Tracer let out a loud yawn as she shuffled her way into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she made her way automatically towards the coffee machine. Though she was barely awake enough to keep her eyes open, she could already tell someone had been up and about and, more importantly, had already brewed up a full pot of coffee. A smile spread itself across her otherwise zombie-like expression. That was one good thing about having a couple of Australians around: they were serious about their coffee. Since the two Junkers fell under Overwatch's protection a week ago, Tracer had been greeted every morning by the delightful aroma of some of the best damn coffee she'd ever had. Unfortunately, it was about when she went to reach for the pot that she remembered the downsides to having the two outlaws around.

She pulled her hand away almost immediately, her fingers now covered in a blackish grime that looked to be some combination of dirt, automotive grease and soot. A glance around the room revealed the same sort of grime peppered just about everywhere in the form of large, narrow-fingered handprints. Tracer was left to stare at the ungodly mess with visible exasperation, hardly noticing when someone else walked into the room.

"Oh hey, wassup, Len—Woah! What the hell happened in here?"

Lúcio's greeting took a distinct turn in subject when he took notice of the substance now coating everything one would normally want to put their hand on. The DJ had to stand there for a moment, his face mirroring the same look of 'there ain't no way in hell I'm cleaning this up' that Tracer's had. Finally, he managed to tear his eyes away from the new handprint décor and glance her way.

"Uhhh… Is this, like, an everyday thing around here?" he asked hesitantly, to which Tracer let out a heavy sigh.

"It wasn't until we picked up those two lunatics." She replied without having to specify exactly which two lunatics she was referring to. "That Junkrat bloke's probably been covered in this same filth since before Overwatch got back together. I dunno how he can stand to be so dirty all the time… Makes me want to shower just looking at him."

"What, dude's never heard of a bath?" Lúcio asked, to which Tracer couldn't help but scoff.

"Oh, he's heard of 'em, all right. Mercy tried to get him to bathe when she did his physical, and he just flipped out! Acted like she was trying to chop off his other hand or something! Roadhog told her something 'bout him being afraid of water, so she just let him be."

Lúcio face twisted up into something of a contemplative look as he ran a hand through his dreadlocks. Could someone really be so afraid of water that they'd even fear something as harmless as taking a bath? He'd never heard of such a thing, but he supposed it wasn't completely impossible. After all, Junkrat wasn't exactly the most stable guy to begin with. Irrational fears shouldn't come as such a surprise when dealing with someone like that.

"I mean… I guess that's fair enough, but a dude can't just go his whole life without getting' clean at least once in a while." He replied, mostly to himself. Then, an idea started to form in his mind. At first he almost felt a little ashamed of himself for thinking such a thing, and he nearly discarded the thought altogether. The more he looked at the mess in the kitchen, though…

"Hey… I'm not usually the kinda guy that forces people to do things they really don't like, but… Can't we just fill a kiddie pool with soapy water and shove him in it? Man, I feel awful for even suggestin' it, but… It shouldn't be that bad, should it? How bad can someone freak out over a kiddie pool?"

Tracer's brows knit together in thought as she listened to Lúcio's idea. You know what… that plan wasn't half bad! Both her and the DJ were pretty quick on their feet. Between the two of them, catching the manic Junker shouldn't be too much trouble. As for actually getting him in the water, well… They just had to recruit a bit of muscle, of which they had plenty around here. Then all they had to do was hold him down and scrub off as much of that grime covering his body as they could before he bolted. Honestly, how hard could it be?

It was only a matter of hours before 'Operation Dirty Rat' was ready to be implemented. Tracer and Lúcio had managed to recruit some muscle in the form of McCree, and the three of them had set to work immediately. By lunch time, everything was set. All they needed now was one hydrophobic Junker.

It wasn't hard to find the man. Besides being a loudmouth who never shut up, that peg leg of his made a very distinct 'ping' sound as he hobbled across the concrete and metal floors of the base. All they had to do was listen long enough to zero in on his location. When they'd caught him wandering by the area where they'd set up their little impromptu bathtub, Tracer zoomed out in front of him, giving the startled man a wide grin – a grin made slightly more genuine due to the happy discovery that Junkrat's bodyguard was nowhere to be seen for once.

"Hiya!" she greeted with a small two-fingered salute. She didn't waste any further forced small talk, instead going straight to the point. "Been lookin' all over for ya! Wanna see something cool?"

Junkrat's initial reaction to the sudden invitation was mixed, to say the least. He certainly seemed intrigued by whatever imaginary thing she wanted to show him, but at the same time he'd used that line one too many times to be so easily fooled by it. He seemed to settle on suspicion, his eyes narrowing down at her.

"Alroight, what're ya up to? That line ain't never somethin' good when I say it. I don't expect much better outta you, ya pommy bastard." He retorted, folding his arms across his bare chest – he was still 'disarmed', after all—and shifting his stance to where he could break into what, for him, was a run if he needed to. Tracer's grin lost some of its sincerity, but she forced it to remain nonetheless.

"Oh, don't be like that, Love! We're on the same side now! You don't have to be so twitchy around us!" she assured, to which he simply scoffed.

"Roight. Listen, Sheila, when ya've had as many blokes tryin' ta kill ya on a daily basis as I have, then you can come talk ta me 'bout when I can an' can't be twitchy. I don't trust no one 'sides Roadhog, least of all li'l girlies that're up ta somethin'!"

Tracer set her hands on her hips for a moment, chewing at her bottom lip in thought. Luckily she thought as fast as she ran.

"Actually, it's Roadhog I had in mind when I found the thing. He always seems so grumpy, so I figured giving him a gift might lighten him up a little. You're his best mate, yeah? Wouldn't you like to give it to him yourself?"

Ah, that did it. Junkrat almost completely dropped his guard at the mention of the Junker Enforcer, now seeming more curious than suspicious.

"Well, sure, that might get the big guy in a slightly better mood… But that all depends on what'cha got. He's got real specific tastes, that one does."

"It's kind of hard to describe… Why don't you just come see for yourself?" she urged, but when Junkrat didn't seem to be buying it, she added, "He likes pigs, yeah?"

"Oh, sure! Ol' Hoggie's a sucker fer anythin' with a cute li'l piggie on it!" he replied with a grin, finally letting the last of his guard down and puffing out his chest proudly. "I steal 'im piggie stuff all the time! Never fails ta bring a smile to his face! At least… I think that's smilin'… Hard ta tell with the mask."

"Oh, that's perfect, then! Come on, I'll show it to you and you can go give it to him!" Tracer chirped out happily, grabbing hold of his hand and trying to ignore how grimy his fingers felt against her own as she pulled him along after her. He didn't resist so long as she kept down to his staggered pace, letting her lead him down the hall into one of the shuttle bays.

The large hangar had what you'd expect in it; the dropship, first and foremost, spare parts, loading equipment, crates of who-knows-what, Lúcio, a little pink plastic kiddie pool – wait… Junkrat stopped dead once he saw that last one, his eyes widening owlishly and filling with what had to be terror. He ripped his hand out of Tracer's almost immediately, taking a few shaking steps back away from her.

"Wh-what's that…" he stammered out, his gazed fixed solidly on the little circular kiddie pool they'd managed to drag in from somewhere, staring at it as though it was some sort of Eldritch abomination. Tracer took a glance back towards the item in question – her gaze meeting that of Lúcio for a moment – before turning back to Junkrat with an innocent smile.

"What do you mean? It's just a little kiddie pool. Y'know, the kind little babies play in. What's wrong with that?"

"I-it's got water in it! I can smell it! A-and—" he took a quick sniff of the air. "A-and soap! I knew you fuckers were up ta somethin'!"

And that was all the information he needed to turn tail and bolt right out of the room. He made it all of three steps before being yanked off his feet by his waist.

"Woah, there! Just where d'ya think yer goin'?" McCree teased with a smirk as he hoisted Junkrat off the ground by the back of his pants. He then started his way over towards where Lúcio stood by the kiddie pool, though he had to fight the ever-intensifying thrashing of his prisoner with each advancing step.

"N-no! No no no! Yer not getting' me in that thing! I-I'll die! I'll fuckin' die, I swear ta God!" he shouted shrilly, trying in vain to get his feet under him once more so he could fight more effectively. Alas, the way McCree had him balanced made it impossible, leaving him unable to do much but flail wildly. The gunslinger gave a small grunt, hoisting him a little higher up.

"C'mon now, stop actin' like a damned brat. Ya ain't gonna die from no bath, I promise ya." He grumbled out as he neared the pool. Much to his surprise, the flailing suddenly stopped after that. Grateful as he was to not have to struggle against that thrashing anymore, he'd also been suddenly relieved of much of the weight he'd just been carrying, which was a problem. He glanced down at his side to find that all he now held in his hand were a pair of torn camo cargo shorts, the owner of which was decidedly absent.

"Aw, hell!" he cursed aloud, tuning just in time to catch sight of Junkrat's pale, naked backside as he darted out of the hangar. He stared at that spot long after the man had gone, his half-smoked cigar falling out of his mouth. There were quite a few things that Soldier 76 definitely didn't want to see happening under his command. He was pretty sure that a crazy criminal streaking frantically around the base was rather high up there on that particular list. McCree turned back to Tracer and Lúcio, both of whom had about the same look of horror on their faces as he'd had, and pointed an accusatory finger at the both of them.

"Yer payin' me extra for this horse shit!"

"But we're not paying you…"

"Ya are now!"

Junkrat ran through the base like his life depended on it, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he currently wore nothing but the single boot on his good foot. Of course, if he had noticed, there was a fair chance that he didn't much care at the moment. Those bastards were trying to give him a bath. They were trying to make him get into water. No no no, he couldn't let that happen! Water was pain. Water was death. He could already feel his skin burning lightly just thinking about it, his breaths coming in quick, panicked gasps as though he were fighting the sensation of drowning. His mechanical hand clenched spasmodically at his side, a phantom pain gripping it for the first time in a very long while since losing the damned limb. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to will the pain to go away, but the image of three glowing blue dots seemed to burn themselves into the backs of his eyelids, a sight that practically made his heart stop.

Suddenly, a new pain seemed to knock the dreaded image from his head. Something akin to a brick wall had slammed into Junkrat's face, knocking him clean off his feet and onto the ground. The back of his head collided with the concrete below, though even through the sharp ringing in his ears he could hear heavy footsteps shuffling closer.

"Ah, es tut mir lied, mein Freund! I did not see you zere!" was the initial booming reply from the mysterious brick wall he'd run headlong into. Then, the heavy steps faltered, presumably because the large man had finally taken a good look at the scrawny one lying half-dazed on the floor. "Err… vhy are you naked?"

Suddenly, Junkrat's eyes snapped open wide to stare up at the German mountain that was now leaning over him, a concerned look on his scarred face. The scavenger's brain was still in panic mode, only able to think in short, simplistic bursts. Reinhardt. It was Reinhardt. Reinhardt made shiny rectangles. Shiny rectangles keep you safe. Stand behind the fucking rectangle.

The old knight let out a startled yelp when the crazed Junker leapt up to his feet, scrambling frantically to get behind him.

"Shield, shield, shield!" was all Junkrat could manage to squeak out in explanation. Reinhardt could do little more than stare down under his arm at the frightened man, more confused than ever before. To begin with, he wasn't wearing his armor, so he could no more produce a shield at the moment than could the Junker himself. Secondly, and likely most importantly, what on Earth could he be running from while in the safety of the Overwatch base that would make him so clearly terrified? Thirdly… Why the fuck was he naked?!

The sound of a small stampede pulled Reinhardt's attention from the enigma currently hiding behind him. He glanced over just in time to watch Tracer, McCree, and Lúcio run in from the general direction Junkrat had come from. Before any explanations could be given, there was a shrill shriek of terror from behind him.

"I-it's them! Listen, Reinhardt, ol' buddy, ol' pal… If you keep those three cunts away from me, I promise I'll hunt down whatever piece of David Hasselhoff junk ya could ever want! Free of charge, even! J-just keep 'em away! They're tryin'a fuggin' kill me!"

"We are not!" Tracer shot back indignantly. "Reinhardt, don't listen to him! He's just being overly dramatic 'cause he doesn't want to take a bath!"

This new bit of information caused the knight to turn fully on Junkrat, who seemed to flinch back under the towering man's shadow.

"Is zis true?" he asked calmly, though his voice was as booming as ever. The Junker didn't answer verbally, instead glancing frightfully between the larger man and the three that pursued him. Reinhardt's face broke into a kind, almost grandfatherly smile, and he held his massive hands out as though trying to coax a frightened animal into trusting him. "Ah, come now, Mäuschen! It is just a bath! Now, vhy don't you just come here, and—"

But the instant Reinhardt had made a move to grab hold of Junkrat's arm, the man scrambled away with the kind of speed and dexterity one would never have thought him capable of. He darted over tables, chairs, and whatever other furniture was between himself and the door on the other side of the room, bolting once more.

Junkrat once again found himself running, though he couldn't for the life of him remember where exactly he was in the seemingly massive Overwatch base. He could already hear his pursuers closing in on him again, this time with the thunderous footfalls of Reinhardt accompanying them. He knew he couldn't outrun them forever, not when he had to hobble along like this. He had to hide.

New plan firmly in place, the Junker rounded the next corner and darted through the first door he spotted, slamming it securely closed again before he even had the chance to register where he'd hidden. His mistake was quickly made clear when a piercing scream rang in his ears. He glanced up from where he'd been trying to catch his breath against the wall, his gaze meeting the truly horrified expression of Mei. He'd run right into her bedroom. Thankfully, she was fully dressed despite the intrusion. The same couldn't be said of the intruder, unfortunately.

A string of Chinese cursing was Junkrat's only warning before the climatologist reached for her endothermic blaster. The Junker let out a scream almost as high-pitched as hers had been, his hands immediately moving to shield his important bits from the blast of cold he was being threatened with. Faced with the difficult choice of either having his junk frozen off or diving out into the fray once more, he naturally chose the latter.

The four who had been chasing him – now halfway down the hall running the completely wrong direction – had to clamor to a stop once they heard Mei's door slam open. Tracer turned just in time to watch Junkrat scramble out of the room with his hands covering his privates, an angry little woman chasing him with blaster in hand.

"He's heading back towards the hangar! C'mon, let's go!" she announced before sprinting after the two, leading the others back the way they'd come.

Junkrat was seemingly oblivious to the fact that he now ran in the direction of the very thing he'd been trying to get away from this whole time, his primary concern momentarily shifted to the stampede at his back. He only realized his mistake – well, his latest mistake – when he came to a screeching halt in the hangar where this whole fiasco had started, that little pink kiddie pool sitting there like a looming shadow of the punishment he would face for losing this one particular chase. He swallowed hard at the lump that had gathered in his throat. He'd rather go back to prison than have to go through this kind of torture!

He only turned his back on the damnable pool when he heard five sets of footsteps run in after him. Well now, this was definitely one of those 'between a rock and a hard place' sort of situations. Five Overwatch agents against one helpless Junker? How fair was that? He wasn't even armed, or he'd…. Junkrat's lamentations at the situation paused when a realization floated to the surface of his mind. He may have been literally naked, but he wasn't unarmed. He was never unarmed.

As the others closed in slowly around him like a pack of hungry dingoes waiting to strike the final blow on their prey, Junkrat reached over to his mechanical arm, slid back a panel, and retrieved a small circular object from one of the many hidden compartments Winston had failed to search for. The small bomb was thrown against the ground in front of him before anyone had a chance to react, half of the hangar suddenly filling with a dense cloud of what seemed like smoke at first, but what turned out to be an explosion of very fine desert dust. Either way, it did its job. The lot of them were thrown into a coughing fit as the dust filled their lungs and stung at their eyes and – most importantly – concealed Junkrat's escape.

Tracer was the first to regain her senses of the situation, luckily having had the forethought to wear her goggles that day, and tried her best to peer through the thick cloud of dust as soon as her coughing fit died down enough. She couldn't see anything, but she did hear something. A shout of surprise rang out throughout the hangar, one she immediately recognized as having come from the twitchy scavenger they'd been chasing this whole time. She waved her hands in front of her, trying to disperse the stubborn dust so she could see what happened. Once it finally cleared, she froze dead in place.

Junkrat now hung upside-down by his prosthetic leg, which was held securely in a massive hand. Another equally massive hand reached up to wipe the fine layer of dust from the lenses of a patchwork gasmask, and Tracer could practically feel the rage behind them already. Roadhog stood like a mountain over her, a mountain that could snap her neck in a moment if he so chose to. She had half a mind to dash out of there to save her own skin as the Junker Enforcer slowly took in the scene before him. His eyes scanned over the five dust-covered agents, most of whom were still trying to get the stuff out of their eyes, before he finally settled on the little kiddie pool at his feet.

Much to Tracer's surprise, Roadhog didn't then go on a murderous rampage on his employer's behalf. Instead, his free hand gripped around Junkrat's abdomen, his fingers damn near wrapping the entire way around his scrawny waist. With a long-mastered twist of his wrist, the smaller Junker's peg leg was off in an instant. Another deft flick of the wrist had his prosthetic arm off in the next moment.

"O-oi, Hoggie! What th' fuck d'ya think yer doin', mate?!" Junkrat stammered out desperately, his eyes wide and fearful once more as he watched himself drawing nearer and nearer to that dreaded kiddie pool. Roadhog said nothing as he settled himself on the ground, lowering the flailing man in his grasp down into the soapy water. The shouting and thrashing increased to full-blown hissy-fit levels the instant the younger Junker's skin touched the water, half of which soon ended up outside the confines of the kiddie pool as a result.

Roadhog kept a hold of his employer effortlessly through it all, his strength more than enough to handle the man once the limbs on his right side were reduced to harmless stumps. He held him down in the water until Junkrat eventually seemed to wear himself out. He was left panting heavily in what amounted to a puddle of increasingly dingy water, staring down at himself as though in utter disbelief that his skin wasn't raw and blistered by it.

When the commotion finally died down, Tracer could swear she could hear something like… humming? Was Roadhog humming something? She could just barely pick out a tune in it, but it was one she didn't quite recognize. Whatever it was, it seemed to do the trick in calming Junkrat down further, who simply sat there with a blank look on his face as the larger man worked what was left of the soapy water over his soot-stained skin. Well then, perhaps she should have just asked Roadhog to begin with and avoided this entire mess.

Of course, chaos of this magnitude on Overwatch premises did not go unnoticed, especially by one man. Soldier 76 was currently marching his way down to the dropship hangar, having heard of a certain outlaw running naked through the base almost as soon as it had happened. He tracked the trail of discord that had been left by the chase, stepping over knocked-over furniture and eyeing the occasional dingy handprint left on the walls until there was only one place the culprit could have gone to.

The commander was stopped in his tracks the moment he stepped into the hangar. It took a moment to process just exactly what he was seeing. Half of the shuttle bay was now covered in filth, a fine powdery dust coating everything in sight, including six of the individuals standing in the middle of it all. In fact, there was only one thing in all this mess that wasn't dirty. It was… Wait, who was that? Soldier 76 almost hadn't recognized him without the layer of grime covering his body. A scrawny stick of a man sat in the middle of a pink kiddie pool, his hair wet and stringy and clinging to his balding head, a fine sprinkling of freckles covering his pale face and shoulders. If he hadn't spotted the two rusty prosthetics lying nearby, he might not have connected this man to Junkrat at all, but there he was. And he was actually clean for once.

The same could not be said for the five agents who stood off to the side, each trying their best to avoid eye-contact with their commander. After a long moment of silent scrutiny, Soldier 76 merely let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head to himself as he turned to leave the room.

"Clean this mess up…"