Hanzo pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly, trying to ignore the excited chatter between McCree, Oxton, and Santos. They were all smiles and shouts, standing close together as they spoke to the customs agent in rapid syllables of Spanish, completely care free.

It had been the same on the flight. No concern or forethought to the mission itself, only naïve pleasure to be out of the base. No appreciation for all the work he accomplished to enable their departure. He wouldn't be surprised if they foisted the customs paperwork onto him as well. The only time they seemed to remember his presence was when forms were involved. How had he been tricked into acting as the team's custodian?

And he had been tricked. That much was clear. Doubtless. The only question was why.

It was suspicious, of course, that McCree had been conspicuously absent from the planning process, only involved enough to give a competent brief for the rest of Overwatch. A brief the insufferable man had brought popcorn to.

Yes. Popcorn.

Hanzo hadn't the sense to complain at the time. Why would he? Working alone was far preferable to working with a lax partner- which McCree must have been. Why else would he leave mission details to a man he disliked? Bringing McCree's attention to planning would simply result in Hanzo not only doing all the work, but cleaning up his teammates' messes as well.

The smooth, electronic tone of the Babrick cut across Hanzo's thoughts, bringing his attention back to the team. Oxton was using the Babrick to discuss the custom agent's… favorite foods? And it seemed McCree and Santos were contributing their own preferred dishes.

Hanzo scowled. Useless.

There had been many pointless frivolities like this, mostly involving McCree, who was supposed to be the veteran of the group. It was one thing for the younger agents to be inattentive, but he had foolishly expected more of McCree. He could think of nothing that explained McCree's disinterest in planning, his blasé attitude, the excessive mariachi songs, all the research on local restaurants instead of local gangs and- oh. Of course.

Hanzo actually groaned as the truth finally fell into place, lightly bumping his fist against his forehead. It was so obvious. How did he not see it sooner? McCree had no issue allowing Hanzo to plan the mission, because McCree did not consider this a mission. To him, this was a holiday.

"Y'all got the Lark covered?" McCree asked, hands on his hips and looking around the private airport with a giddy grin.

Hanzo said nothing, too aggrieved to acknowledge him, but Oxton and Santos responded in the affirmative.

He hadn't realized he was grimacing until Santos asked him "Are you feeling okay?"

"Fine," Hanzo said tightly. More than capable of filling out more paperwork, at any rate.

"Alright then," McCree said cheerily, oblivious to Hanzo's immense suffering. "I'm gonna go ahead and scout out the hotel and get us checked in."

"That will not be necessary," Hanzo disagreed, scrolling through his email to verify the check-in confirmation. "I have already checked us in by phone."

McCree shrugged carelessly. "Well, there's nothin' quite like havin' a body do the rounds and I'm more than happy to do the honors."
"Is it wise to travel alone in an area with suspected hostiles?" Hanzo asked mechanically. He didn't expect an answer; It was a reflexive question. His role in Overwatch was clearly to be sensible and ignored, so the man who embodied insensibility and self-indulgence would never-

"Good point!"

Hanzo forgot to breathe for a moment. McCree... listened to him? Was he hallucinating?

It would have to be a very extended hallucination. McCree was still speaking. "That is no problemo. Lúcio, wanna come with?"

Oxton glanced up from her pile of customs paperwork. "If you take Lúcio, who's gonna talk to customs for me?"

McCree heeding his advice and Oxton considering practicalities? Truly, a night of wonders.

"We can leave the Babrick."

"If it's all the same to you," she said, "I'd feel a lot more comfortable if I had a fluent speaker with me."

McCree chewed on his unlit cigarillo, apparently displeased. One could only hope McCree's disappointment was a fraction of Hanzo's own. So much effort, wasted on a vacation...

McCree took a deep breath, as if he were bracing himself for a blow, and looked up. "Okay. Hanzo. Would you like to scout out the hotel with me?"

Flinching was beneath Hanzo, so he blinked instead. "No. Thank you."

McCree scowled and scuffed his boot on the ground.

"Surely," Hanzo said, curling his lip at the childish display. "It is not so difficult to wait until our business at the airport is concluded?"

"C'mon, Hanzo," Santos piped up, elbowing him lightly in the side. "He just wants to stretch his legs after the flight. You should go! I bet Jesse knows all the good eats around here. Lena and I can handle everything at customs. Right, Lena?"

Oxton beamed.

This could only end poorly. Oxton completing paperwork? Laughable. "This is completely unnecessary-" Hanzo tried.

"Go on, Hanzo!" Oxton cheered him, shooing him with her stack of forms. "Go have a bit of fun while we take care of the boring stuff. It's only fair, since you planned the mission."

Hanzo paused, staring at her. "Only fair?"

"What?" She laughed. "You thought we didn't notice you working hard getting this trip all sorted for us?" Oxton blushed, looking distinctly embarrassed. "I was keeping myself occupied with the Lark, but I could've helped out more back at base. So, er, take this as my apology, I guess? And thanks!"

A strange sensation settled in his chest, high between his lungs, a tightness that twisted, curled, unfurled into warmth. It felt almost like… gratitude. He could feel his face twitching.

"I'm sure Jesse'd really appreciate it, too," Santos said. "Right, Jesse?"

For some reason, McCree looked very sheepish. "Yeah, 'course. I'd be," he cleared his throat, "happy to have Hanzo along."

This was... surreal. Hanzo scanned the group. If this was a joke at his expense, surely one of them would have started laughing by now? But no one did. Oxton and Santos both stared at him with open, expectant expressions. Even McCree looked somewhat hopeful.

"If-" Hanzo cleared his throat, schooling his expression to neutrality. "If you insist."

Oxton and Santos cheered and Hanzo… Hanzo smiled.

/

Jesse was relieved to learn that not even Hanzo could sustain a surly attitude once they made it out of the airport. He didn't give a shit how oppressive Hanzo thought his company was, no one could be grumpy when Dorado was glowing with life.

"Mm, do you smell those empanadas on the wind?" Jesse tipped his hat back with a grin as they walked, breathing deeply. "Can't tell you the last time I felt a proper ocean breeze."

Hanzo grunted. Which sounded grumpy, sure, but the line between his eyebrows wasn't there, so Jesse knew he wasn't that irritated. "We live on the Mediterranean."

Jesse laughed. "That's a sea, not an ocean. It ain't the same."

"It certainly feels the same," Hanzo grumbled, pulling at his shirt to unstick it from his skin.

Jesse gave Hanzo a once over. "Maybe you wouldn't be all hot and bothered if you wore something other than long sleeved shirts." Man was gonna give himself heat stroke dressed like that.

"And dress like Reinhardt?" Hanzo scoffed. "I would rather retain my dignity, thank you."

Without warning, an image of Hanzo wearing nothing but a speedo jumped into his mind. Which, you know, of course it did, because who didn't have to suffer through intrusive thoughts once and a while? It was a totally normal thing, right? Even if it's of a guy you hate. Especially, even!

...But Jesus Christ, why'd he imagine him with a six pack? Not that you could work out like Hanzo and be flabby, but you could grate cheese on those imaginary abs and lick- oh, fuck no. Shutting down that train of thought forever. Fuckin' gross.

He coughed awkwardly. "Well, that's just takin' it to extremes. You don't have to jump right to crop tops and booty shorts-" especially if Jesse wanted to preserve his own dignity, apparently "-a short sleeve shirt would help you keep cool just fine."

Hanzo ducked his chin. "I like the way I dress."

Jesse eyed the dampening clothes doubtfully, deliberately not noticing the way the loose clothing clung to muscle. How long had he gone without being laid to resort to this? "More power to ya, then. Just thought you were more of a function over form type of person."

"Long sleeves have function." Hanzo pulled at the hem of his sleeve and Jesse forced himself to consider what the action meant instead of letting his imagination run off in directions he didn't like. Possibly a self-conscious motion? Nervous tic? "They protect me from sun damage and hide my tattoo."

"Hide it?" Jesse asked incredulously. "You got your entire arm worked over. Why would you wanna hide art like that?"

"People tend to ask questions."

Well, god forbid Hanzo experience some sort of human interaction. "Like where you got it?"

"...Among other things."

Jesse squinted at him. Did it have something to do with Japanese tattoo culture? Americans wanted to show off all their pieces, all the time. Maybe it was a more private affair across the ocean, a sentiment left over from the days when only criminals had tattoos.

"You're real shy for a guy who ran a yakuza clan."

Hanzo gave him an affronted look. "I am private, not shy."

"Same difference," Jesse said, already getting ready for the next taunt when he caught a familiar scent that derailed his entire thought process. "Oh, god damn, are those fresh tamales?" He sniffed again. Definitely tamales. "I'm buying some. Want any?"

Hanzo wrinkled his nose. "No, thank you."

Well. His loss.

Jesse followed the scent through the city, finally finding the food stand two streets over. Hanzo hung back while he waited in line, mouth already watering at the prospect of homemade tamales. He was all grins when he finally made it to the front- until he saw the empty warming cabinet.

⟪Don't worry!⟫ The man working the stand said with a friendly smile. He looked to be roughly Jesse's age, maybe a bit younger. A little on the heavier side, but well-kept and attractive in a I'll-warm-your-bed-and-your-heart kind of way. ⟪My niece is on her way with a fresh batch.⟫

⟪Oh, good,⟫ Jesse said. ⟪Can't tell you how sad I'd be if there weren't none left.⟫

⟪Not as sad as I'd be to lose such a handsome customer.⟫

⟪Oh- uh, thanks.⟫ Jesse blushed and rubbed the back of his head. ⟪You, uh, you work here often?⟫ Oh for… Jesse, really? 'Work here often'? Damn it, finally a chance to get some action and he's stumbling.

But the man smiled anyway, his brown eyes practically glowing in the evening light. ⟪Oh, no, only for major holidays. I have a restaurant downtown that I usually work out of. My sister and niece are taking care of it while I'm out here.⟫

⟪Major holidays? The Festival of Light, right?⟫

⟪Yes! That's right,⟫ tamale-guy said encouragingly. ⟪No holiday's bigger for us in Dorado, though Day of the Dead comes close.⟫

⟪I didn't know that,⟫ Jesse said. Then he stalled, grasping for how to continue the conversation. ⟪So, uh, boss workin' the stand? That's kind of ya.⟫

⟪Oh, no, I definitely get the better end of the deal. See more good-looking strangers this way.⟫ He winked and Jesse swore he felt ten feet tall that moment.

⟪I've always heard that Dorado has lovely views,⟫ Jesse said, looking down so that his hat covered everything but his lopsided smile, a move that always worked. ⟪But they never mentioned that it extended to the locals.⟫

Tamale-guy leaned on his table in a way that showed off his lean, toned forearms. He was grinning and wow, this was going surprisingly well-

⟪Uncle!⟫ A young voice called. Both Jesse and the tamale-guy looked up the street to see a girl racing towards them, a huge tub of tamales in her arms. ⟪New batch!⟫

⟪Thank you, Maria,⟫ Tamale-guy shot him an embarrassed smile. Jesse understood. It felt weird to flirt in front of relations. ⟪I'll have your order right up, sir.⟫

⟪Oh, no rush at all.⟫

A few deft motions, and tamale-guy managed to transfer all the tamales into the warming cabinet and also fill a paper bag with Jesse's order. Their hands brushed as he passed it over.

⟪Sorry for the wait!⟫ Another dazzling smile that sent Jesse's heart racing. ⟪I hope you come back soon.⟫

⟪Well, if these tamales are half as tasty as their seller suggests, I'm sure I'll have to be a repeat customer. Have a good evenin'!⟫

Jesse put a few extra notes in the tip jar before he walked away. Sure, the money was probably the true goal for tamale-guy's flirting, but it had been so long since Jesse had felt attractive he couldn't help but feel grateful anyway. And, hey, maybe he'd find the time to visit tamale-guy again and they could... get to know each other.

Hanzo was eyeing him suspiciously when he returned.

"An awful lot of smiles for a simple transaction."

"Yeah, called friendliness." Jesse pulled out a piping hot tamale and unwrapped it from the corn husk. "You should give it a try sometime."

Hanzo hummed. "Tell me, is the premise of this mission genuine?"

Jesse stared at him, not sure how to answer the question. Or why it was even a question. "I mean, yeah?"

"It is clear to me that you consider this venture to be for pleasure rather than business."

Ah, shit, he'd been caught. He swallowed his bite of tamale. "Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't catch on sooner."

"I did not confront you sooner."

"'Course you didn't," Jesse grumbled. "Look, Han, don't worry that I won't do my part on the mission. I always pay my dues."

"Is having someone else complete all the mission preparation part of those dues?"

"I thought you liked that type of work!"

Hanzo glared. "You were assigned team lead. Thus far, you have not performed as such."

"That's a fuckin' sidestep- don't think I didn't notice. And it ain't like we got a book detailing what all is expected of a team lead," Jesse said with irritation, unwrapping another tamale. "Delegation is a part of leadership. I delegated planning to you. I was available at any moment you decided that you needed input- and did you approach me?"

"...No."

"And is that because you assumed I was bein' a lazy shithead or because you preferred to work alone?"

"Both."

Jesse glared back, taking an angry bite of tamale.

"Mostly the latter," Hanzo admitted.

Mhm. That's what he thought. "So, really, if I'm not up to speed on this mission, it'd be your fault for creatin' those conditions instead of bein' a team player."

"The first task that occurred to you when we landed was to tour the city!"

Jesse spread his arms wide, still holding on to his tamales. "The hell else am I gonna do? Los Muertos ain't hidin' in our hotel room. We're gonna have to get to know the city if we wanna find them."

Hanzo grumbled.

Jesse shoved another tamale in his mouth. "Look, if it makes you feel more self-righteous, this is a vacation for me. But I ain't the most well-adjusted of folk. Stalkin' through a strange city tryin' to uncover an international conspiracy with an almost certain chance of extreme violence- well, it's definitely my idea of a good time." And maybe a night with tamale-guy, but Hanzo don't need to know that.

It wasn't until he was halfway down the block that he noticed Hanzo wasn't with him. He turned, annoyed to find he had stopped nearly fifty paces back. Jesse walked back with a scowl.

"What's your problem?" He asked.

"This is our hotel."

"And you let me walk off after you pitched a fit about me bein' on my own because…?"

"I did not wish to interrupt your 'good time'."

What a bitch.

Jesse looked to their left to see what cheap dump Hanzo had put them in only to raise his eyebrows when he saw the decidedly luxurious hotel. It had a valet, even! Those weren't so common these days. Only rich folk could afford the extra tax on vehicles without self-driving capabilities.

"So. We ain't really aimin' to blend in, huh?"

Hanzo shrugged. "This hotel has the best line of sight to the LumériCo building, has multiple entrances, and is centrally located. The expense was justified."

"Uh-huh. We're not all gonna be cramped in one room are we?"

"Of course not. There are two rooms. This was in the briefing."

"Right, right. One room for sleepin', one room for watchin'." Jesse perked up. "Does it have a pool?"

"No."

"Aw…"
Hanzo tsked. "There are beaches not even five blocks away. Not that it matters, as we are here on business."

"What, so you didn't pack a swimsuit?" Wait- fuck, he's thinking about the speedo again.

"Of course not! Do you intend to wait outside?"

It was only then that Jesse realized Hanzo had left his side again and was almost at the hotel door. "I'm comin', hold your horses, god damn." He caught up as the glass doors slid open soundlessly, revealing an elegant, modern interior that complimented rather than contrasted with the building's traditional missionary-style facade.

Hanzo strode to the reception desk and addressed the omnic at the counter. "Good evening. I checked in by phone earlier today. I have two rooms under Watanabe."

Jesse tuned out as the omnic began a long-winded welcome and introduction to Dorado. There wasn't anything interesting in the lobby. Guess they were too fancy for a brochure rack. Though clearly expensive, the decorative art was bland and inoffensive. Sorta like the other patrons, now that he looked at 'em. Was that woman drinking champagne in the lobby? Ugh, what he wouldn't give to be in a dive right now.

Actually… Jesse glanced at Hanzo, who was still talking to the receptionist. Listening in on their conversation, he could tell Hanzo was strangely interested in local history and that, much more importantly, their chat wouldn't be finished any time soon.

Nonchalantly as possible, Jesse turned and walked to the double doors, tossing his empty bag of tamales along the way. If Hanzo noticed him, he'd just say he was getting a smoke. Yup, just a casual light. Be right back. Out to get cigarettes.

But Hanzo didn't take notice. Jesse was at the doors, then out. Then around the corner and, finally, home free- alone in Dorado, without an overbearing nanny looming over him! The first real taste of freedom and independence since he answered the Recall and he felt practically buoyant. There was an extra bounce in every step as he explored the well-lit streets of Dorado. Despite what he told Hanzo, he really did read over the dossier. Especially the maps. He was always vigilant about memorizing the local area after a near-disastrous mission in Canberra. If he had his bearings right, the LumériCo building would be just around the corner- and yup.

Now on the north side of their hotel facing east, Jesse could see the LumériCo energy plant at the end of the main road that went through downtown. It was awful pretty. He'd've thought a power plant would focus on cheap and efficient construction like they did back home- as in, squat and ugly- but that wasn't the way LumériCo did business.

The LumériCo plant was a radiant ziggurat, a stepped pyramid of shining glass and smooth blue brick. The entirety was lit up, glowing with warm yellow light that contrasted pleasantly with the green hills behind it, also dotted with luminescent ziggurats. It was almost ethereal, beautiful in a way that existed only in legends and myths.

The buildings surrounding it were more grounded, but looking closely, he could see wildly vibrant art on almost every inch of space. Wooden and stone alebrijes guarded seemingly every door and window, the fantastic creatures protecting homes from bad spirits while wrought iron street lights made sure no shadows lingered on those painted dreams.

Nearly every town he'd been to in Mexico was like this- not nearly as high class or sophisticated, of course. But the art, the colors, the omnipresent light. It was a damn shame that it took the Omnic Crisis to spark a cultural revival. Half the time the art was there to cover the scars of war. He crossed the street, running a hand on a wall, not finding any satisfaction when he was proven right, thumbing the pockmarks of bullet holes.

The Omnic Crisis was bad everywhere, and Mexico was no exception. No one had quite the same experience, though. Most nations had to contend with one or two Omniums in their country and even then the rampant destruction was always worse closer to the factories. The US had three, which was considered excessive at the time even though one was only used for research and prototypes, and resulted in the death of thousands, if not millions.

Mexico had four.

So, of course it was bad. Their military forces were quickly depleted and neighboring nations had their hands full within their own borders. Overwatch was in its infancy at the time, still forming. But people were still dying in droves. So the Mexican government got desperate. And then it did what desperate nations do. It got destructive.

EMP weapons- electro-magentic pulse devices- weren't unheard of during the Crisis. It was the surest way to fry a bot, but they were expensive and difficult to mass produce. On top of it, they could only temporarily knock the bots offline if they weren't powerful enough. The problem with that was, a strong EMP weapon would affect an entire area, not just a single target. It could potentially mean wiping out your own power grid and crippling your own infrastructure. In the end, it was simply safer and more effective to use traditional weaponry against the bots. The thing was... Mexico didn't have the manpower to wield that traditional weaponry. Bots were gaining more ground every day and infrastructure was no good to dead citizens, so they did what no other nation could consider. They EMP'd their own country.

It fried the entire nation. The omnics died, but so did thousands of civilians. It wasn't just a matter of busted electronics- there was absolutely no electricity. No heat at night, no way to pump water, no light. Hospitals couldn't keep their patients alive, sanitation and emergency services collapsed, no one could contact anyone else- not their government, their friends, or their families. They thought the EMP would end the Crisis, but it only changed what the crisis was. Instead of surviving a war, they had to survive an apocalypse. It became Mexico's darkest hour. La Medianoche.

Jesse grew up somewhat close to the Mexican border, early in his Deadlock days. Being an extreme anti-omnic faction, Deadlock wouldn't touch anything to do with electricity except to break it. Even with the Crisis going on, that wasn't attractive to too many folks. But for those who survived the horrors of La Medianoche? It made perfect sense. Mexicans surged over the border into Deadlock in droves, swearing they'd never be reliant on electricity again. They were called Las Portadoras de Velas. Candle Bearers. They always had a light, be it a candle or match or lighter.

Once, during a real bad spring storm, a sudden drop of pressure snuffed the light out of every single candle in their refuge, leaving only an inky, unfathomable blackness. Jesse'd been an outlaw, a soldier, and a mercenary for a long time. He's heard a lot of people scream. Screams of fear, of victory, of death. But he's never heard screams like the Candle Bearers in the darkness. Not before or since. Not outside dreams. Jesse shuddered at the memory.

Well, that was enough creepy shit for the night. Jesse stepped back from the mural. Hanzo had already included an entire chapter about Mexico's history in the dossier, so it wasn't like Jesse was getting anything of value reminiscing on history. Shit, Hanzo was probably working himself into a state by now. He should get back to the hotel.

He turned to leave, but paused mid-step, looking down the street away from the hotel.

Did that group of people look shady, or was it just the neon skeleton paint they had painted on? Rhetorical question, as those were definitely Los Muertos markings. Here he was waxing poetic about Mexican fascination with light when there was a gang so hell-bent on self-sufficiency that they would outline their bones with glowing paint and tattoos so that they'd never be without light.

He watched as an omnic walked past the group hurriedly, head bent low, keeping their eyes on the ground.. The group condensed around itself, apparently commiserating, before spreading back out. And then they started to follow the omnic.

Well shit. That wasn't good.

Making up his mind, Jesse walked up the street, beelining for the gang, but doing his damndest to be slow and casual about it. They saw him coming, of course, as he wasn't aiming for stealth, and he grinned wide and friendly-like when he pretended to notice them for the first time. Some of them rolled their eyes, some grimaced, and a few spat.

The omnic scurried past him, whispering a low gracias without breaking stride.

Jesse ignored the thanks, keeping his eyes forward. "Evenin', folks!" He said, playing up his American accent. "I sure love them outfits you got. Is it for the festival? The, uh, Lightning Festival?" Okay, maybe he was laying it on a bit thick butchering Festival de Luz so obviously, but his heart was already pounding in anticipation of a fight.

One of them, a shorter woman, grumbled something that sounded unflattering. "Sure," she said in a thick accent. "For the festival. You know, this isn't the safest place to be at night, yeah?" The others nodded, eyes darting about as if the warning applied to them as much as tourists, and for the first time Jesse noticed how anxious they seemed.

Two were scanning their surroundings almost compulsively, carefully arranged at opposite ends of the gaggle, which meant they had planned for that degree of watchfulness. That didn't seem right. Both Winston and Hanzo's research said that Los Muertos ran Dorado. What did they have to be afraid of? Were there factions in Los Muertos? In-fighting?

...Why were they staring at him? Right, just told him he was in a dangerous part of town.

Jesse faked surprise. "Really? Well, dang, thanks for lettin' me know! I thought I'd be okay so close to my hotel. And the city's just lit up so pretty."

A young guy gently nudged the woman. ⟪Chill, he's just a tourist. You think the Soldier is bad now? It'll be worse if we take a hit on tourists.⟫ He looked at Jesse. "Yeah, we take pride in bringing light to the world. You know, if you went to the market district, you'd be able to see a light parade."

Jesse perked up, feigning interest. "No shootin'?"

"Yup, here, give me your phone and I'll show you."

Jesse surrendered his phone and listened with half an ear as he kept an eye on the rest of the group. Alright. Los Muertos. Suspected of running arms with Talon. Connected with 'the Soldier'. Soldado: 76? Or a Los Muertos member? Or both. Could be both.

"You got that?"

"Yes, sir, thank you so much for your help." He tipped his hat at the group, to their collective amusement.

He turned his back first, still playing the role of clueless tourist, even if it itched to have a threat behind him. His nerves slowly calmed when he heard their retreating footsteps and he could breathe easy. It was risky directly confronting them like that, especially without equipment or backup. He was damn lucky that they were just as keen on playing it safe. He even got some dirt on them! That might appease Hanzo some, who was probably shitting bricks waiting for him at the ho-

"Nice of you to join us."

Jesse came to a sudden halt as he turned the corner, just barely avoiding a collision with the devil himself. "Haaaaaaaanzo!" His eyes flicked around their surroundings, but there was no quick exit. "How's it goin'? I was just-"

"I know what you were 'just' doing." Hanzo folded his arms. "What is the point of me accompanying you on the walk you demanded if you seek out Los Muertos the moment I turn my back?"

"What? Nah, I wasn't-"

"I was watching, McCree."

Ah, hell. "Never took you for a voyeur," he grumbled.

"I did not spend days preparing for this mission for you to jeopardize it on a whim."

"Fine, quit your bitchin'. So I went off on my own, so what? I been on my own for over a decade now and besides- I got intel to show for it."

Hanzo eyed him skeptically. "I doubt that you have anything to add that my research has not already covered."

"Yeah? Well your research said that Los Muertos are the top of the food chain."

Hanzo unfolded his arms, apparently taking the bait. "They unofficially direct the government and law enforcement, if that's what you mean."

"That is what I mean, yeah." Jesse nodded dismissively, eager to play his hand. "But if they're so in control, what're they so afraid of the Soldier for?"

"Who?"

Jesse replayed the statement in his head, wincing as he realized how nonspecific his 'scoop' was. "...Soldier."

"...Is that all you have?" The irritated tone was back. "You directly confronted Los Muertos and the 'information' you gained is nothing more than a ghost story."

"Hey, now, Soldier: 76 ain't a ghost story!"

"You are right. Soldier: 76 is not a ghost story. But you said they were afraid of Soldier, didn't you? Are we to blindly assume that it refers to the same person?"

Jesse grunted, reseating his hat. "Alright, fine, so I didn't nab any earth-shaking revelations. But they were scared of Soldier, whoever that is. It might be 76, it might not. It might be one of the gang leaders-"

"Or it could be both."

"Or both!"

"It is not… entirely useless," Hanzo said. "It was still an unnecessary risk."

Jesse snorted. "Like you aren't peachy keen to see me get shot."

"If you are to be shot," Hanzo sniffed, "I'd prefer to have the honor myself."

Despite himself, Jesse laughed.