The scorching sun of the Wild West ran across the dirt-strewn ground, finding resistance only in the proudly tall cacti that occasionally peppered the landscape. Not one for unwanted company, Jesse had made his way rather far from the nearest city, leaving little to no clues as to where to find him. Even with his tiny 'recall cube', given to each member of Overwatch after their disbarment in order to signal recall, Winston was too polite to add any sort of tracking devices to them.

Lena had wrapped herself up in a shawl to protect herself from the wind, which was all to happy to kick up whatever dust or rocks it came across, and as Lena kept an eye on the small village that sat before her, she could tell she was as close to Jesse as she could get without further help. She grinned as she pushed her cowboy hat further down her head, feeling rather childish at her attire, especially when she thought of how often she used to steal Jesse's hat just to annoy him.

She whipped out a small communication device, switching it on as a crackling noise answered her, giving her the signal to speak, "Winston? I'm just outside Hobe City. I'll give it a look-over, see if anybody knows Jesse or anything."

"Alright," came Winston's voice after a slight delay, "Keep an eye out. When he left, he cited increased outlaw activity as a reason why he was returning home. Unless he's the sheriff or something, I don't think-"

He paused, able to hear Lena's muffled giggling, "…you're laughing."

"Mmff! S-Sorry! It's just funny- Sherriff McCree," Lena laughed, "The only thing he hated more than the man was becoming the man himself."

Winston sighed, "You have a point. Just keep an eye out, okay? If you need help-"

"I know, I know," Lena groaned, "Don't you trust me?"

"I'd trust you with my life," Winston sighed, "It's those varmints down there that Jesse always talked about that I do t trust."

Lena looked off into the distance, her eyes squinted in confusion as she spoke up again, slowly, "You mean those prairie dogs?"

Winston went silent at the recognition of his misunderstanding, a barely audible sigh escaping the small device before he finally spoke up, distantly, as if he'd sat his device on his desk, "Just be careful."

"Aye aye, captain!" Lena shouted, "I'll be back in time for afternoon tea!"

She shut off the device, quickly peering down at the red button that adorned its side, reminding herself of how to use it, if need be. She was to grip the communicator in her hand and, with her thumb, spin the red button counter-clockwise and mash it, sending a panic signal to Winston, who would then send help, most likely in the form of a rocket barrage from the heavens, courtesy of Fareeha Amari.

Lena had assured the soldier that she would not be in any trouble, a claim that Fareeha nervously agreed was correct, and had Winston keep her at headquarters anyway. Still, Winston's words had forced her to do that much, and she figured she would, at least, practice spinning the red button from within her pocket as she walked toward the small, western town that arose like a small mesa in the distance.

As she entered into the town, she immediately noticed the stares that she was receiving, though she hadn't an idea why. She looked down at her dress, which, for the most part, resembled Jesse's, as she'd figured she would follow whatever conventions he did out here. Trying to emulate him, she grabbed the top of her hat and pulled it down low over her face, trying to hold back a childish grin in an attempt to remain cool-looking.

The glances continued as she walked down the wooden porches that lined the earthen street, eventually managing to ignore them as she spun coolly into one of the taverns, stopping in surprise as she stood in the doorway. One of the patrons, an omnic, immediately caught her glare, giving her an aggressive posture until she looked away, shocked to have found omnics all the way out here in the Western United States, but she quickly made her way through the crowded bar, avoiding staring at anybody else as she made her way up to the counter, which was already lined with sauced patrons, swaying in time with the light fanfare of music that came from a harpsichord in the corner.

"Hold on: I'll be right witcha," the bartender murmered as he filled a mug, "Bad week ter be vis'tin', y'know. Tha Ponderosa's holdin' its annu'l…"

The man turned to pass off the mug to a patron, stealing a glance at the newcomer and immediately halting his speech, simply turning away toward the back wall of the bar, grabbing a large bottle and reaching backward to hand it to Lena without looking at her, "On the house."

Lena watched this play out, curiously, slowly grabbing the glass vessel before managing a weakly confused, "…thank you…"

She backed up, keeping an eye on the bartender, who remained hunched over the back counter, the Brit's eyes narrowing curiously before turning around to find a place to sit within the crowded building. She settled on a corner table, making sure to keep herself half-turned away from the bar in order to take the occasional glimpse back toward the barkeep, interested heavily in his actions.

He remained turned away, though was now on the phone, the only thing Lena able to take away from it was the man's gravely slow nod near the end of the call. He returned to his work, noticeably less enthused and with his head hanging low, not giving Lena a chance to examine him. She sighed lightly, her lips twisted in dissatisfaction as she pulled out her phone, attentively tapping at the screen as she waiting for something to happen.

With zero leads, she had little else to do but follow this one, curious enough, especially considering the townspeople had been eyeing her as well. Was it her face? Was she as pasty as Angela had accused during her last checkup?! Lena looked down at her waist; her shirt hadn't ridden up to reveal anything. Maybe they just weren't over the Revolution still?

At that thought, Lena's face grew serious, now eyeing any patron that might be hiding a pitchfork somewhere, her teeth clenching angrily at the thought that she might very well be-

*BANG!*

Lena jumped in shock, as did nearly everybody in attendance, as the swinging doors into the tavern slammed open, crashing into their joining walls with a massive crash, one of them nearly being yanked off its hinges as a menacing trio of men stepped into the bar, the lead of the three wearing a sinister look as he eyed the bartender from the door.

The patrons all sat silent as he yelled out in an angry voice, "Where are they?!"

The bartender pointed, gingerly, out into the crowd, nervously explaining himself, "S-Still in here! I gave 'em the '66 proof, j-just like you said!"

The black leather-clad cowboy turned, peering out into the quiet crowd of people, some of them still watching him in surprise, while others bent over low, trying to keep away from his attentive stare. He nodded enthusiastically, throwing a hand over his shoulder and snapping his fingers loudly, giving his two compadres the signal to walk out into the bar, silently looking over the different tables.

The leader brought his hands down, tucking his thumbs into the front end of his belt as he looked out, menacingly, into the crowd, "Like Judas and his silver, huh boys."

Neither of the men replied, their vicious eyes remaining downward as they passed table to table, examining the different bottles that sat out, coming closer and closer to the table in the corner.

"How ya' doin', Miles?" the outlaw asked, rather brightly, considering his entrance.

The bartender stuttered aloud, quietly, "I-I-I don't- I don't, uh-"

The devilish man eyed him, "Was it him?!"

"No!" he replied, fiddling with his fingers, "B-B-But-!"

In a second, the man had rushed to the counter and, in a blinding flash, reached up to grasp whatever hair was left on Miles' head and yanked it down, smashing the barkeep's face against the bar. He held him down as he viciously waved at his two cronies, ordering them to continue looking as he dipped his head low, right by the bartender's ear.

"Wanna run that by me again?" the outlaw asked, seething, his hand drawn back as if ready to pounce toward his pistol.

"I-I-It-!" Miles blubbered, his face quickly overcome with a viscous mix of blood and tears as he remained pinned to the counter, "It was a woman! Sh-She was dressed in his clothes; I'd recognize 'em anywhere!"

The outlaw drew his head back, seemingly intrigued as he let Miles' head go, though the bartender remained hunched over in submission, almost afraid to lift his head just to find his nose broken. The black-clad man looked back, his two henchmen shrugging curiously as they returned to his side.

"Clean," one of them muttered, "No '66 whiskey, nor any other women besides that table over yonder."

The leader's lips pulled and strained as he thought, his eyes joining the act as they peered off, slanted, "That's fine. We know where she's going. Maybe we'll just head up to Jesse's place real quick; straighten things out with him, if ya know what I mean, huh boys?"

The two cronies chuckled as they agreed, one of them pulling a club out from beneath their cloak, beating it against their open palm. Their leader nodded back to them, turning back toward Miles, who refused to cease his crying, though he had been silent the entire time.

"For God's sake, clean this bar up, Miles," he complained, motioning toward the pool of liquids that had begun working its way to the edge of the wooden counter, "It's a disgrace to your establishment!"

"Y-Y-Yes s-sir," Miles yammered, pitifully, pulling his head up and teetering as he walked, his head still swimming from the impact.

As the three men headed out, the patrons remained quiet, some of them beginning to look around to see who, or what, they had been looking for. One of them peered over toward the empty corner table, curiously recalling a woman sitting there just a moment ago, though she seemed to have left. He merely shrugged, perhaps thinking of some wench from his past.

Had he paid more attention, he'd have noticed the streak of blue neutrons that lined the air for only a split second as Lena darted from the table to the space behind a large, ornate curtain that hung down last a closed window, just having the presence of mind to grab the bottle that had inexplicably been given to her. Watching the previous scene play out, powerless to stop it, her hand held her mouth shut, a soft line of tears running down her knuckles.

In her other hand, the device from earlier; her thumb endlessly pushing down on the red button.

*click* *click**click* *click* *click* *click*….


"It was in-sane!" Lena shouted into her communicator, huddled behind a pile of boulders that sat beside a cliffside right outside of town, "They literally nearly took his face off!"

A pause came in reply as Winston considered the danger that they now understood was lurking, though Lena went on, not privy on letting his think at this time, "I was just hiding and watching this argy-bargy go down, completely at sixes and sevens! That tosser just, blam! knocked that poor sod's brain into a tizzy!"

"L-Lena, step off the British please," Winston muttered, nervously, "One form of English is enough for this one's mind."

"Sorry," Lena groaned, "Look, they seemed to make a point of my wardrobe. Everybody was staring at me, and the bar guy- I think he was turning me in to those guys when he was on the phone."

Winston answered, "Well, even I thought you packed odd. What, do you look out of place?"

"I didn't think so. I took these from Jesse's locker a while ago."

"You did what?!" Winston questioned loudly, beside himself.

Lena complained in reply, "What?! He didn't want them anymore!"

Groaning quietly, Winston muttered, continuing along, "I'll get in touch with Fareeha and see if she can get out there. We're kind of behind the ball; you insisted on going alone, after all, though that was back when this was a simple assignment."

"Very simple," Lena frowned, "I can't sit here and hide, though; if they got so freaked out over Jesse's clothes, I'm kind of worried about the man himself."

"Agreed," Winston nodded to himself, speaking gravely, "See if you can't locate him and check in on him. It's obvious the situation is more perilous than we originally planned; at this point, I'm legitimately worried that it's not a question of whether or not Jesse decided not to answer the recall. You know… Maybe he couldn't-"

"Don't you throw that spanner into the works!" Lena complained, frowning, "He's fine; he's always been fine! Always…"

She trailed off, gradually building to a weakened sigh, "I'll find him."

"Good," Winston concluded, "I'll get Fareeha out there ASAP."

Her communicator clicked so signal its disconnection, leaving Lena out here in the desert, alone. She peered up and over the rock immediately beside her, staring out toward the small town that she'd just, for all intents and purposes, escaped. All she wanted to do, after witnessing the brutality of this place, was curl into a ball and hide, waiting for backup. Though, she turned further, out into the wilderness, knowing that somewhere out there, there was already backup- backup that, for all she knew, needed her for the same purpose.

Steeling her resolve, she quickly pulled off her top-layer, dropping the shawl to the ground, as well as the hat, frowning as she dropped them both to the ground, muttering to herself as she likened herself to Jesse in this moment, "Be good. You've got some pretty big shoes to fill, Oxton."

And with that, she bit her lip as she began out into the wilderness, figuring she'd figure out something if she went out far enough and just made a circle around the town. She knew that, for all of Jesse's bluster and stubbornness, he would truly want to be found by his old group.

Even if he'd come back here for his wife and children.


"You're doing what?!" Angela shouted, arms out in front of her to further dramatize her surprise.

Fareeha turned toward her, head held up high as her chest plate came against her body "Backup."

"I got that part," Angela muttered, her lips turned in dissatisfaction, "For whom?!"

Fareeha sighed, "For Tracer."

Angela's eyes slid nearly shut as she turned away, frowning, "I was more in the loop when I wasn't in this damned organization… So that girl is more than happy to stick sock puppets in my dresser to freak me out at four in the morning, and then has the audacity to ask my girlfriend to help her out?!"

She scowled toward Fareeha as her tanned-skin partner giggled sneakily, a wide smile emerging, "You called my your girlfriend."

"Oh, shut up," Angela grimaced, realizing she'd inadvertently shown her hand, turning away to hide any sign of embarrassment as she changed the subject, "So you're going to the States?"

Fareeha nodded as more pieces of her armor clicked together, "Yep. To the Wild West, at that. I don't know what Winston was thinking, having her go alone; it's still a hotbed for criminal activity."

"Adawe doesn't want a massive operation for something as silly as reclaiming a former operative," Angela assured, "No doubt Winston figured one person would make less of a scene. Of course, couple that with Lena's inability to think beyond the next five seconds, her sheer abrasiveness, and let's be honest, reckless excitement at Overwatch being recalled, she easily jumped at the chance."

Fareeha shrugged, lifting her leg backward as sparks began shooting out behind her, "I suppose. Don't worry; coming late and saving the day is par for the course for me, it seems."

A mischievous smirk stretched along Amgela's face as she eyed Fareeha, heatedly, "I know that all too well."

The sliding of metal broke the air as Junkrat's head popped up from behind Fareeha, having pulled open his welder's mask, "A'right, we have no need fer that! I thought I was helpin' out, not sittin' in fer some late-night special!"

The two women laughed lightly while Fareeha waved him off, "It's fine; she was just messing around. How's it coming along, anyway, Junky?"

The Australian man cocked a boyish grin as he shot a thumbs up toward her, "Sheila, by the time we're done with ya, your enemies will be dead before any of 'em can hear what yer thrusters sound like! Assumin' yer aim is good 'n all; no getting' pissed the night before, aye?"

He giggled to himself as he ducked back down, continuing on Fareeha's boot, which contained quite a few mechanisms that helped her remain stable as she landed. Angela watched him for a moment before her eyes jumped back toward her soldier, questioningly, as she held up two fingers.

"Okay, one; 'Junky'?" she wondered.

Fareeha shrugged, "I called him 'Jamie' and Mei had Snowball come after me with a fork. Probably that jealousy creeping in; you know, he's her little helper."

Between his helmet and the sound of soldering, Junkrat failed to hear them speak, even as Angela went on, "Alright, and who's the "we're" that he was referring to?"

Before Fareeha could answer, back in the corner of the small armory space, a large swivel chair spun around, revealing Roadhog, simply sitting there and staring back as if that was an accurate reply.

"Junkrat's designs are, uh, unorthodox by…well, by anybody's standards, so Roadie's writing the code that'll help facilitate Athena's immersion into the system," Fareeha explained, easily, "You know, all that stuff."

Roadhog leaned forward, coughing dryly into the crick of his elbow, speaking softly as he looked back up toward Angela, "Least I can do before leaving."

"Well, you're keeping my agent safe, so that's thanks enough," Angela assured.

Roadhog shrugged as he slowly spun back toward his computer console, his voice a gravelly mess still, "I already heard you two earlier; no point adjusting your words."

Angela frowned, eyeing Fareeha's childish grin, the soldier shrugging dramatically, "You did say girlfriend, you know. Everyone heard it."

Her hand exposed, once again, Angela couldn't help but bury her face into her hand, exhaustingly, before turning to leave.