The echo of his sharp, mad cackling could barely be heard over the roar of engines, but it rang in Junkrat's ears nonetheless. The fumes of dirty, burning petrol filled his lungs, fueling that strange high that only Junkers knew anymore. The desert dust on the wind stung at his bare skin as it whipped past, some of it sticking against his sweat-covered face and torso along with the soot and grime. His heart ponded in his chest like the beat of a war drum. He could feel the breath of Death itself breathing down his neck, yet he'd never felt so alive.
"Get down!"
The gruff roar was the only warning he got before a huge hand grabbed hold of his face and forced him down into the sidecar he'd been perched precariously on top of. The hand was removed an instant later, swiftly moving back to grasp the handlebar of the monstrous motorcycle once more. Junkrat's laughter never ceased through it all, even as he saw the Molotov cocktail fly overhead from somewhere behind them, aiming for where he'd stood just a moment ago, exploding in a burst of flames in their path. Roadhog never faltered, driving them straight through the blaze.
Junkrat flipped himself over, crawling up to his knees and bracing his grenade launcher against the edge of the sidecar just as their pursuers flanked around to his side. A makeshift dune buggy now rode alongside them on the right, accompanied by two men on a rusty old dirt bike, billowing clouds of orange dust trailing behind their rear tires. He could hear the buzz of two other dirt bike engines on Roadhog's left, though he couldn't see them from his vantage point. He aimed ahead of the two vehicles he could see, lobbing several grenades across their path. One hit the dirt bike square on the front tire, and the two riders were sent flying.
"Ahahahaha! Got'cha!" he shouted in absolute glee, pointing a taunting finger back at the two men in the dirt behind them. When he looked back at the action, however, his smile was instantly wiped from his face as he found himself staring down the business end of what looked like a harpoon gun. He let out a yelp, ducking down into the relative safety of his side car. Almost as soon as he did, the rusty barb of a harpoon punched through the old sheet metal mere inches from Junkrat's face. He gave another inarticulate sound of adrenaline-fueled panic, scrambling away from the barb as much as he possibly could in that cramped space. His flesh hand searched around in the pile of random junk that they'd stowed in there with him until his fingers wrapped around a duct tape covered handle.
The lanky Junker rose up into the hot sun once more, eyes searching for their opponents. He found the dune buggy soon enough, now hanging back behind them a bit. A long rope connected the two vehicles now, one end anchored to the side car by that damned harpoon, and the other end fixed to the trailing dune buggy as it attempted to drag them to a halt. A manic grin spread across Junkrat's face once more as he raised an old machete above his head, bringing the blade down to sever the rope.
He let out another yelp as the motorcycle jolted forward and to the left from the newly-released burst of momentum, the edge of his side car slamming into his ribs with a sickening crack as he fell against it. Roadhog was not so caught off guard as his companion, taking advantage of the sudden jolt towards the pursuing Junkers on his side to drive the back of his fist against one of the drivers' faces. He didn't bother watching the man wipe out and tumble back into the dirt, instead directing his attention to his wheezing, groaning passenger.
"You alright, Rat?" he grumbled out, to which Junkrat just waved his concern away, all the while doubled over with his other arm wrapped around his middle. Well, he was alive, at least. That was good enough for now. The dune buggy was starting to catch up to them once more, and Roadhog still had a bastard on a bike to his left. Junkrat managed to get enough wind in him to straighten up a bit, taking a quick look around for anything in the surrounding area that could help them get out of this situation. Soon enough, he spotted it.
"Over there!" he shouted, pointing ahead to a rocky outcropping. He could just make out a narrow pass through the jagged towers of stone. "Lead 'em over there! I'll take 'em out!"
Roadhog seemed to catch onto what he was planning almost instantly, giving a nod of his head.
"I gotta get ahead of 'em." he rumbled out, to which Junkrat gave a grunt of acknowledgement as though responding to an order. He ducked into his side car once more, trying his best to stifle a whimper of pain when too much pressure was put on his freshly cracked ribs. He emerged a moment later with one of Roadhog's Hogdrogen canisters. He then wormed his way between his bodyguard's arm and thigh, flipping open the cap to the motorcycle's gas tank before shoving the nozzle of the canister against the opening.
There was a delay as the gas circulated into the engine before the bike suddenly rocketed forward with a beastly roar. Junkrat found himself pressed back against Roadhog's belly from the sheer force of the acceleration, but managed to wiggle his way back into his side car before they reached the outcropping. Their pursuers had fallen behind, but they'd catch up soon enough once the Hogdrogen ran its course through their bike's engine. He quickly retrieved one of his mines, throwing it upward as they passed between two large stone formations, sticking it about halfway up. He then laid back in his seat, counted down under his breath, and pressed the button on his detonator.
The resulting explosion shook the whole area, and rocks began falling down on them from above as though the whole thing was threatening to come down on their heads. Luckily, the rocks that rained down on the enemy Junkers were significantly larger than the pebbles that pelted the two of them. Junkrat took a quick glance back, grinning wildly when all he saw were twisted limbs and scrap metal sticking out from a pile of fallen boulders.
They had to stop and make camp shortly after that, mostly because adding Hogdrogen to petrol tended to make the motorcycle overheat quickly. As soon as they stopped, Roadhog made quick work of wrapping up Junkrat's broken ribs, ignoring how he whined that it was too tight and pretty much manhandling him into sitting still. Rather than sitting and resting as he was told, however, the lanky Junker hopped right back up to his feet once he was all bandaged up and hobbled his way back to his side car. With a pained grunt, he pulled out a large, bulging rucksack – a rucksack that just happened to be decorated with the same patches and symbols that their fallen pursuers wore on their clothes. A coincidence, I'm sure.
"Now seems like a good time ta enjoy the spoils of war!" Junkrat announced, trying not to look as though he was struggling with the weight of the rucksack with his new injuries. He wasn't doing a good job of it, but Roadhog humored him for now, pretending not to notice his companion's breathless struggles as he busied himself with starting a campfire. Junkrat eventually made it back to his side, where he dumped the contents of the sack on the ground between them. It was mostly canned food, almost all of which was surely out of date, by the looks of it. Still, Junkrat puffed his chest out proudly – as much as he could bear, anyway – and stood over the pile as though it were gold.
"Tonight, Hoggie, we feast like kings!"
And feast they did. Though it may have been a feast of stale beans and slightly sour-tasting meats, it was still worlds better than what they usually had for dinner; nothing. Junkrat sat with his back resting against Roadhog's pudgy form for support, picking lightly at a can of old spaghetti-o's once he'd eaten enough to not be starving. Now that the excitement had died down, his mind tended to go off wandering. Tonight, as usually was the case, his thoughts drifted off in very random directions.
"Say, Hog… you ever been outside 'Straya?"
Roadhog merely grunted in affirmative, his mask still pulled halfway up his face as he shoveled the contents of a can of tuna into his mouth.
"Where'd ya go? 'Sides New Zealand, I mean. Don't count if ya born there."
The Junker enforcer tossed the empty can aside once he'd cleaned it out, pulling his mask back down over his mouth.
"Went on a trip to London in high school." He explained flatly, to which Junkrat instantly perked up in interest. The younger man often forgot that Roadhog was old enough to remember what it was like before the Australian Omnium blew up. He'd actually gotten to live in a normal society, with schools and everything. Schools weren't a thing out there anymore, at least not in the irradiated west. Sure, he'd picked up a few books out of the ruins of a school in Perth – Hog even used them to teach him how to read and write – but beyond that, Junkrat had no education.
"What was it like up there? Do they still got kings an' queens an' all that junk? They got any good treasure?" the younger Junker kept firing off question after question before getting an answer to the previous one he'd asked. Still, Roadhog answered at his own pace.
"It's… Different. Not like this. A lot cleaner. The royals don't do much anymore, but… Yeah, they got cool treasure. Got to see the crown jewels while I was there. Woulda been great ta steal 'em when I had the chance."
Even though there wasn't much information relayed in that brief explanation, Junkrat's eyes practically sparkled in wonder.
"Oi, we should go steal 'em now, mate! Whaddaya say? Ain't nothin' left here but scrap, and most o' that's been picked through already."
Roadhog sat in silence for a moment, mulling the idea over in his head. Then, he gestured over towards the large, tarp-covered object strapped to the back of his motorcycle.
"What're we gonna do with that? Might not be a good idea to bring it with us."
Junkrat shoved another spoonful of spaghetti-o's into his mouth, humming lightly to himself in thought. Then, an idea struck him so violently that it nearly made him choke on his food. Once he hacked most of the pasta bits out of his lungs, he raised his spoon triumphantly into the air.
"I've got it! We'll hide it somewhere!"
"Oh, bloody brilliant, mate… Where?" Roadhog asked, not sounding terribly impressed with his companion's planning thus far. Junkrat gave the larger man a disgruntled growl in response.
"Oi, don't you gimmie that! I got a real ripper of a plan, I do! Got the perfect place in mind already! Ain't no one in their right mind would go poking through there! Good thing we ain't in our right mind, eh Hog?" he ended by giving Roadhog's gut a friendly jab with his elbow before bursting into a fit of strained laughter. The Junker Enforcer was still doubtful, but was intrigued nonetheless.
"Oh yeah? And where's that?" he asked, waiting for Junkrat's wheezing laughter to die down enough for him to respond.
"Wot, it ain't obvious? C'mon, ya told me about it ages ago! 'Course I'm talkin' bout—"
'Kookaburra sits in the ol' gum tree, merry merry king of the bush is he…'
Junkrat looked up with a sharp gasp when that all-too-familiar tune ran across the surface of his mind, coming face to face with the orange visor of Dr. Vaswani. He was back in that apartment in Utopaea once more, a stark contrast to the dusty Outback campsite he'd just been dreaming about. Even though it was quite clear to him that he must have been daydreaming, he slipped a hand under his shirt, pressing his fingers against his ribs. Nope, not broken. His attention then returned to his guest sitting across from him, giving her a lopsided grin.
"Sorry 'bout that, mate. Uhh… What were we talkin' 'bout?"
"Nothing of importance. Do not worry." she replied, giving him a small smile before setting her mug of tea down on the coffee table and getting up from the couch. "Actually, if you'll excuse me for just a moment…"
Junkrat merely gave the architect a quick "Sure," before watching as she made her way towards the bathroom. He then shrugged slightly to himself before turning his attention back to his own mug of tea, which was already nearly empty. He downed the remainder in one big gulp. If nothing else, this Satya lady sure did know how to make a good cuppa!
Once she was in the bathroom, Symmetra pressed a small button on the side of her visor. Within moments, the apartment bathroom dissolved into scattered light, and she once more found herself standing in the simulation room in Vishkar's Research and Development department. Along with the simulation, so too dissolved the architect's cheery disposition. She shot the technician an impatient glare, marching her way over to his station.
"It happened again, Janesh. I was kicked out of one of his memories by that blasted song again. This is the fifth time. I thought you said you'd fixed that problem."
Janesh, looking quite a bit more frazzled than when the project first started, was paying more attention to his computer monitors than the scolding he was getting.
"I-I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do about it. The computers are treating it like outside stimuli."
Symmetra scrunched her nose in displeasure at this excuse, her hand clenching lightly at her side.
"This is unacceptable. I was literally one word away from learning the location of our target. Can't you at least bring that memory back? Just the last part. That's all we need."
To this, Janesh finally glanced up from his console to give her an apologetic look, shaking his head.
"I already told you, we can't access his memories as simply as pulling up a file in a computer. He has to go through them himself, and they have to be prompted naturally. We can give him a small nudge every now and then, but that's it. Too much manipulation will shatter the illusion of reality we've built up for him so far. If he figures out what's going on, we'll never get his cooperation again. Just… be patient and work at it. Look, the readings say he's already in another memory. Why don't you hop back in there and see if it's anything we can use?"
Symmetra sneered at the technician's suggestion, but turned back to the simulation projector without another word of argument.
Junkrat's hands clenched tightly around the tattered straps of his backpack as he hobbled his way into the rotting, rundown shack that served as one of Junkertown's many bars. He kept his head low as he made his way through to the main bar, trying to avoid the stares that came at him from all directions from a diverse cast of ruffians and bandits. He wasn't doing a great job at making himself inconspicuous. His gait was uneven as ever, and he had to bite his lip to keep from grunting at the increased effort it took to walk with the heavy weight on his back. He knew what it was, in part; he'd waited a little too long to rebuild his prosthetic leg and ended up outgrowing the damned thing. He hated being so short, but he was really starting to hate these seemingly random growth spurts of his. There wasn't much he could do about it now, though. He hadn't the time to scavenge for new parts lately. Of course, that was why he'd come to this shithole in the first place.
A group of men clad in tattered leather stopped their poker game to watch him hobble by their table, and he could already tell they were eyeing the prize he had poorly hidden in the old backpack he carried. He gave them a sneer that he'd hoped looked intimidating, but coming from him it only inspired a bout of raucous laughter from the men. He picked up the pace as much as his aching body would let him once he heard the scrape of chair legs against rough wooden floors behind him. Fuck. They were following him. He knew he wouldn't be able to outrun them. Not in here. Not like this.
Instead of making an obviously futile attempt at an escape, Junkrat held his head high and, unlike when he'd entered, tried to make it painfully obvious where he was headed. He knew this new tactic had succeeded when he heard their steps falter as he got closer to the bar. He smirked to himself when he heard them sheepishly scramble back to their poker game.
His smirk quickly vanished, however, when he focused his attention ahead, spotting what had scared off the other Junkers. There at the bar sat a mountain of a man, his back turned to the rest of the establishment, a large meat hook hanging threateningly from his belt. A curtain of long gray hair draped down over his broad back, but Junkrat could just make out the emblem of the Enforcers stitched into the back of his leather vest through the silver strands. He had to swallow hard at the lump that had suddenly gathered in his throat, his hands clenching tighter around the straps of his pack. Okay, he could do this. He needed to do this. The worst that could happen would be his swift and abrupt murder, and that's what he faced out in Junkertown anyway, so in some morbid way, he had nothing to lose here.
"O-oi! Ya Roadhog, ain'tcha?" he called out, cringing slightly to himself at the way his voice cracked. The initial response was little more than a rumbling growl, the man in question never bothering to turn to look at him.
"Who wants to know?"
Junkrat couldn't help but shiver at the low, rolling thunder that was the Junker Enforcer's voice, his good leg instinctively moving back to prepare to run for his life. No… No, terrified as he may have been – and, let's be honest, he was about at the point of shitting his damned pants – he had to do this. He couldn't afford not to. He straightened up as much as he could, putting on a lopsided grin that fooled no one but himself.
"Ya new boss, that's who! I'm lookin' ta hire a bit of muscle. Y'know, a bodyguard. I'm payin' a fifty-fifty split of all my profits. Whaddaya say, big guy? Ya up for the job?" he asked, trying to sound as confident as possible. A good air of confidence was respected amongst Junkers, even if it was completely unfounded. Cowards didn't last long in a town like this, especially when they made it obvious. He wasn't sure if Roadhog was terribly convinced by the act. The man let out a sigh before downing the rest of his drink in one gulp. He then reached up to pull his gasmask down over his mouth, grabbed his hook from his belt, and turned in his seat to face the impudent fucker who dared talk to him like that.
The Enforcer froze when he saw him, his grip loosening a bit on the handle of his hook. Junkrat recognized that look even through the dark lenses of the man's gasmask. It was the look of a man who wasn't expecting to turn around and see that he'd been talking to a twelve-year-old. He got that look a lot. There weren't many kids in Junkertown, after all. The boy brushed back his messy blond hair from in front of his eyes, trying his best to maintain his façade of confidence even as this titan before him continued to stare down at him.
Junkrat grew more and more uneasy as the seconds ticked by, and he soon found himself fidgeting uneasily in Roadhog's looming shadow of intimidation. Finally, he caught some movement out of the corner of his eye, a flash of steel. He snapped his eyes closed, waiting to be disemboweled by that dreaded hook, but the red hot pain never came. He cracked open one eye to see what was going on, just catching sight of that hook as it was replaced back onto its spot on the man's belt.
"Alright, kid… I'm in."