la_sombra: (Default)
[personal profile] la_sombra posting in [community profile] denofthebeast
She'd hacked for three days straight to catch him - Port Authorities, camera feeds, vehicle black boxes, you name it. Jesse McCree was a man who didn't want to be found by anyone and after having been trained by Blackwatch operatives, she understood why Talon put her on this job.  Kind of a shame really - she'd always admired how hard he tried to live his life on his own terms. However it was her neck on the chopping block, so in the end, she made sure of his capture. Talon broke him down after a few weeks of interrogations and a few days of violating the Geneva convention, and then they built him again. She'd been the one who moved his file from elimination to conditioning to keep him alive; a half-life rather than nothing at all.

Sorry, Vaquero.

 Despite her curiosity, she hadn't had the stomach to keep an eye on him in the beginning of his recovery. Dodging Reaper was a problem, she hadn't expected him to flip quite so badly when he found out that 'Agent Deadeye' existed, Sombra suspected that if he learned too quickly that she'd had a hand in McCree's conversion she'd catch a shotgun blast for the trouble. Time healed everything it seemed and by the time Deadeye had been cleared for fieldwork, things were almost...normal.

Which is why Sombra is owlishly watching "Deadeye" clean his revolver. 

"Que onda?" she offers, leaning against the nearby wall.


Date: 2016-12-16 02:14 pm (UTC)
fistfulofbullets: (Contemplate)
From: [personal profile] fistfulofbullets
Where they had snipped away Amelie's emotions, they had only strengthened Jesse's. Anger, rage, he was a volatile cocktail of emotions, twisted and turned against the men and women he had once called his compatriots. Even Reaper had not been spared, venom spitting from his lips as his mind was reprogrammed.

He was a powderkeg, and they all knew it. But he was a powderkeg on their side, a tool for them to use, and the best damn shot since Ana Amari.

Which is why he has a handler, even if she doesn't realize it. Someone who can mess with his implants with nothing but a swipe of her finger, changing his hormones, his mood, making him more agreeable or more volatile as the situation demanded.

For now, he's a blank slate, more like the old Jesse than he ever was in the field.
"Waiting on orders." He replies when she inquires what's up. "Not much else to do."

Date: 2016-12-16 08:36 pm (UTC)
fistfulofbullets: (Hide in plain sight)
From: [personal profile] fistfulofbullets
Nicer. He should be nicer to her. The words are more suggestion than order, but he tilts his head up to look at her at least, some of the anger seeping away from him like rivulets from a spring melt. His shoulders visibly relax, and he spins the barrel of his gun, almost nonchalant in his gestures.

"Didn't think I was allowed to have friends." He grumbles softly, looking up at her. He was kept isolated most of the time, away from regular soldiers. Amel- Widowmaker had spoken to him briefly, trained with him. With his two bionic eyes and years of practice under Amari, he was a better shot even than her, though he preferred to fight up close.

Date: 2016-12-17 02:40 am (UTC)
fistfulofbullets: (Contemplate)
From: [personal profile] fistfulofbullets
The wink brings a shadow of a flush across his cheeks, and he isn't sure why. He's seen her do it before, to targets and Reyes, to Widowmaker and some of the others he's not allowed to be near. But now, he finds himself looking away, almost as if he were... embarrassed. All the woman had asked was that he be nicer to her, and that was certainly easy enough to do.

Out of the lot, she wasn't Overwatch. She wasn't Blackwatch. She was Talon and Talon alone, and he appreciated that. Not a bunch of backstabbers and cowards who fled, who changed sides, who didn't see things through. No. Only a woman who had chosen a side long ago and stuck with it.

"Do?" He repeats, as if in a haze, carefully placing his revolver in his case.
"Not really allowed to do much." Sleep, wake, train, eat, sleep. That was the pattern of his life without missions.

He remembered, vaguely, a time where he was alone. Where the entire world sprawled out before him and he could see everything. The stars at night, the sunset across the sparkling water of the ocean. The dry desert sands and the small little towns that kept their 21st century charm. A pretty girl- or a handsome boy- to warm his bed at night. But that was another person. Another lifetime.

Jesse McCree was dead, and his hobbies along with it.

Date: 2016-12-17 03:45 am (UTC)
fistfulofbullets: (Defense)
From: [personal profile] fistfulofbullets
What he wants? What he wants is a question he hasn't asked in some time. What he wants is irrelevant. There is only the mission. Only the kill. That's what he was now, wasn't it? A trained attack dog. The claws on his hand are enough to say as such, and all he wants is to sink them into the throats of other agents, Blackwatch and Overwatch and Talon alike.

But when he looks at her, he remembers wanting other things. He remembers wanting a girl with soft breasts and hair like finely spun gold. He remembers wanting a young man with a grin that flashed like lightning and strong hands that pinned him down. He remembers wanting...

He springs up, clawed hand moving to her throat, intending to dig the sharp nails into her skin as he tries to push her back against a wall and away from him. He can't have thoughts like this clouding his judgement.

Date: 2016-12-17 05:01 am (UTC)
fistfulofbullets: (Now Wait Just A Darn Minute)
From: [personal profile] fistfulofbullets
Easy, she says, and his temper calms. Nice, she had said, and he tries to be. The claws are only pinpricks, barely a threat against the high collar of her shirt. The look in his eyes is cold, but confused, as if he doesn't know what he wants.

He remembers a girl with soft breasts and blonde hair. He remembers a boy with a wicked smile and strong hands. He remembers what he wants, something that he's been denied for too long.

Something he shouldn't take, not without her consent.

So he leans in. Slow. Easy. She had said easy and nice and he wants to be both. He presses a kiss to her mouth, sweet at first, then fierce as all the memories of want come back to him at once, all the feelings that were supposed o be snipped out to make him a better soldier. His hand lets go of her throat to pull at her hips, pushing her up against the wall as he kisses her hard enough to knock the very breath out of her.

Date: 2016-12-17 06:09 am (UTC)
fistfulofbullets: (Contemplate)
From: [personal profile] fistfulofbullets
He doesn't answer her, rage and confusion, anger and lust all boiling inside of him as he grabs roughly at her legs and pushes her back against the wall. With all his strength, he hoists them up so they're around his hips, making her trapped against him, letting her feel the growing urgency between his legs.

"Shut up." He growls low, biting at her neck almost hard enough to draw blood.
"Ain't supposed to do this." But he does it anyway, rolling his hips forwards and biting at her lower lip. Fuck her. Fuck her for being so damn confusing.

Date: 2016-12-27 05:45 am (UTC)
fistfulofbullets: (Now Wait Just A Darn Minute)
From: [personal profile] fistfulofbullets
He shouldn't be doing this. It pounds into his head like a war drum. She's too close, she's could be a liability in the field. He's supposed to be isolated, alone, kept away from them all.

And so that's why he lets her go, stepping back off balance, wiping blood from his lips as he tries to get himself oriented. He ignores the need between his legs, frowning at the woman.
"I'm not supposed to be interactin with you. Now leave."
Edited Date: 2016-12-27 05:45 am (UTC)
Page generated Jun. 12th, 2025 08:18 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios