm going to officially put the story into Hiatus once I release chapter 20 this month. From there, the story will receive no new updates until May. Starting in May, I'll start pumping out chapters again regularly. The story WILL be finished. I promised to finish it and I will.
Updates: 4/11/2017: The new in game event changes EVERYTHING! I'm so excited! We get some background lore finally! I'm going to postpone releasing chapter 20 until I can analyze the new lore and incorporate it into my story. As I stated from the beginning of this fanfic, I want this story to be as lore friendly as possible. The new Overwatch Mercy skin changes a lot, and her new hairstyle! OMG! I gotta add that in too! And McCree with his badass blackwatch outfit! I gotta add that in too!
SPOILERS: Genji was going to be a part of Act III, but I'm going to have to change that a tiny bit now. (I had no idea he was in Blackwatch too! So exciting!)
Update 5/18/2017: I don't know guys. I'm kinda devastated now. The uprising update was fun and all but it changed the official Overwatch lore so much that I'm not sure I can salvage this FanFic. Hell I don't even want to "salvage" this story at all now. I wanted this story to be lore friendly, something that could have actually happened between McCree and Mercy. But now... it doesn't make sense at all. All the clues and foreshadowing I put into the mystery plot of the story doesn't add up at all now.
For example, consider McCree's new Blackwatch skin. He's wearing all black (Not the classic red bandana I expected.) He's got a Blackwatch badge on his belt and hat instead of the classic McCree look I constantly described throughout the story. He uses a black spec ops revolver instead of his classic chrome peacemaker. (Seems minor, but McCree and his gun are interwoven into each other. McCree is kinda a hired gun in this story. Getting his gun right is a big deal for me metaphorically.)
And the biggest glaring problem that makes this story impossible now. THE FUCKING TATTOO! McCree has a DeadLock Gang tattoo clearly on his left arm! I wrote McCree as a scarred character who was haunted by his past with the gang. In my story he was supposed to have regretted his actions, reminded by his time with the gang by daily pains from the injury in his arm. But on the Blackwatch skin he has a Deadlock Tattoo showing off to the world loud and proud that he was part of the gang, and that he has no regrets about being a killer outlaw.
Then there's Combat Medic Mercy. (I'll admit I'm really proud that I predicted that Mercy would start out as a combat medic.) Mercy's uniform is all different than what I described in my story, but that's kinda a minor thing. What threw me off was her clearly obvious relationship with Genji. (I'm 99% sure Genji x Mercy is cannon now.) Of the two Blackwatch Agents, Mercy seems a lot more invested in her cyborg pet project Genji than with the dark and lonesome McCree. I mean look at that one scene from the comics where Winston and Mercy watch Genji and Tracer go at it like pokemons. She's clearly more interested in Genji than McCree, and that kinda kills my mood.
Then there's Reyes and Morrison. For one thing I'm very proud of the fact that I somewhat accurately predicted what the conflict between Reyes and Morrison looked like before the cannon made it official. (Morrison tied up with red tape and diplomatic bullshit while Reyes does whatever the fuck he wants without worrying about consequence.) What throws me off is how Reyes voice sounded in the Uprising brawl. It was nothing like the dark and gravely voice I had imagined. Instead he sounded like a regular American GI Joe. It's a very minor thing but it threw me off.
Anyway, the shifts in the lore threw off my plans for Act III a lot more than I initially thought they would. I'm not really sure that I should continue writing this story now. I wanted to write this story in my own vision within the world that Blizzard made. If I do continue the story, I'll probably not go through the process of retconning everything that I've already wrote. Not sure what I'll do. Leave a review if you have anything to say guys. I'm sorry I let you all down.
Update 6/8/2017
Ugggghhhhhhhh...
I really wanna finish this story. I wanna finish it so bad. But the lore! I keep rereading the chapters I wrote and I'm so ticked off by all the lore inconstancy now! I'm going to make a copy of the entire Fanfic so far and go through and try to correct EVERYTHING to make this lore friendly again. THEN I'll try to write some new chapters and finish this puppy up.
I've been thinking about it, and I just don't think it is possible for me to finish Act III the way I originally envisioned it, so I'm hoping that I come up with some good ideas as I go back through the chapters.
"These Things, They Take Time." -Gabe Newell