Whoever this, this man is, he lets go of her. With the sudden release of support, Hana's unsteady legs nearly give out.

Much to her humiliation, the man catches her by the shoulder and actually twirls her into a standing position, as if he thinks he's some sort of action hero. A thick musk of smoke hangs around him, deep-rooted in his very being. "Whoa there, cowgi-"

"Don't touch me," Hana spits, and pushes him away with what little strength she can muster. She staggers, leans against the wall. The movement sends her head spinning like a top. Through her blurry gaze, she can see the man raise his hands up in the universal gesture of whoops, sorry.

That slow, twangy drawl starts up again. "Just trying to help, little missy."

What the fuck?

She searches the wall for a light switch with one blindly scrabbling hand. When she finds it, she flicks them on, determined to see who this was, and how they knew Genji…

…and a walking anachronism springs to life right before her eyes.

Is this is a hallucination?

She rubs her eyes. She blinks rapidly. Neither dispel the image that slouches in front of her, between two of the tables.

Standing before Hana Song is the singlemost American man she has ever laid eyes on, on TV and otherwise.

He has brown, scruffy hair that surrounds his tan, angled face like a scarf. Dark eyes glint roguishly from where they sit deep-set around a sharp nose, staring at Hana from underneath bushy eyebrows. Tucked around his hat is a Stetson- an actual cowboy hat, and are those fucking bullet casings wrapped above its brim?

In the flickering light, she can see that he's much larger than her in both height and breadth. There are- there are actual spurs on his fucking boots. His body is draped in a maroon poncho(?), but even then she can still see that one of his arms has been replaced by a wicked-looking prosthetic.

She half expects him to hop outside, grab his horse, and then ride off into the sunset. He doesn't.

So she demands, still half convinced that the dart's poison is responsible for this strange apparition, "Who are you?" Because if this really is a Talon agent, then she's going to start laughing like she's dying. Partly because she really is dying, and partly because she's about to be executed by a cowboy.

In Korea.

In a dumpling shop.

That knows Genji, Hana reminds herself hopefully. DVA snorts in derision.

"I'm 'fraid I don't understand Korean much," says the man. "I speak three languages- plain ol' American English, Spanish, and firepower." He pats his revolver. It's only then that Hana realizes that she's been speaking in Korean this entire time.

Damn, I'm a mess. Calm, mature, calm, mature. Hana composes herself, reminding herself that she is once again in the presence of a stranger.

The proverbial mask slides into place, hiding away all traces of the pain she can feel needling away in her arm. Rubbing at her temple with one hand, she reiterates tiredly in sharp English, "I don't know you. Who are you?"

The cowboy grins, slow and assured. "M'name's McCree. Jesse McCree." He sticks out a gloved hand, obviously expecting Hana to shake it.

His too-casual air, the way he holds himself, and even how he wants to shake some random fugitive girl's hand- all of that reminds her of her first encounter with Ana Amari-nim. Ignoring the hand, she asks crossly, "How do you know Genji?"

Jesse McCree retracts his hand, seemingly unoffended (just like that woman again). "I was friends with 'im. Back in the original Blackwatch."

Blackwatch? Hana stares, confused, as she tries to piece this random bit of information together with what she knows about Genji.

The conclusion she draws causes more confusion than it alleviates. "Genji was in Blackwatch?"

The cowboy shrugs. "If he were in Overwatch, wouldn't you have heard of 'im? Cool man like that. Shouldn't be so hard to believe."

Maybe she shouldn't be surprised in principle, but- but to associate Blackwatch with her friendly neighborhood cyborg seems like such a stretch.

Blackwatch wasn't just a terrible organization; it was the downfall of Overwatch.

Hana was overly familiar with the story; almost everyone in South Korea was. At the head of Blackwatch had sat one Mr. Gabriel Reyes, an embittered commander who eventually brought down the Swiss HQ on top of both himself and comrade-turned-enemy Strike Commander Morrison- the final nail in the political coffin. The end of a long and illustrious era went out with a literal bang.

As Hana understood it, the world's image of noble, virtuous Overwatch shattered the instant corruption charges were brought forth by the U.N., as well as the uncovering of Overwatch's literal dark side- Blackwatch. As more and more of what Blackwatch had done was eventually discovered (assassinations, interrogations, the recruitment of criminals on Death Row…) the debate had turned from whether or not members of Blackwatch should be prosecuted to whether Overwatch should still exist, as Overwatch had allowed Blackwatch to operate like this right underneath its nose.

Or, if you believe the whispered rumors, hand-in-hand with Overwatch.

Genji was nothing like Blackwatch's ilk. He was gentle- he was kind to her, so kind, he was-

"He was an assassin," drawls McCree, lighting up a cigarillo with the fluidity of one that had performed the action many times before. His face glows orange from the cheery little flame. "Not exactly a criminal, but pretty damn close, cos being in Blackwatch does that to a man." He waves a lazy hand. "Of course, don't let that affect your opinion of him. Wasn't his fault none."

"Should I let that affect my opinion of you?" snaps Hana. Because really, it doesn't matter to her what Genji had done in the past. Blackwatch or no Blackwatch, assassin or no assassin, he'd saved her. On the other hand, this cowboy couldn't be more suspicious if he tried.

McCree flicks off the lights carefully. "Don't care nothing about yer opinion. I'm just here to get you out. As an escort, y'could say." He exhales and a silver stream of smoke wisps from his lips, twisting and turning into the ceiling.

The tall, grizzled man steps purposefully from the dumpling shop, leaving Hana to stumble after him, completely bewildered. What the hell was this cowboy saying? An escort? Had Tracer and Winston not given up on her after all?

"You- you're with the new Overwatch?"

"Ain't nothing new about this reformed Overwatch," growls McCree. He drags a hand through his hair, underneath that broad-brimmed hat, spurs clinking loudly on the silent street. "It's built of the same people as 'old' Overwatch- Winston, Tracer, Ms. Ana… built of the same principles, too. They were all too happy to let Gabe and the rest go down into the waves while they jumped ship. I betcha anythin' that they'd do it all again."

She blinks bleary-eyed at the cowboy. "Do what… all again?" It feels like cotton has been stuffed in between Hana's ears, filling her head with an uncomfortable fuzziness. Hana supposes that it's the effects of the dart's poison. Still, this sounds important, so instead of collapsing into a pile, she struggles to stay awake and keep listening.

It does not occur to her that McCree shouldn't know anything about the reformation of Overwatch if he's not a part of it.

McCree pauses and turns, the red fabric of his poncho swirling with the movement. His face is unreadable, overshadowed by the brim of his hat.

After a long moment, he says gruffly, "Forget about it. Don't worry your purty little head with this load of nonsense."

Hana's sure there's more to Cowman's outburst- much more- but at the moment she has many more pressing matters to attend to. That is to say, the fact they're in the middle of the street, visible to every Talon agent in Busan.

She scoots closer to McCree. "Where are you taking me? And-" and Hana thinks it's ridiculous that she hadn't thought of this earlier- "if you're not a part of Overwatch, then what the hell are you doing here?" Do you know how out-of-place you look?

McCree starts off down the street with another swish of his cloak. The distant whistle of cars are faint even in the relative quiet- civilization is a long way ahead of them. How ironic that they were in the second most populous region of Korea.

"I'm here because I'm not a part of Overwatch. Y'see, they're not all too keen on sendin' agents to the middle of fuckin' South Korea, where all the shit's already gone down and cooled off. Overwatch comin' here will be equated to Overwatch meddling in peaceful affairs, and Overwatch meddling in peaceful affairs is just one more reason for them U.N. bastards to grind out a new Petras Act."

His voice tilts up with amusement. "'M not even pretending to act all official-like. 'M acting independently. The U.N. and Overwatch can't do nothing about that, no sir."

Hana had no trouble deciphering Genji's English through his Japanese accent, but this, this English that was actually from America? She has to take so much time just to process one simple sentence. As she struggles to keep up with McCree's long strides, she also struggles to understand what he'd just said.

And so it takes a while for her to realize he's avoided her question entirely.

"No," she says in fumbling English. A sharp pain shoots through her temple, and she quickly hides an involuntary frown. "Give me- give me a straight answer. How did you find me? What's your motivation?"

McCree pauses for a moment. In the low light, his sharp jaw and hat looks more menacing than comical, as was her initial impression of him. Then a dry chuckle spills from his mouth, as wispy and twirling as cigarette smoke.

"Hm. I suppose you're right. That wasn't a straight answer at all, was it?"

Hana glares. "Y-"

Someone steps out from a doorway behind them, and while Hana doesn't see who it is, she immediately senses that they're there. Her veins seem to freeze like ice as she spins around, reaching for her gun- the one that got blown to pieces-

The next few moments happen in the space of one second.

McCree's hand comes down- slides his gun from his holster- swings up the long weapon to eye level- recoil sends the gun's muzzle flicking up as it goes BANG!

All in one sweeping arc of motion, without even a pause taken to aim.

The poor Talon agent crumples to the concrete, gun clattering from his hand. Hana blinks, because all of a sudden, the goofy cowman feels much more dangerous.

McCree strides over to the corpse and tosses Hana its gun, with a casualness that totally belies the fact that he'd just killed a man. She just barely manages to catch it, mumbling a "thanks" as she wonders if all former Overwatch/Blackwatch agents could do shit like this.

Her reaction time all of a sudden seems unextraordinary by comparison.

McCree quirks his lips into an oddly charming smile. "Well, that solves the missing gun problem, then? Sorry about that, by the way. Shootin' shit's the best way I know of when dealin' with that kind of situation… Yer hand got cut up, eh?"

"It's okay." She puts the gun into the duffel bag, thankful that she won't have to shoot any more people today. Something about the act feels… dirty, as if it leaves behind permanent stains on her skin, on her hands. Self-defense or no, Hana would be perfectly content to never kill anyone ever again.

As if you have a choice, taunts DVA.

McCree is already setting off down the empty street. Before she can stop herself, Hana blurts out, "Does it ever bother you?"

"What does?" The cowman turns as if it's not obvious what Hana's referring to. Maybe it really isn't, to someone who's used to it. After all, kind Genji had killed an entire alley of people without batting an eye.

"Killing someone," says Hana. To acquiesce that shooting someone is the only way to win the game, to come out on top- it feels inherently wrong to her.

Apparently not so to the cowman, because he shrugs in a way that suggests absolute nonchalance. "Well, see now," he drawls. "Not really. If it has to be one or the other, I'd rather it be me doing the killin'… and them doing the dyin'."

They approach the end of the street together, and suddenly the block is alive and bursting with people. Old women wave jewelry and little cellphone keychains from stands (Hana rubs her thumb surreptitiously against her rabbit charm) across from high-tech PC cafes which are flooded with laughing teenage boys, still dressed in their school uniforms. Cabs honk irritably at slow pedestrians, hover-wheels thrumming loudly. Omnic guards patrol up and down the street brandishing taser sticks, menacing in appearance despite the calm smile painted onto each of their faceplates.

The scratch on her arm doesn't burn anymore. The feeling of nausea has been replaced by a deep-seated tiredness within her, melting through her energetic façade. Making the ground look like such an inviting place to lie down and sleep on.

Cowman whistles as he plants his hands on his hips. "We should be safer here," he decides, squinting up at the towering skyscrapers, alight with neon pink lines. "Your home sure is gorgeous. You live here, little missy?" He turns towards Hana.

I live here, but this is not my home, thinks Hana dully. She doesn't want to tell him that, but lying seems rather ungrateful, if he really is trying to get her out of Talon territory. Thankfully, she's saved from answering because her legs finally give out, sending her teetering.

He steadies her with one hand. He sounds startled, concerned, whereas Genji would've been low and calming. "Hey, hey- wha's the matter?"

"Dart," she manages, gesturing towards her scratched arm. "I think it was poisoned." She's sure that it was poisoned, because this feeling of not being able to gather her strength is wholly unfamiliar to her. A simple scratch should not able to do that. Fear rings true in her bones, though God knows she'd never admit it. "There was a sniper somewhere on the roofs in Jungsoo Station."

"A sniper? Darts?" McCreee's voice rises, thick with anger. "Goddammit, they've got ahold of her gun."

Who's gun? Another sniper's? The only sniper she can think of is Ana Amari, but that doesn't make sense, does it? Amari-nim is in Korea? Why is she shooting at me?

Hana tries push him away, but this time McCree stops her. "Don't move. That's a damn powerful tranq you been hit with. Won't kill you, and it won't knock you out completely cos you been only grazed, from the looks of it, but it-"

"I'm fine," she snaps. Her own burning resolve to stand unaided is the only thing that pushes her to stand up straight, wobbling slightly. She ignores the masked concern in McCree's gaze. A tranquilizer dart? So again, they weren't trying to kill me? So many questions, and almost no answers. That fuzzy feeling grows stronger, and she says in mumbled English, "Why are they doing this to me?"

McCree starts to say something, but is interrupted by the wail of sirens. Both of them whip their heads around to see a patrol of police cars stuck in a traffic jam at a nearby junction.

Wordlessly, they take off in the opposite direction.

Jesse McCree is a damn fool.

I shoulda never come here, he grouses as he speed-walks down the busy sidewalk. He's gotten into the habit of talking to himself, which he thinks is rather standard for someone who is alone as he is. One simply does not make friends when they have a $40,000,000 bounty on their head.

"But I'm not alone," he says aloud. He looks down at Little Missy Hana Song, the next unfortunate soul at the forefront of one of Talon's little schemes, who staggers alongside him like the undead.

She looks awful- skin white as paper, dark bags large enough to cradle babes underneath her eyes. The poor thing doesn't even notice him speaking- If McCree is guessing correctly, the dart that grazed her was an amalgamation of Ms. Amari's sleep darts and standard toxic ammunition. Enough to conk someone out for twenty-four hours, and enough to put someone to sleep even when they just scratch their victim.

So Talon's been doin' some experimentation of their own, eh? It's an unpleasant thought, especially given the fact that they intended for this little girl to be their next experimentee.

McCree pauses to scratch at his nose while passersby blink suspiciously at him. Some even stop to full-on gape at his attire. He's not at all bothered by their stares, really. At least the South Koreans are reacting more kindly to his fashion choices than the Mosul Iraqis.

The seedy motel he's staying at looks like a shack in comparison to the two skyscrapers it's jammed between. Still, it does its job- well-paid owners tend not to tip the police off as long as they continue to be well-paid.

He stops at the door and turns to Hana. She rubs at her eyes wearily, bangs falling in front of her face. "This is where 'm staying," he informs her. "Mebbe it's sketchy as hell but it's all I can offer. You up for it?"

Hana lets out a monotone grunt and wavers on her feet. McCree hastily ushers her in.

After a walk down a long, creaking hallway and a fumbling of keys, the girl deposits herself onto the couch in McCree's suite. She groans and rubs at her head, but otherwise says nothing else. He drops onto one of the two stiff wooden chairs, echoing her groan, and he can't help but think 'm getting old.

Which is strange, as Jesse McCree is only thirty years old, give or take a couple years- he's lost track of his age during this long, endless run from everyone.

That's not the only thing he's lost track of, though. There are plenty more- the places he's been, the places he's going. That ever-growing bounty weighing cold on his shoulders. Talon. Family. Friends.

Perhaps it was foolish to for him to decline Overwatch's job offer. In all honesty, Ms. Amari hadn't tried very hard to convince him to join up. They'd both known that the entire 'Overwatch will let you regain your peace' trope was bullshit, bullshit that only people like Tracer and Winston bought into- those who are eternally optimistic, always vying for a chance to redeem something that should just stay dead.

Which is why McCree was so surprised to get a call from Genji trying to convince him to rejoin, of all people. The last he'd heard of his cyborg friend, the man had been going back to his home in Hanamura, to kill that treacherous brother of his.

Not even McCree knows the full story behind that, though he's probably one of Genji's closest friends. From what little he understands well about Genji, he knows that the poor fellow's family fucked him over, and that they were the reason he had his robotic body.

What he understands even better is that all Genji had ever wanted from that point on was revenge.


"The world is changing, McCree. Join us," he says, in a voice that is not Genji's at all. Calm, low. Filled with a serenity that McCree immediately envies. "This will be one of the new Overwatch's first missions. What better way is there for you to redeem yourself?"

Redeem myself? He's talking about Blackwatch. Of course he needs to bring up Blackwatch. "I don't need no redeemin'," he growls into the phone, fingers tapping restlessly over Peacekeeper. He tilts back in his seat, boots resting on a dusty tabletop. The stink of fresh blood hangs heavy in the air, most of it coming from the four Deadlock corpses slumped on the floor all around him, though some comes from the oozing cut on his leg.

Genji's reply is blunt. "Yes, you do."

The sunlight rises slowly through the blinds, painting stripes of light in the dark room. Illuminating the dust angels crowding the air. "Genji, I love ya to bits, but yer mistaking me for a good man," he drawls.. "Whatever the hell I did in the past, stays in the past. I don't fucking care what it was."

"But you are a good man," says Genji simply. McCree sighs.

"I ain't good, I ain't bad, but I sure as hell ain't ugly," he quips. "I don't got no obligations to Overwatch, or Blackwatch fer that matter. I ain't no nobleman."

"You do not need to be one in order to do good."

"I killed four men this morning," McCree provides idly.

"I am sure," says Genji stiffly, "It is because you had to. Not because you wanted to."

Because he had to?

Yes, he had to- if he hadn't, his blood would boil over in anger, filling him with an indescribable heat. If he hadn't, he'd be just another man running from just another bounty. If he hadn't, then he might as well not exist.

But by most people's definition, that meant he had killed them because he wanted to. Yes, I wanted to kill them.

"I suppose," lies McCree gruffly. "What's the mission?"

Genji hums, satisfied. "There's a famous gamer that goes by the alias 'DVA'. Nobody knows who she is. I doubt you've heard of her."

McCree grunts in confirmation. "You're recruiting this, er, gamer? Why?"

"If you had heard of her, you'd know why. Winston has calculated that in theory, her reaction time is high enough for her to literally intercept individual bullets with lasers as they shoot at her."

He's not going to lie to himself; that sounds damn impressive. Though… "Tha's an oddly specific theory."

"He's planning to install it as a feature in her MEKA- which is something else entirely. Anyways, Winston has traced her address to South Korea. I'm going there to talk to her, and I would take Tracer with me but-"

McCree interrupts. "Tracer is there?" And so is Winston, who initiated the recall, and Ms. Amari, who he talked to just yesterday. He almost asks if Jack and Gabe has rejoined as well? before he remembers that… well. They're dead.

He's lost track of a lot of things.

"Tracer is here, and so is Winston-san, Dr. Ziegler, Lucio, who is a new recruit, and Reinhardt-san," says Genji cheerfully. "It really is beginning to feel just like old times, Jesse. You will be sorely missed if you choose not to come."

Old times. The old times that Genji remember are very different from the old times that McCree remember. A scowl flits across his features. "No Gabe, no Jack - you sure it feels even close to the same?"

"They may not be here in person, but they are here in spirit," says Genji gravely. "Besides, that is a moot point. McCree, you cannot stay on the run like this forever."

McCree bites back. "Who says?"

The cyborg's processed voice hums in the quiet. "I do. I will send you the coordinates we are to meet at over holoboard, along with the details of the mission and what it entails.I will also give you a direct connection to the GPS tracker that Hana Song-san- that's DVA's real name- will be carrying in her transceiver. In case," and here he hesitates, "you do not… make it in time."

The call abruptly cuts off without even a farewell. Leaving McCree sitting at the table again, all on his lonesome…


…And eventually leading him to where he sits now, in some cheap room in South Korea with a poisoned girl (who plays a game of some sort? Genji hadn't clarified on that, and McCree hadn't bothered to look it up) a spectacular one or two weeks late.

Yes, the girl. Hana Song. She's small, unassuming, and bleeding from her arm. Obviously not combat or stealth ops trained- or trained in anything at all, really.

And no Genji, which is a real bummer because McCree is not good with children.

Hana's shivering, obviously cold, so McCree stands up and gets her a blanket. She mumbles a kamsahamnida, isanghan saram (which McCree hopes is something polite) and cocoons herself in its polyester fabric. Her sullen face peeks out of the bright red shell it forms.

McCree suppresses a laugh. "So… you feelin' okay, little missy? Need a teddy bear and some ice cream to go along with that?"

"Kkujuhyo," Hana sniffs in Korean, which McCree doesn't understand but presumes is an insult. She's acting quite feisty for someone who'd just been tranq'd. "When do you think this will wear off?"

"Give it a day and I reckon it'll be gone," McCree looks over the girl, so small in her blanket, hollow eyes marring a pretty face.

While he was tracking her down, he'd come across the steaming corpses of two Talon agents.

The little missy has killed trained combat operatives. Without hesitation.

McCree adjusts his hat and leans back in his seat. "Care to fill me in on what happened while I wasn' here?"


Cultural Notes

EVEN IF YOU DON'T NORMALLY READ THE CULTURAL NOTES I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THAT YOU READ THEM JUST THIS ONCE SO YOU CAN UNDERSTAND SOME THINGS IN FUTURE CHAPTERS.

Formal and informal speech- In Korean, there are little suffixes/alternate versions of words that are more formal and therefore polite. For example, 'ahnyounghaseo' (Hello) as opposed to 'ahnyoung' has the suffix -haseo that makes it more polite.

The situations where you use formal speech vary. In general, one uses formal speech when talking to a a). stranger/someone you just met,

b). someone who is of a higher social standing in your company/country (generals, presidents, leaders in general),

c). to those who are older than you (respect for elders is a very strong theme in Korean mannerisms).

I'm explaining this now because Hana does not take to McCree instantly the same way she took to Genji. She'll be saying a lot of snide things behind his back in Korean (at least for now) that are ironic because they denote respect (as he is her senior) and yet are insults. You'll see the first example of such in the translation notes below :)

Also, because I'll have more of Hana insulting McCree in Korean in future chapters, any advice from actual Koreans that wish to improve upon my translations are welcome. I've been teaching myself the language (oh, the things I do to write a stupid fanfiction...?) but I may still mess up sometimes.

IN GENERAL:

Any Korean sentence ending with –(y)o or -imnida on the last word is at least semiformal. Without it, and the sentence is casual, like something you say to your friend.


Translation Notes

kamsahamnida, isanghan saram- Thank you, weird person (weirdo). Is said ironically because 'kamsahamnida' is the formal version of 'thank you', while 'isanghan saram' is essentially an insult.

Kkuhjuyo- Literally translates to 'Fuck off.' The suffix -yo makes it the 'polite' form of 'fuck off', though xP


A/N:

Thank you so much for reading, and thank you for the comments and follows. They really are my main motivation- knowing that someone out there is enjoying this story :)

You might see a lot of similarities between McCree's mannerisms in his introduction and Ana Amari's mannerisms. That was for a reason. Ana really helped McCree out while he was a part of Blackwatch, and influenced him as a mentor figure. Voice line evidence:

Pharah: McCree, where did you learn to shoot like that? Was it Jack, Gabriel? McCree: Always was a good shot, but I got a few pointers from the best. That'd be your mother. McCree: It's an honor fighting by your side, ma'am. Ana: Heh, you always were a charmer.

A lot of explanations will be happening next chapter, on both Hana's and McCree's parts (what McCree is doing in Korea, what happened to Genji, etc.)

See you next chapter!

-Tex