Hey guys, PoeticPillock here! Sorry, about the delay. Some things got in the way last week and some complications occurred with the site last night…
Anyways, hope you enjoy this late-Christmas present!
Responses…
Evil Reviewer: Interesting as far as real-life facts are concerned. Had a hoot of a time doing some "research" on that country.
Willums: Fuckin' oath, mate.
The Outback, Australia
2076
The sorrowful realization crept up his spine and took almost every ounce of willpower for the Courier to not just walk off into the sunset. Not wanting to look back as he leaves the dusty berm of the homestead behind, even if he had nowhere else to go. Almost not caring that he had a mission to complete, something to fetch. Still, despite all the consequences the alternatives would entail and the limited options he could even fall back on, one part of his mind thought anything would be better than working with these two.
Nevertheless, he stood there silently regarding the two and trying to rationalize not simply fucking off. Probably standing there a bit too silently for a bit too long as he didn't hear the mouthy one speak amongst the desert wind. All of it background noise until he snapped out of his stupor and could comprehend what Fawkes was saying.
"…he catatonic, mate, or is he just…?" the lanky Junker asked his partner, unsure if their visitor was conscious under that helmet.
"Ahem," the Waster cleared his throat.
"Oh, thought we lost you, mate," Junkrat exclaimed, maintain a huge grin on his face. "We got a huge day ahead, and I'm sure you have much to discuss with us, but let's get acquainted inside, first. 'Our home is your home', as they say!"
Ecstatically, Junkrat sauntered towards the rundown homestead, walked passed their guest, and was halfway to the porch until he noticed he was the only one who moved. He turned around to see the visitor had not even moved from his spot and still looked towards the horizon, and that Roadhog had not even moved from his spot, either. Silently regarding the man in black armor as he firmly held on to his large hook. The helmeted man firmly holding his sidearm. Junkrat narrowed his eyes at them both, wondering what the holdup was.
"Roadie, quit mucking about!" he yelled, disrupting the silence. "We've got work to do!"
After his interjection, the two masked men regarded each other for several moments longer until the larger one just snorted and began trudging his way to the homestead, thumping against the ground with every step. As he passed the Waster, they kept staring at each other, one craning his head up and the other looking down. Roadhog lumbered by, their guest looked over his shoulder and watch them get inside their home. Then, the Courier turned his head back to the horizon, watching the surrounding sky become dark. The corpses around him already getting flies. However, he heard faint groaning to his left and sees one of the Junkers he shot still alive. Slowly dragging himself across the sand with a trail of his blood staining it. He didn't get any farther as a gunshot went off and a .45 ACP slug pierced his brain, spilling more blood onto the orange sand. He holstered his sidearm and turned to walk to the front door.
Back inside the homestead, warier of the home now, the guest suddenly finds a couch and a coffee table that wasn't there the first time he went inside. Wondering where the furniture even came from, he felt something tap him on the shoulder and turned to see the stout bottle of a frosty beer being handed to him. He took it, not even regarding the Junker who gave it to him as he then went to take a seat on the couch. Unbothered by how dirty or uncomfortable it was as he sunk into it. Removing his helmet and twisting the bottle cap off, he then threw his head back and already guzzled down half of the beverage. Junkrat letting out a long whistle as he walked in front and watched him finish off the rest of the beer in just a few seconds.
"Hope you ain't too thirsty, we've not a lot to go around," Junkrat chuckled.
The Courier lets go of his drink with a groan, not enough alcohol in that bottle to completely sate him. Wiping his sleeve against his mouth and planting the bottle firmly on the table top. He shut his eyes for a couple of seconds, letting thoughts run through his mind. Then, mustering up enough willpower again to look up at the tall Junker. Somewhat trying to hide his contempt.
"So, what can we do for you?" Junkrat asked, looking down at his guest with that same grin.
"Why am I here?" the Waster merely questioned.
"Ah, getting straight to business, I can respect that! Well, mate, the reason you're here is that we've got a job that needs doing and what better candidate to help us put it all together than someone from the New Overwatch? Erh, you are with them, right?"
Fawkes looked at him with an apprehensive look, but the Waster just rolled his eyes and nodded.
"That's great because what you lot do best is bringing the bad guys, the villains, to justice! And we have a villain of our own lording over the rest of us in the Outback – the Queen!"
Junkrat started shuddering in disgust as soon as he uttered that. The guest just staring at him.
"Even saying her name makes me want to detonate something," he stated, before addressing their guest. "And you're going to help with that. Help bring payba- oh uh, I mean justice, yes that, to the Queen and her rancid lot! Do Junkertown and the entirety of the Outback a public service out of the philanthropy of our hearts! The Saviors of the Outback; Junkrat! Roadhog! And… Uh, what's your name, mate? Afraid I didn't catch it."
"Courier," Nathan Brin answered, looking at the Junker straight in the eye.
"Eh, what? 'Courier'? That's an odd moniker to have. You look to be more than just some flippin' mailman. But I digress. Junkrat, Roadhog, and the Courier – Saviors of the Wastes! Huh, it does kind of have a nice ring to it…"
"Ahem!"
"What?" Junkrat let out, confused until his face lit up with realization, again. "Oh, right. The plan! Well, it's simple!"
Nathan immediately doubted that.
Jamison dashed away from the table and dashed back into view with a chalkboard, placing it on the coffee table and holding it up as he scribbled away on the board with his mechanical hand. Nathan tried to look over and see what was being drawn, but the Junker's wiry body kept twitching and obscuring his view. He was writing fervidly, a cloud of chalk dust forming around the board. Then, after around half-a-minute of scribbling, Junkrat stepped back and displayed what was on the chalkboard: an elaborate, chicken-scratch diagram of a stick figure man with a metal helmet escorting a large floating-cart – filled with bags of money, piles of gold, and all other sorts of riches – along a path. What stood out most to him was that the cart had what appeared to be bundles of dynamite strapped to its sides. A lot of dynamite.
"You see, chum, you're going to help deliver a trolley full of goods to the Queen," Fawkes began to explain, tapping a stick against the board and pointing to the drawings. "You'll get it through Junkertown, all sneaky-like, and bring it to the Queen's throne room. And when you present it to her majesty!"
He began tapping furiously against the last drawing on the board, showing a large cartoon mushroom cloud with a stick figure hauling ass away from it, and another stick figure with spiky hair, a braided pony-tail, and x's for eyes being blown up.
"Kablooey!" the explosive Junker exclaimed before cackling like a mad hatter. "It'll be a piece of piss! Almost no trouble for you getting it in. Heh, your name'll be fitting, then."
The job did sound simple, and it could've been as easy as he described, but Nathan knew there were going to be complications given some choices he had made prior.
"Uh-huh. One problem, though," the Waster said, holding up a finger. "I've been there, before, and I don't think your Queen likes me very much, now."
Jamison dropped his dirty but glowing smile faster than a thermonuclear airburst-warhead, and Nathan thought he saw the fiery tips of his hair dim a bit. Junkrat brought his mechanical hand up to his chin, rubbing it in thought as he peered up at the ceiling, at the chalkboard, at the guest, and hummed lowly. His metal fingers rubbing off some soot from his chin. The chalkboard that balanced precariously on the coffee table then fell and slid to the floor, kicking up a plume of dust and chalk.
"That is a problem," the verbose Junker merely stated, before frowning. "What did you do?"
"Enough to warrant me as a 'troublemaker'," Brin explained casually.
"Like?"
"Knocked a few idiots at a bar, which is the reason for the guys currently fertilizing your front lawn."
"Hmm, and you're the only American around here, so you'll stick out like a sore thumb."
The Californian just frowned.
"I mean, no sense trying to put on a disguise if you can't sound the part, right?"
The wiry Junker went deep into thought again, now aware that his plan wasn't as air-tight as he hoped it would be. A bit disappointed that it couldn't come together nicely even with outside help. However, he was quick to think of a possible solution.
"If you ain't in good standing with the Queen," Junkrat iterated, tapping his chin. "Then how 'bout we get you in good standing with her?"
Nathan perked a brow, curious about how they were going to achieve that. Gaining a sour reputation was easier than going to hell and back to get rid of one.
"As far as she knows, you only punched a few thugs at the pub, nothing more," Jamison said, shrugging. "And dead men can't really report back to anyone except St. Peter, so no need to worry about that lot out front. No, what you need to do now is something you're probably all too used to."
"What?" Nathan asked, a bit apprehensively.
"Be a hero, mate."
'Oh, of course,' the Courier thought silently to himself, but frowning even more. 'Because that's worked out so well before! People love a hero, especially in places like out here. Sure as hell won't be any repercussion from trying to act like a hero out here, no sir-ee! They'll flock to me, want my autograph, and suck my dick the second I act remotely heroic. Nothing better!'
"What…?" Nathan repeated in disbelief. "That's your plan?"
"Yep, and I know the duo best qualified to help you pull off such a show," Junkrat responded, jumping back next to Roadhog, and posing as if there was a spotlight showering the two. Roadhog, who had a shovel and pickaxe over his shoulder, just looked at him before scoffing and walking through the front door.
"You're kidding?" the Waster could only question again.
"Why would I be kidding about something that'll be fun? Let draw me draw it out for ya'. Again."
Junkrat bent down and propped the chalkboard up on the table again but a corner of the board snapped off, almost knocking down Nathan's bottle. Without further ado, the ashy Aussie began to scribble onto the chalkboard once more with his mechanical hand. Much quicker than last time, he finished and jumped out of the way to show a set of three separate images with a number designating each of them in order.
"Step one," Junkrat began, using his peg leg as a pointer to the first image, which showed stick figure versions of themselves in front of a caravan of cars on a road. "Roadie and I will hold up one of the Queen's supply caravans from the Omnium, maybe do a little terrorizing to really sell it. And when they are thoroughly defecating themselves, that's when you come in."
He extended his peg leg to the second image in the middle, showing the same caravan and stick figure Junkers, but the duo being chased off by a helmeted man firing a gun into the air.
"Step two, you save the poor subjects of the Queen and run us off. Be sure to make yourself as heroic as possible, like you're going to be put on an inspirational poster, or appear in a blockbuster screenplay! Or…"
"Some fucking dumb dime-novel they'd sell back home," the Courier said, scornfully, remembering how some of his actions were written into poorly-written, woefully inaccurate books back in California.
"Sure, that works," the Junker accepted, the reference obviously lost to him. "Just make it look convincing. And don't worry about holding back, Roadhog and I have plenty of practice running away under fire."
Nathan scrunched up his face at what he said for the moment but quickly decided that he didn't care that much to question him further. The sooner he finished helping them, the better. Even if he was just shaving seconds.
"Finally, step three," the explosive mastermind went on, now pointing to the last and final image in the set – the helmeted man in front of the caravan with other sticks figures cheering for him and little cartoon hearts and exclamation points floating around in the air. "Adoration. People always love this!"
"Hmph."
"They'd be wanting to know who their savior was, who saved them from the 'dreaded Junkrat and Roadhog', heh! And after you're done shaking hands or signing mammaries, you put in the good word with the Queen and next time you find yourself at Junkertown's gates with the treasure-trolley, she'd let you right in!"
"… That easy…?" Brin questioned, scowling.
"Most people around here ain't too bright, and the Queen's memory can slip about some no-name outsider if he brings a trolley full of bling with him. She'd be more than willing to forgive you for just glassing a few blokes. Can't say the same for Roadhog and me."
Nathan glanced at him for a moment, reclining further into the cushion of the worn couch. He looked and thought over the plan just described to him by Jamison, and while it made sense relatively speaking, he felt it relied more on the grace of their luck than the soundness of its mechanisms. To put it more bluntly, not a lot of people would put much faith in it. Who in their right mind would?
"Fine, I'll do it," the Waster accepted, not really caring too much about the implications but still trying to get a semblance of things for once. "But after this little show you're going to put on, and after we bring your little 'parting gift' to the Queen and vaporize her, will you do a favor for me in return?"
"Sure," the Junker answered. "If a proper business transaction is what you're after, a proper business transaction you'll receive. Least I can do for a generous and obliging man such as yourself! Eh, what do you want, though…?"
"I'll tell you later. Right now, how soon can we get this first phase of your plan done?"
"Immediately, if you're up for it."
"Good."
"Anything else, cobber?"
Almost immediately, Nathan looked to down to the table at his empty bottle of beer.
Nathan was skulling his third beer as he rode in a wagon being pulled by the Junker's mode of transportation – a large, yellow, jury-rigged motorcycle with steer-horns on the headlight and a yellow sidecar personalized with spikes on its wheel and the hubcap, with a freakish smiley face on the front of it. It was now completely night out in the Outback, the only sources of light being the moon, the motorcycle's headlight, and the sea of stars above them. It was a bumpy and loud ride, largely due to the fact this motorcycle used actual wheels and had an engine louder than a machine gun. Nathan could feel the heat from the exhaust hit him in the back, so as soon as he finished his bottle of beer he tossed it aside and put his helmet back on. Feeling nearly not enough alcohol in his system. And as if to make matters worse for him, he had to share the cramped wagon with the farm animal.
"Why are we bringing the livestock?" the Waster had to yell over the thundering bike.
"What?" the other passenger asked, looking up from his sidecar and over his shoulder. "You mean the goat?"
"Yes, the 'goat'. Why are we bringing it with us?"
"Roadie doesn't want to leave the goat all by himself in the dark, 'cause of the dingoes."
"And the goats fine with it?"
"Just look at him, mate. He could care less."
Nathan turned his head to the left to see the "goat" just sitting on his side next to him. Chewing on something in his mouth and with eyes that looked half-asleep. It did seem unfazed by the loud noises and the constant rocking, so he had to give the animal credit for not shitting all over the wagon. Then, something on his neck glinted in the moonlight and Nathan reached down to grab a metal tag on its collar.
"Jerry," it read. Brin thought it was an odd name choice for the animal, but he was more of a Brahmin person.
He looked back to the expanse of the Outback but in the dark. Barely able to see fifty meters out without his lowlight vision. He'd usually be sleeping or trying to find a place to sleep on nights like these, but this was going to be one of those where he'd have to work overtime. Where near-freezing temperatures overtook the scorching days. Those usually didn't bother him, but he was much less nauseous using his own legs than riding in a rickety wagon precariously linked to a motorcycle. At least the bike seemed to have good horsepower with all the weight it was carrying.
Roadhog grunted, bowing his head to Junkrat who then looked over his shoulder to relay the message to their third guest.
"Four more clicks out!" Junkrat exclaimed. "And then the show will begin."
"Great…" the Courier muttered under his breath.
Staring into the distance, again, he watches as stretches of dirt road and shrubs speed by them in seconds. Seeing how wide and open the Outback was, how this place would be a dream for any type of long-range shooting. Recreational or otherwise.
Lifting his hand up, he grabbed the broad stock of the Brush Gun and brought it to the front.
'Hello, old friend,' Nathan greeted the rifle, having not held it for a long time. 'Sorry I've neglected you. I'll find you some game to tag soon.'
He swung the lever forward and watched the bolt pop out the rear, then setting it back into place and watching the bolt go back in with the hammer now cocked back. With a press of the trigger and his thumb on the hammer, he set it at half-cock before he reached to his bandolier and started inserting .45-70's into the receiver. As he was in the middle of filling the tube magazine, something flew and hit him in the back of the helmet, making him stop and nearly drop a round. Unhurt but annoyed, he looked back and dodged another flying projectile to see Junkrat sifting through his sidecar, throwing random crap out with no consideration for anything else. Annoyed, Nathan just turned back and resumed loading his rifle until the mag was full, then resting the weapon on its stock and leaning on it as he watches more shrubs zoom by. An occasional piece of refuse entering his view and maybe bouncing off his head. A few more moments pass, then Nathan feels something tugging on his duster and spots the goat nibbling on it. He grabs the piece of cloth the goat was trying to eat, but Jerry is tenacious and tugs even harder. The back passengers have a little tug of war, the human trying not to rock the wagon too much. The goat proving to be stronger than he assumed. However, with one good tug from his arm, Nathan wrestled his duster free from Jerry but saw the damages he had left on it. The Courier's duster was getting really worn by this point and would have to do something about that if he wanted to maintain "his" uniform.
His reminiscence was disturbed as something flew past his vision and got caught the barrel of his Brush Gun. It was a piece of a paper, flapping in the wind. Nathan grabbed it and was almost about to throw it out but stopped as he saw a dollar sign printed on it with a very large number next to it. Doing a double-take, he shook the paper to make it steady and was immediately greeted by the stenciled mug of Jamison "Junkrat" Fawkes in the middle of it and the words "SE BUSCA" above. Another word, "RECOMPENSA", was at the bottom with a very large sum of money printed below it. There were some words scribbled in the margins, which was a self-addressed note to remind Junkrat to find a frame for this poster.
Even though he could speak the language, he didn't need to read much to learn that his contact's head was worth a lot of money. He didn't have much need for this world's dollars, but he could probably find some use for it. It probably might be more if he also bagged his accomplice, and hell, the goat might be worth something, too.
The Courier looked over his shoulder to see Junkrat still occupied with flinging random shit from his sidecar and Roadhog keeping his eyes on the road. Taking one final glance at the bounty poster, he let the paper go and watched it flutter off into the distance before disappearing. Then, he grabbed one more round from his bandolier and pushed the lever forward, bringing a round to the elevator, before slowly shutting the bolt closed and chambering the large cartridge – making sure it wasn't heard over the motorcycle's belching. He inserted the extra round into the magazine and put his thumb on the hammer to slowly set it at half-cock, again. Priming the weapon before it was going to serve a specific purpose for the hundredth time over – bagging game.
It wasn't long until the group had reached their destination, setting the motorcycle aside a good distance from the road. Junkrat, Roadhog, and the Courier climbed atop a dune to get a vantage point of the road they were going to stake, Nathan being given the responsibility of bringing Jerry with them on his rope-leash. The goat more than ornery about being dragged along by the big human.
"C'mon!" Nathan exclaimed, his strength not enough to coax the horned beast to him. "You horned fuck, let's go!"
Eventually, Brin ended up grabbing one of its horns for leverage and walked him over to the other two, who were waiting atop the hill. Junkrat was peering through binoculars as Roadhog just stood next to him and watched the road. When Nathan finally reached them, he lets go of Jerry and walks over to the two Junkers to look at the road for himself. Like every other road out here, this road stretched on for miles into the horizon, behind and in front of them. However, on the horizon they were facing, he could faintly see a difference in the scenery of the land hundreds of miles away from them. Noticing how different the weather and the clouds looked over there, even from this distance. It almost looked very familiar, but he just couldn't tell without getting any closer or inside for himself. Only hoped he packed enough Rad-Away.
"Okay, mate, here's the plan," Junkrat said, standing up to his full height to address the other tall man. "Soon coming down from that road will be one of the Queen's scavenging convoys from the Omnium. Roadie and I'll head down to that road and set up alongside it. Wait for the scrapping party to arrive. And…"
Junkrat bent down and hoisted a big burlap sack over his shoulder, giggling even more as he could barely contain himself.
"Kaboom!" the explosives expert articulated, making huge gestures with his arms. "Scare the absolute piss out of them with our 'fireworks'! Oooohhhh, I love pissing off the Queen!"
"And that's where I come in," Nathan stated.
"What…? Oh… Yeah. Right. That's where you come in. You do whatever hero-types like to do, and 'save' the wankers. Remember to be as convincing as you can! Remember, don't screw this up!"
"You'd sooner blow yourself up jerking with nitroglycerin than I'd fuck this up."
"Heh, I don't doubt that! I'd knew I'd like you more than those other Overwatch blokes."
Jamison chuckled as he patted Nathan on the shoulder before hopping off and sliding down the dune to get to the road. Roadhog was about to follow his accomplice, but stopped and turned his mask to the Courier's helmet and stared at him for several moments. Nathan, once again, returning the gesture and craning his head at the larger man. Both maintaining their gazes for the duration of their impromptu staring contest, unfaltering even under their masks.
"Don't try anything," Roadhog threatened, his voice deep and gravelly, sounding as if he breathed in clouds of rotting air.
"What about you?" the Courier asked, his voice laden with a growl.
Roadhog let out a scoff as he regarded the Courier for several moments longer.
"Oi, Roadie! Get moving you big lug!"
The fat Junker looked to the road and cast another glance to Nathan, before snorting and walking away down the dune to join up with his partner. The Waster watching him go.
'He might be a bit more difficult,' he observed, reaching up and grabbing his Brush Gun. 'At least he's a big target.'
Brin took a knee and perched himself along the dune, getting ready as Junkrat and Roadhog set explosives along the road. Switching on his lowlight vision, he could see through the scope for his lever-action, the crosshair hovering over the two with every move they made. The man taking an interest in the way the slim one set up his explosives. Certainly knew his stuff as he crossed every wire, applied the right adhesives, and flipped the right switches with ease. His finger hovered over the trigger, and the thought of ending it right there most certainly crossed his mind multiples times when he was presented with an opportunity, which was most of the time as he looked at them. However, he still needed someone to lead him to the Omnium and help retrieve the fusion core Overwatch needed, so the bounty hunter would have to postpone his plans for now. He was fine with waiting if the rewards were promising.
It didn't take long for them to finish, setting up explosives on both sides of the road and running to find a place to hide. As Nathan tracked them, he saw them stop behind a sizable rock and hunker down, out of view from the road. Junkrat peaked out from cover and looked to the dune to give a thumbs-up, the man with the rifle returning the gesture.
When he got behind cover, Junkrat pulled out his jury-rigged grenade launcher, slammed in a box of cherry-red bombs into its "receiver", and pulled back the charging handle that was the pommel for a gearshift. After he did so, he turned to his partner.
"Hey, Roadie," he whispered, catching his attention. "You trust him?"
"No," the masked man said.
"Me neither. Hope Jerry didn't shit out those C4 snags we fed him, in case he tries anything. Good thing he took a liking to the bloke's coat. It'll keep 'im close."
"…"
"What? I told you, mate. Jaz won't feel a thing!"
And so, the party of misfits plus a goat hunkered in their spots as they gazed at the horizon for the convoy of cars to come. To unsuspectedly spring their trap. If all that goes on without a hitch, then the rest of the plan is set in motion. The closer Nathan is to getting those fusion cores and back to furniture that didn't have as many scars as he did. Funny how the Waster was starting to miss such a thing, but there were worse complaints to have. Maybe this world was just making him a bit too squishy.
'That'll be the day,' the Courier thought as he adjusted his position, making his rifle's stock snug against his shoulder.
Next, for the better part of an hour, the group waited in the same spots and kept themselves ready for their ambush. Most of them, at least, as Nathan spotted Jamison occasionally standing up from his rock and doing things to keep himself occupied. Even spotting him juggling some red balls he had, his colleague watching with some intrigue. The Waster had to remind himself he was following his plan.
Occasionally, Nathan had to push away Jerry from his coat or to stop him ramming the side of his body with those horns. The goat didn't seem to give a fuck what the human had to say about his behavior, so he kept doing as he pleased and only served to annoy him further. He almost wanted to shoot the rude horned beast but decided not to spoil the meat too early. Focusing his eyes on the horizon and waiting for the caravan to finally appear in the distance and get this done with. He wasn't usually the one to be impatiently growling, having been in similar scenarios where he'd have a rifle scope focused on a space for hours. Days even. Waiting for whatever target he had, even for just a moment, or else he'd lose his chance to blow their head off. However, this situation and the company he had was wearing on him a tad, which was certainly saying something. He could do with some coffee now, the cold wind making him slightly shiver as it passed over him. Instead, he pulled out his canteen and took a little sip from it, feeling himself warm up slightly and his aim becoming steadier.
After a few minutes of nothing happening, Nathan huffed and took a glance at his Pip-Boy to see what the time was. Seeing it was a getting a bit late. He shouldered his rifle and faced the horizon, going back to waiting. However, after a few more minutes of nothing, he saw something glimmer off his scope and immediately sighted in to look at the road. He narrowed his eyes as he didn't see anything coming over the dunes in the distance. Raising his helmeted head up from his scope to take a quick glance, he noticed the lens glimmer again. Then, he turned around and could easily see in the darkness of the Outback that a convoy of lights was fast approaching them from their behind, to the North. From the complete opposite direction Junkrat said they would come from.
"I should've known," Brin muttered under his breath, taking off his helmet.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the dune, Junkrat and Roadhog were having a conversation. Completely unaware that their plan got flipped.
"…And that's why I don't go to Maccas anymore," Junkrat said, rolling his eyes. "Their service is just-"
"FAWKES!"
Their ears perked hearing that, and they both stood up to see the man in black armor standing over the dune and waving to them.
"Oi, what's the problem?" Jamison asked, annoyed he was interrupted from his story.
"The convoy!" Nathan yelled at the top of his lungs. "It's coming from the North!"
Junkrat's eccentric gaze widened upon hearing that last word, and Roadhog just lets out a deep sigh as he visibly sulked, muttering insults towards his colleague.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no! That can't be right!" the criminal mastermind refused, reaching into his shorts and pulling out a map. "From what I've gathered, the convoys supposed to arrive an hour before and leave an hour after. We should be-"
"Daylight Savings Time," his side-kick simply stated, then watching as Junkrat's brain began to short-circuit from the inside.
"Oh, right… Been meaning to set my clock for that… NEW PLAN!"
He yelled at the top of his lungs, somehow hopping high enough to land onto the rock he's been hiding behind and addressing the air around him as if he had a crowd gathered even though there were only two others he could've been talking to.
"We need to find new hiding spots, now!" Junkrat exclaimed. "The Truckies will see us where we are. As the Royal Crown would say, 'leg it!'"
The two Junkers then began to haul ass to the other side of the road, getting far away from their original spot. The wiry one making long strides across the road, and the fat one thumping across the sand as he followed. Nathan copied their strategy and slid down the dune he was perched on and began making a dash for something farther away. Not too close to the road, and not too close to where the Junkers were hiding. Running with his Brush Gun in his hands, the sand practically collapsing under his large frame, he had just passed the rock they had used when he saw beams of light flash across the sky behind him. Seeing the beams get brighter and the sound of engines get louder, Nathan saw there wasn't much cover where he was running. Thinking fast, the Waster dove into the base of a dune and buried himself under a hill of sand, trying to get it all around him and hoping any disturbances he made in the sand wouldn't get spotted in the darkness.
Then, just scant moments later, the lead car of the caravan appeared and sped by on the road being trailed by other vehicles. Their designs and décor obviously like the car from yesterday, equally lacking in taste but overflowing with wasteland vanity. However, one of the cars in the middle was a huge semi-truck hauling a large trailer container that looked more like something on a garbage truck. With several vehicles, including the big-rig, it was a modest looking caravan at best. The guns and armaments the smaller vehicles had looked discouraging, at first, but they weren't deal breakers for them. Just further inconveniences for Nathan.
"Alright, Roadhog…" Junkrat said, sitting atop another nearby dune. "Time to put the kibosh on this road trip-"
Suddenly, the lead car in the front slammed on its breaks and skidded to a halt along the road, making the others behind it stop as well and nearly crash into each other.
Junkrat paused and nearly prematurely set off his IED's, as the lead car stopped mere meters from where they were. Nathan looked at the road in surprise as well, seeing people in the front car get out.
"Ay, what's the holdup?" a Junker in the second car yelled out.
"There's a fuckin' goat on the road…" a Junker from the lead car said.
"Oh, piss," Junkrat muttered.
The three had realized that Jerry was in the middle of the road, exactly where the two had placed the booby traps for the caravan. Nathan really wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose at that moment, but his helmet was the only thing keeping all the sand out of his face. Junkrat and Roadhog exchanged glances with each other before looking at the detonator the explosives expert was holding.
"Welp, at least we gave Jaz an ace life," Junkrat said, planting his thumb on the little red button.
However, rather than getting a big, thunderous explosion of fireworks and IED's to shock and awe the convoy, he got nothing as the detonator just clicked. Surprised, Jamison began to repeatedly tap on his detonator, clicking the little red button. Banging it a few times against his metal hand. Wondering what was wrong.
Meanwhile, the Junker from the lead car got closer to the goat, squatting to get on eye level.
"Hold on, this goat's eating something," he said, cautiously taking a closer look.
"What?" one of the other Junkers questioned.
"It…It looks like string? And it's got a name tag."
He slowly reached forward and grabbed the little piece of metal dangling off the goat's neck, bringing it into view of their lights.
"'Jerry'."
"Jerry?! Isn't that the bloody goat Junkrat and Roadhog stole from Gingin?!"
"Wait, is it? What is it doing all the way out here eating wire from the ground…?"
The Junker, putting two and two together, rocketed up and pulled out his gun from his holster.
"Fuck! Get back!" he exclaimed, pointing his gun at Jerry.
However, before he could even do anything to the goat, a gunshot boomed across the sand and made one side of his head explode into a bloody crater, instantly dropping him to the ground. The Junkers in the caravan and the Junkers atop the dune all stopped and looked up to see a tall man in black armor covered in sand and ejecting a brass casing from an ancient rifle. His eyes glowing a bright, blood-red in the dim light.
Quickly, the Courier began firing at the other Junkers, his Brush Gun already knocking down two as they got out of their cars. A Junker gets on the lead escort-vehicle's turret and rotates it to the red-eyes, but is cut down without even getting his fingers on the heavy weapon's trigger. More shots go off from the attacker, his hand expertly manipulating the lever-action without missing a beat and landing his shots equally so. Reacquainting himself with an old friend.
As he cuts Junkers down, the driver in the dump truck panics and tried to back up but only slams into the escort-vehicles behind. Not caring, however, he goes forward a bit and puts it in reverse again, backing up and slamming into them again. Some of the men jumping out of the way. He tries to repeat this for the third time, but a series of gunshots and grenade blasts annihilate the junk-cars behind and create a pile of debris blocking his path.
"Eh, I like to keep things real," Junkrat shrugged, before guffawing as he launched bombs down onto the poor Junkers below, and Roadhog sent high-velocity balls of scrap into their ranks as well. The duo ripping them to shreds, blowing them into bits, or a combination of the two. The resulting gibs of matter peppering the road. "That seppo sure did a piss-poor job acting, though. He didn't even try!"
Their visitor didn't slack off either, resuming fire with his Brush Gun after a speedy reload and swinging the lever to chamber the first. Amidst his fire, he noticed a pair of headlights shine to him and turned to see a car rapidly driving towards him. Narrowly, he jumped and rolled to the side, getting a face full of sand but avoiding getting crushed by the machine. Turning his head to face the rev of its engine, the car was speeding towards him again but Brin took a quick shot towards the driver seat and watched it instantly lose control. Wobbling towards him now, he dodged it once again and it turned and tumbled across the road before hitting a sand dune, flinging a high cloud of sand into the air.
Then, another shrill engine rev pierced the air as he suddenly felt something crash into his back and he was tumbled ten meters across the sand. Even with armor, the force was enough to instantly make him ache, but he looked up and sunk low to the ground just in time to dodge something gliding over him at high speeds. Rocketing up, he turned to see not a car, but a floating motorcycle that had spikes all over its body and long poles sticking out of its rear… With Omnic heads upon them.
That sight genuinely caught Nathan off-guard, his eyes gazing up at the pikes and seeing they were heads that looked almost like Zenyatta's. Enough so that it was too late for him as the motorcycle crash into him head-on, now hanging over the vehicle's handlebars and clinging for dear life. He narrowly missed the spikes, but the driver looked down at him before pulling out a gun from his holster. Nathan jumped and grabbed his wrist, but ended up turning the handlebars and causing the bike to tip over and crash into the sand. Tumbling to a stop, they both land feet from each other, but the Waster is the first one to recover quickly and stomps over to the driver. The biker Junker tries scrambling to his gun but is pulled away by the feet before hands grab onto his neck and leg. With a roar, the Courier hoists the man high into the air and slams him into the spiked hood of one of the escort-vehicles, impaling his victim on a dozen blades of varying size and rust. Standing back to look at the sorry bastard twitch as he bleeds like a stuck Molerat, another shrill motorcycle cry sounds off to his right, seeing another rider firing a gun at him. Unfazed as the ground pops at his feet, he walks over to the Junker he turned into Swiss cheese and slid him off the spikes. Grabbing ahold of his neck and leg again, he watched the other bike get closer and closer, standing his ground with blood pouring all over his hands and boots. Then, as it was meters away from him, he heaves and throws the bloodied corpse onto the driver, making her and the bike fall and roll across the sand. The bike getting out of control and crashing behind the tuck, before exploding into a ball of fire from all the mayhem happening on that side. The driver, while not much luckier, had come to a halt much sooner as her body slammed into the side of the dump-truck and left a splatter of blood on the door.
The driver of the truck was on the cabin floor, in the fetal position and hugging his hands to his ears to block out all the gunfire and explosions. Then, after minutes of hearing the world end again outside, he waited and rocked for several moments before opening his eyes and seeing the fighting had stopped. However, he heard footsteps in the sand approaching his cabin and felt it shake as someone was clambering to the driver-seat door. He flinched as someone broke through the windows and unlocked the door from the inside. Opening, a hand reached in and grabbed the driver by the collar of his shirt to pull him outside. He panicked, trying to grab onto something to hold but could do nothing more as he was thrown out from the cabin and fell to the sandy road. Rolling onto his back, he holds up his hands as the red-eyes hover over him, the barrel of a sandy lever-action up against his face.
"P-please! I-I'm just a truckie! I'm just a truckie!" the Junker pleaded, shaking uncontrollably.
Before he could do anything else about the straggler, Nathan heard the click of a peg leg and saw Junkrat and Roadhog come up to them from the wreckage behind the truck with freshly smoking weapons.
"That was fun!" Junkrat exclaimed, before frowning. "But you might need to work on your acting, mate. There's no way in hell these blokes'll put in the good word for you with the Queen, now. Especially since most of them are dead.
Then, out of the wreckage, Jerry the Goat walks past them and towards the open door of the truck, hopping up and ripping out strips from the cabin's leather upholstery with his mouth. Roadhog huffs and makes his way to the truck, as well, checking up on the goat. Nathan looked at the big truck, seeing it was the only vehicle in this caravan that wasn't a pile of scrap.
"Maybe, not," Nathan said, heaving his rifle over his shoulder. "I think we got ourselves a big prop to help us."
He cast a helmeted gaze to the man lying on the ground, before crouching down and getting to eye-level with him. The terrified Junker cringing into the sand.
"You drive this thing?" the Courier questioned.
"Uh… Y-yes! Y-yes, I can!" the Truckie exclaimed, desperately.
"Good, I won't kill you, then. Congratulations."
Nathan stood up to his full height and regarded Jamison, who watched the exchange with intrigue and a furrowed brow.
"I think I found you a new 'trolley' and a new ticket inside Junkertown," the Waster said, casting a thumb at the truck.
"How do you reckon?" the flaming Junker asked, more than curious.
"The Queen'll be wondering what happened to her scrapping caravan, so when it does come back, albeit delayed, I'll hop out and explain to her it, unfortunately, fell victim to 'Junkrat and Roadhog'. I'll come bearing two gifts: all the loot you had beforehand and a possession from both of you to make her think I killed you. Let me get close to her, blow her to kingdom come, and seal my part of the deal. How does that sound?"
Fawkes regarded him for several moments longer, his mechanical hand rubbing more soot off his chin. Then, after much deliberation, the fire at the tips of his hair grew brighter and he gained a face-splitting grin.
"I like it," Jamison expressed. "I like it a lot! The deception, the denial, and breaking her expectations in the best possible way imaginable. Good onya, mate!"
"We gotta improvise," Nathan simply responded, knowing his plan still wouldn't be soundproof and that luck was largely required on his part. However, he just didn't have the time nor patience to find an alternative solution. It was sounder than trying to be a chivalrous knight of yore, though. "Even if all the cards ain't on the table."
Making the long trek back to the homestead, the dump-truck was parked behind the building and out of sight from anyone desperate enough to visit this bone-dry paddock. The Truckie had been thoroughly restrained to the couch. Junkrat and Roadhog were gracious hosts to the man, letting him have some leftover canned food they just had lying in the fridge. Junkrat happily chatting to him about the virtues of chemical synthesization while Roadhog hovered over him and his personal space, making the Truckie more than uneasy as he munched on potted meat. Nathan watched them for a while, leaning against the doorway. However, after a few minutes, he decided to go outside and catch some of the fresh Outback air with a smoke break.
Walking away from the doorway and stepping out onto the porch, Nathan looked around to greet the emptiness of the desert, again. Nothing but a few tall rocks and junk around the house. Easy to miss for anyone drifting by. He'll admit he wouldn't mind living in a place like this. Enough space and seclusion to leave him to do whatever the hell he wanted. Far enough away from people, but habitable.
He spotted the pole with the crowned clock and walked over to it, taking a seat on a metal box. The Waster looked out to the Australian vistas, again, before taking off his helmet and setting it aside. Next, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his pack of smokes. It felt a bit light, so that would be something else he'd have to worry about if he wants to keep his nerves sated with nicotine.
Hugging a cig in his lips, he brought his engraved lighter to the tip and lit it. Watching the little flame dance in front of him before snapping it close. Pocketing his lighter, he pulls on his cigarette and makes the tip burn as orange as the sand. Then, expelling a large cloud up to the starry sky. The Waster looked at them, noting how different they seemed in this hemisphere. He still hasn't gotten used to that feeling, the idea that he's going to completely different continents in a matter of days. Hopping around the world like he hopped around the Mojave. Probably seen more of this world than anyone's ever seen of his world back home. It was getting confusing to wrap his mind around this concept so often and so frequently, and he feels he's starting to forget about the Transportalponder. Kind of forgetting how it looked, too.
Bringing up his cigarette to take another drag, he looked to his left, away from the homestead, and spotted the recently disturbed earth that marked the grave for the five Junkers who made the poor choice of following him. At least he wasn't entirely to blame for all them becoming worm food. However, as he stared at the grave and tasted tobacco, his left ear picked up a slight buzzing noise. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what that was until he looked down at his own helmet.
Nathan picked it up, sorrowfully setting his cigarette aside for now, and put it on to hear the voice of his Gorilla boss.
"Hello, Nathan? Are you there?" Winston asked.
"Loud and clear, chief," he responded, groaning a little.
"Oh, good to hear you. How are things, so far?"
"I was having a smoke break until you decided to interrupt it."
"Oh, well, sorry about that. Um, how's the mission, then? Thing's progressing smoothly, I hope?"
"Well, I've met the contacts to learn they were a bunch of wastrels, I've killed around a dozen people in this country, thus far, and I think I'm going to be committing tyrannicide tomorrow, again. So, yeah. Getting along swimmingly, I guess."
"Oh… Well… Uh… Good to know? Umm, you are working to retrieve those fusion cells, yes?"
"That's why I'm here. Oh, and you'd be happy to know my carbine works."
"That's great to hear! And… That's all I have to say, Nathan. Just wanted to know how things are working out for you in the Outback."
"Mmhmm…" Nathan said, tipping his helmet up to take a quick drag from his cigarette.
"And… I hope you don't mind but is it okay if I put Angela on the line, now? Uh, she wants to speak you."
Of all the things Nathan expected to happen throughout this entire turbulent day, this was not one of them by a long shot.
"Oh… Uh, sure thing…" he croaked out, his eyes shifting uncertainly.
"Thanks. Goodbye."
The radio in his ear was silent for a moment after that, waiting for someone to come over it, but he eventually heard a voice come through the line.
"Nathan?" Angela's voice called into his ear. "Are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here, Dr. Ziegler," Nathan responded. "Uh, what's up?"
"Oh, thank goodness you're okay. I just wanted to check in on you, Nathan, see if everything was all right where you are."
"Uh, things have been dandy, Doctor," Brin replied, looking down at the palm of his blood-stained gloves. "But I ain't hurtin' too bad."
"That's good to hear, Nathan. How are things over there?"
"Oh, fine. Fine. Just wonderful, with me and this shoddy cast of characters…! I mean, the biggest hit I've sustained so far in my visit here is a goat eating my clothes and sand getting in my boots, so there's that."
"Heh, I'm really sorry for your loss, then," Angela said, with an audible smirk. "Any other woes you'd like to discuss?"
Nathan was silent for the moment after she asked that question, trying to think if he had anything else to say.
"Yeah, um…" he began, thinking a bit more about what to say. "How are you? Things still running smoothly back at Gibraltar?"
"Relatively so, yes," the Doctor replied. "Aida's been a real help around the infirmary and everyone seems to be in good condition. For now. Things have been quiet since you've left for Australia. It's kinda scary really."
"I'd imagine. Sorry, to bring that burden upon you, Doctor."
"Oh, it's fine. Just a bit quiet, that's all… Funny, before I joined back I used to relish in every moment of peace and quiet I would have as if it would be my last. Now, I'm mainly just getting bored sitting in my office, watching supplies, shuffling paperwork, and staring at my Valkyrie suit. Very exciting."
"Damn, I might as well be there, then! Don't wanna let you be by your lonesome in that dangerous environment."
"I'm sure you wouldn't. But I don't need a chaperone every time, mister. I'm fine."
"I'd hope."
Suddenly, Nathan heard movement on Angela's line and heard another voice come in through the speaker. It was faint, but he could recognize that withered voice anywhere.
"Angela, are you not going to come to lunch?" he heard Ana ask Dr. Ziegler. "You've been in your office all morning and afternoon. You need to- Are you speaking with someone?"
"Uh, n-no! I'm not!" Angela croaked out.
There was a brief silence before Nathan could then hear feet hurriedly tapping across the office floor, with Angela then shouting at Ana and something shuffling on her desk. After a few more moments of hushed noises, someone speaks into his ear.
"Hello? Who is this?" Ana questioned, as clear as daylight.
"Amari?" Nathan questioned back. "Uh, hey…"
The line became silent again until Nathan could hear a thrumming noise on the radio. Sounding like laughter.
"Wujud tarikh, hah?" he heard the Egyptian say, not understanding any of it.
"La! I-I mean, no!" he then heard the Swiss woman respond loudly, clearly flustered. "Can you please leave?"
"Heh, see you later, Brin."
"Uh, see you later, ma'am…" Nathan responded, unsure what just happened.
Then, after it sounded like she left, he heard a frantic dash to the desk.
"Uh, Nathan?!" Angela came back, still sounding flustered. "Are you still there?!"
"Yeah, still here," Nathan responded. "Going to grab some grub, now?"
"Yes… Among other things. I'll have to cut our conversation short, unfortunately. Be careful out there, Nathan. Please remember what I said."
"Wouldn't have it any other way, Dr. Ziegler. Adíos."
"Heh, wadaea."
The radio finally became silent, leaving Nathan alone in the Outback, again. He looked down to see his cigarette completely burned up, now.
Apologies for any inaccuracies in the Arabic.
