Revisions made on the 10th of September 2017


Mojave Drive-In Theater, Mojave Wasteland

2285

"What in the fuck is that?" the bounty hunter asked, rather loudly.

Peering through his scope, he was waiting for the raider in power armor to at least appear before taking a shot. He eventually did see a hulking figure come into view, taller and bulkier than the others. What he saw was… Not quite what he expected.

He was waiting for someone to pop up with T-45d, or even low-grade T-51b. Instead, he saw a mangled shell of rusted and dented metal, seemingly plastered and welded together somewhat haphazardly. It seemed to mainly comprise of sheet metal, recycled power armor bits, and shopping cart parts. This was a first, and he was almost tempted to just shoot a slug against the chest piece to see if it can hold. But the bounty hunter restrained himself and simply observed the armor, seeing if it had any weaknesses for him to exploit. Eventually finding one.


"So… Where did this thing come from?" asked one of the raiders, kneeling down examining the hull of the satellite.

"...Space?" replied another raider.

"I know it came space, you dolt," responded the kneeling raider. "I meant who made this thing in the first place. I don't know what the hell a 'Big Empty' is…"

He was examining white markings on the hull which had a hexagon and the words 'Big MT.' painted on. Heavy thumps on the ground distracted him as he looked away.

"Can you guys quit sitting around and get to fucking work?!" barked a raider approaching them in power armor and towering over them. "The sooner we tear this fucking thing apart and find anything worthwhile, the sooner we get out of this fucking hot shithole!"

"Uh, boss? We don't exactly have power tools to help us..." replied another raider.

"You guys are fucking useless!" exclaimed the armored raider, before he moved over to the satellite and pushing the kneeling raider away.

"Hey! What are you doi-" was all the raider said before a power armored foot slammed itself into the hull of the satellite. The force of the kick, surprisingly, resulted in a panel coming loose of the side and exposed a console with a blue screen, buttons, and diodes. "... Huh."

"Great! Now get off your asses and start scra-" was all the armored raider could say before a shot hit him on the side of his knee, disabling a servo and causing his stance to be lopsided. "Fuck! Son of a bitch!"

With a thunderous boom, another shot rings out and a round strikes the knee servo on his other leg, causing the raider to lose balance before falling straight on his face. Unable to move much due to the awkward shape of his armor.

"Ah, shit! Run for i-" screamed a tech raider, before she was cut short by a large rifle round to the jugular.

Other raiders tried to dash for cover but were cut down before they were even close to anything solid. Some tried fighting back, shooting in the direction they thought the shots were coming from, before being knocked down by some unseen force. Some of their heads exploded into gory bits, while others were shot in their chests and thrown down with the wind whistling. They were picked off one by one as the shots rang out, not having a chance to do anything. They were easy prey.

Then, everything went silent.

Only three tech raiders were left now; The leader lying helplessly on the floor in power armor and two other that were currently ducking behind the satellite hull. They refuse to dare move from their cover. Then, the raiders heard footsteps in the distance with the sound of dirt shifting and crunching, steadily growing louder and closer. In a split-second decision, one of the raiders gets out of cover to run for it but is gunned down before she even got her legs moving. The other raider is now by himself, clutching his shotgun and hyperventilating, listening to the footsteps get even louder. His eyes were darting everywhere, trying to find salvation. The sun mercilessly bearing down on him in his cover. Listening to their killer get closer by the second. Then, the footsteps stopped. The raider shut his eyes and after a few moments gritted his teeth before strengthening the grip of his shotgun. He quickly rose from cover.

He screamed a fearful battle cry as he tried to level his shotgun before being immediately peppered with multiple rifle rounds, his body recoiling with each round. His bloody corpse slumps to the ground, relinquishing the grip on his shotgun and staining the old concrete below with a pool of blood.

Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, the man in the duster then moves over to the side of the armored raider and planted his right boot firmly on his back.

"Hey, asshole!" the raider yelled, trying to put up some bravado to compensate for his precarious position. "You are in for a world of hurt, y'hear! Ya' think that fancy shooting's gonna save you?!"

Bending over, the man then flips a switch on the armored backside, ejecting a fusion core from its socket and rendering the armor powerless.

'Oh, fuck…' the raider thought, unable to even move his armored arms.

He stammered, "Y-you think I need this suit to kill you! When I get out I'm going to-"

A set of brown boots then came into the raiders limited view, before he felt something grab at the wire of his helmet and then being blinded by the daylight without a visor. Blinking, he looked up and squinted at the figure who was towering over him. He had a dark gray-silver helmet with faded red eyes, a brown duster entrenched over a vest of gray riot armor that had a bandolier of large rifle cartridges splayed over it. He looked at the figures right hand and saw a pistol with a silver-colored slide, and then looked to the man's left hand to see a Pip-Boy on his forearm. It immediately clicked within the raider's head who this man was, and his heart sunk into the reaches of his chest and all the boldness he displayed was now gone in an instant. It was the bane among all raiders standing over him, whether it was the Fiends, Jackals, Vipers, and Tech Raiders, it didn't matter. He was the reason he and his crew were scrounging around the desert like bums. Why all the raiders in the Mojave scrounged around like bums. The ones who survived, at least.

"Oh man…" he whimpered, on the verge of bursting into tears. "Of course, it's you… Of course, it fucking had to be the Courier!"

The Courier merely stared down at him, silently being the judge and jury.

"Listen," the wanted man pleaded. "I learned my lesson! I-I promise I'll leave this shit behind! I swear! I'll be a farmhand! I'll shovel brahmin shit if I have to! I'll go to the Followers! Help hobos! Just-"

He silenced himself as the Courier knelt, his helmet much closer to the raider's face. His left hand cupped the raider by the chin as he inspected his dirty face with those red visors. The raider could only comply with his actions, hopelessly trapped and with nowhere to go. After a few seconds of his judgment, the Courier made a low grumble. The raider raised an eyebrow, confused before the Courier's right hand shot out under and drove a rusty combat knife into his throat. The bounty's eyes shot wide open, struggling to mutter words or even breath as the blade sliced his jugular and forced blood to flood into and out of his mouth. The bounty's entire body convulsed for moments, a sick gurgling noise coming from his throat as he struggled to get in one last gulp of air. The man in the black armor silently watching him die. Finally, with one last death rattle from his throat, his eyes glazed over and his head slumped forward. His mouth was left agape, blood dripping from it.

The Courier retrieved his knife from the throat and brought the blade to the side of the head of the now deceased raider. He began to slice away at the flesh of his left ear until it came loose.

"Ain't a finger, but it should be enough for identification," he said to no one in particular as he stowed the ear away in his pack. The wanted poster did say he was wanted "dead or alive", and there was a time where he would've considered the latter option. But…

The Courier stands up and looks around his surroundings, seeing bodies and bits of flesh strewn everywhere around the satellite. The old Pre-War drive-in their grave. He then notices the open panel of the satellite, seeing the familiar site of the console. He walks over and kneels next to it, examining it for any damage.

"Hmm… Been some time since I last visited Big Mountain," he said. "Wonder if they finished up that little project for me?"

Suddenly, he hears a bark and growling from behind and looks to his side to see Cooper glaring off into the distance. His tail propped, his spine fuzzed, and his ears perked.

"See something, boy?" he asks, glaring off into the distance, too, until his eyes focus onto some rubble not too far from the drive-in.

He swings the rifle off from his shoulder and was about to look through the scope, before he quickly dove to the side as a spear nearly grazed him and sunk itself into the console of the satellite, causing it to fizzle and crack. He then quickly grabs Cooper and dives behind the satellite, before rummaging through his backpack and pulling out a frag grenade. Peering over his cover, he sees a glimpse of crimson before a bullet forces him to duck down. He grits his teeth, seething.

"Fucking Legion…"


Decommissioned Overwatch Base, Nevada, Mojave Desert

2076

"I thought Winston told you to be sneaky until we got here!" yelled McCree, who was taking cover by a doorway and taking potshots before being forced back in by returning fire.

McCree and Tracer were currently held up in the concrete building that supposedly housed the documents they needed. The room they were in was spacious and looked to be some sort of laboratory as there were equipment and tools strewn about. There were no windows, and the only way in or out was the doorway currently being peppered by gunfire. Tracer was running and blinking all over the lab's observation room, searching all the desks, cabinets, and drawers for the documents. The mission was running smoothly up until they reached the building.

"Not my bloody fault he started shooting wildly into the air when I grabbed him!" the Brit yelled, rummaging through a cabinet and finding nothing worthwhile. "Bollocks!"

Pulling out a flashbang from his belt, McCree pulls the pin and throws it into the hallway, dazing some soldiers. Coming out of cover, he starts to fan the hammer on his Peacemaker and sends rounds into the hallway, taking down 3-4 soldiers. He dives to the other side of the doorway as they start to return fire.

"Frag out!" one of the soldiers declared, as a grenade rolls its way through the doorway and into the observation room, right at Tracer's feet.

"Tracer, look out!" McCree warns, Tracer looking at the grenade and immediately blinks out of range as it explodes and demolishes the room. Tracer blinks back in and starts hacking a cough from all the dust and debris it kicked up. Recovering she opens her eyes and sees that the cabinets that were now knocked out of the way by the grenade were hiding a safe on the wall.

'Of course, there's a safe,' she thought as she rolled her eyes.

Blinking up to it and realizing she doesn't know the combination, she instead pulls out one of her Pulse Charges. Planting the device on the safe, she blinks behind a pillar and hopes it doesn't destroy the contents inside.

It detonated, kicking up, even more, dust in the room, much more than the grenade earlier. Tracer looks over to see that the safe door was now hanging by its hinges, exposing the inside. She blinks over and peers inside, and sees that there are blue folders with the Overwatch logo printed onto the covers. All of them had the words "CLASSIFIED" stamped all over them in red, and one folder had the words "Project: Slipstream" typed along the top.

"Found them!" Tracer cheerily declared among the gunfire.

"Great! Now get 'em and let's get the hell outta dodge!" yelled McCree, inching away from the doorway as gunfire chipped away at it.

Tracer pulls out a bag and zips it open, grabbing the folders and stuffing them into the bag. Before she zips it up, she looks up at the inside of the safe and freezes, her eyes widening in shock. She reaches into the safe and pulls out a strange, circular, metallic device. The Pilot eyes it closely, examining how it's design and shape was extremely familiar. It did not look too dissimilar from what was on her chest piece... Or what was in the Slipstream.

'But… I thought they only ever made one...' Tracer reflected, taken back to a darker time.

She was told before the program that the device, the Teleportation Matrix, was one of a kind: a prototype. In the months following, after her "illness" was stabilized, she was also told that the Slipstream program was canceled indefinitely because of the incident. She'd never thought she would see the device, or anything like it, ever agai-

"Tracer, what the hell are ya doin'?!" McCree barked, breaking her out of the trance. She stuffs the device into the bag and zips it up, before blinking to McCree's side.

"Sorry about that," she apologized. "So… what now?"

"You got any bombs left?" asked McCree, gritting his teeth over the gunfire.

"Just the one," Tracer replied, pulling it off her side.

"Well, I got one flashbang left," McCree explained, pulling up a flashbang. "So, after I toss it into the hallway and daze 'em, that's where you come in and give us an opening… Ready?"

"Ready!" she replied.

"Now!" yelled McCree as he throws his last flashbang into the hallway.

As the flashbang detonated, Tracer bolted from cover and into the hallway towards the group of dazed Talon soldiers. Priming the Pulse Charge in her left hand, she jumps and blinks over the group before tossing the bomb into the middle. She then quickly "recalls", warping her back in cover at the doorway with McCree. The Pulse Charge detonates, sending the soldiers flying and clearing a space in the hallway. The Brit and the American break from their cover and run towards the exit, and start gunning down soldiers who were dazed or recovering. Finding their way out of the building they see a jeep pulling up with soldiers in the front seats. McCree quickly levels his Peacemaker and fans the hammer to quickly fire off rounds at the occupants, killing them and splattering the windshield with blood.

"Seems we got ourselves a ride!" McCree notes, as he makes his way to the driver's side and opens the door, pulling the body out to the ground.

Tracer makes her way to the passenger's side and does the same, before climbing inside and closing the door. McCree climbs inside and punches out the blood-splattered window with his robotic arm to give himself a better view. Looking in the mirror on his side, he sees other jeeps driving towards them.

"Better buckle in your seatbelt!" he advised, as he slammed on the gas and started accelerating towards the exit.

"Winston, we've got what we're here for!" the Time-Jumper exclaimed over the radio

"That's excellent news!" replied Winston.

"But we need you to send DVa now! We've got Talon on our tail!"

"Oh! Uhh… Roger that!"

Now reaching the exit, McCree slams on the gas and accelerates towards the gate. Noticing a soldier helping another soldier to his feet at the exit, the Cowboy beeps the horn to get their attention. It soon does, as the soldiers then dive out of the way as their jeep breaks through the chain gate. The enemy vehicles in tow.

The jeep that Tracer was firing upon quickly accelerated up to them and slammed into their side, almost forcing their jeep to hit a rock before McCree swerved out of the way.

"Two can play that game, partner!" the gunslinger exclaimed as he swerved the car left and then right, slamming into the enemy jeep and causing it to swerve into a ditch off the road.

"Bloody hell!" screamed the Brit as she was rocked inside the cabin.

"Sorry 'bout that."

Rifle fire then started to ring out as the back window of their jeep shattered into pieces and the leather seats being ripped to shreds. A bullet grazing McCree's headrest. Tracer returns fire at the jeep through the now exposed back and succeeds in taking out the gunner, though another one took his place. Flipping her pistol to recharge it, she fires a burst towards the driver's side. She succeeded, as the car then starts to get wobbly before drifting off into a dune. However, another, even larger jeep took its place, this time with a mounted gun on top that starts ripping into the car and tearing the cabin up. Tracer tries to return fire, but the car then suddenly becomes lopsided on its left and she drops one of her pistols under the seats.

"Goddammit!" exclaimed McCree. "Bastard took out one of the grav-wheels!"

Going as fast as he can through the desert, trying his best to weave in and out of the turret's line of fire. Not exactly easy to do in an open desert. One burst of the machine gun cuts a line through the middle of the car and the engine then starts to sputter from taking a direct hit by a round.

"Well I'll be..." grumbles McCree, as he eyes the speedometer getting lower as the jeep behind them got faster and closer.

Pulling out his revolver, McCree fires wildly at the jeep with Tracer, but to no avail. As McCree spent all the ammo in the cylinder, he quickly ejects the spent cartridges before loading fresh rounds into the cylinder and snapping it back into place. He finishes, and when he looks back and sees the jeep right up against their backs. Just as he assumes the worst, he hears a young, feminine voice call out.

"Player 3 has entered the game!"

Just as he heard that, he sees a large pink mass slam into the truck on their ass, sending it crashing into a large rock and disabling it for good. The pink machine then starts to glide along the side of the other jeeps and fires into the cabins and killing the occupants. One of the jeeps sustained even enough damage to be smoking heavily before it exploded and sent car parts everywhere into the desert. Done with its job, the pink machine then turns towards their jeep and accelerates before gliding along the right side. In the "cockpit" of the machine was a brown-haired, pale-skinned girl, with an ornate black headset, pink "warpaint" on her cheeks, and a blue-pink skin suit with white gloves. She smiled and waved at Tracer and McCree, Tracer waving back as McCree tipped the brim of his hat, relieved to see that their backup came back just in time.

"Cheers, luv!" she exclaimed, in an obviously bad British accent. "The cavulries 'ear!"

"Hey! That's my line!" Tracer laughed.

McCree smirks and puts his left hand to his ear.

"Winston? Mission accomplished, amigo," McCree said over the comms.

"Got all the documents?" asked Winston.

"Documents and then some," Tracer answered, thinking back to the device.

"Haha. Great work, everyone!" congratulated Winston. "Head back to the dropship and I'll see all of you back home. Over and out!"

Taking his finger off the radio, McCree takes a deep breath and looks at the girl in the mech.

"Alright Dva, lead the way."

The pink mech then takes point, leading them to the dropship's landing zone.