de-los-muertos
Asking McCree if he had ever considered the civilian casualties was a rigged question, as there wasn’t any simple way for him to convey how his actions, both direct and indirect, lined up with his moral code. Sure, the explosives had been Jesse’s idea, in fact, he’d planned this mission out right to the last crate they’d be pulling from steaming wreckage. The lives lost, he didn’t mean for it to happen, but he couldn’t let anything get in the way of success, whether it was Deadlock’s or his own. He had gotten word that the success of this mission would lead to more opportunities as far as advancement in the gang went, and so he couldn’t risk playing it safe.
Advancing in the Deadlock gang was a thought of the past now, with half of the members dropping dead left and right as they fought for their lives. The Overwatch men that had intercepted them were prowling around, waiting for the perfect moment to strike him dead and rid the South of the gang once and for all. McCree considered running, throwing down his flashbang and sprinting away as far as his legs could carry him. Maybe roll over to hide under some of the train car’s debris, holding down until the Overwatch men turned their heads so he’d have a chance to escape. The shots he heard were definitely from some sort of a sniper rifle, and with how skilled and efficient the organization’s strike force was, could he really get away? Was it worth it to put his life on the line?
No, Jesse was going to get out of this alive, and so when the Omnic rounded the corner to attack he didn’t even try to get away. His back slammed against the car with a loud ring that reverberated throughout his entire body, eyes widening just to meet a visor without a face. The three glowing dots, he wasn’t even granted the satisfaction of gazing into the eyes of a man in before taken from this world.
The monotone voice dripped into the gunslinger's ears, for despite everything that had happened, he was still alive. For what reason though? Was there any point in following after the sleek figure who urged him to continue forward?
McCree realized all that had happened at once, his legs moving in the only direction that they could, out onto the battlefield. The destruction around him, bodies covered in smoldering rock and metal, it just rubbed his own failure right in his face. Deadeye McCree never missed a shot, for he was the best aim on this side of the Mississippi. Deadeye McCree would have pulled the mission off, finished off every last one of Overwatch’s dogs with a single bullet through their head.
High noon had come and gone, and Deadeye McCree was no more.
“GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!” The young Jesse McCree felt his face heat up, a sneer on his face the only thing keeping tears from swelling up and trickling down his face. Anger and attitude went hand in hand, helping him adjust to the drastic loss he was now facing, helping him cope with defeat. “Y’KNOW WHAT? FUCK YOU! Fuck--Fuck all of you! God damned Overwatch sons of bitches, fuckin'...fuckin’ dumb fuckin’...Omnic fuckin’...” The boy still followed along wherever the omnic was leading him, bloody knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists at his sides.
“Y’all’re gonna rot in Hell, fuckin’ assholes...”
