Sunlight flooded through the windows, bright and blinding against his ruby gaze. He’d hesitated in opening them, regretful that he had forgotten to shut the blinds the evening before, but now he stared at the ceiling above his head. Next to the man, his phone buzzed every so often, begging his attention. He had no wish to pick it up, knowing what the screen would flash back at him; “RECALL NOTICE.” Bright red letters that gave him a sinking feeling in his chest, he’d yet to hit the answer he knew he had to give.
Two weeks it had been going off, unanswered, several missed calls from different members of Overwatch, perhaps wondering what had become of their old friend, why he had not answered them. Before it had all went downhill, he’d made a promise to come back, no matter what, when the recall came.
Pulling himself out of bed, the gunslinger ran his fingers through his hair, it was getting long. Nearly down to his shoulders now, he’d started pulling it back on the days it irritated him by brushing against the back of his neck. With a quiet groan to himself, he shuffled about the house, following his usual morning routine, bones aching with exhaustion. Sleep seemed to come even less since the recall notice had first flashed on his screen, mind weighed down by the thought that they’d eventually send someone to find him.
After all, Jesse McCree was a dead man. Not officially, no records had ever been made, and he was sure that even Overwatch knew nothing of what had happened to him after they’d split up. And it wasn’t as if he was really in hiding, simply holed up in the house his mother had left behind at the time of her death, near Route 66. The town was much quieter these days, streets empty by the time 10:00 PM hit, he didn’t have to worry about any trouble coming to his doorstep. It seemed, however, to be a popular place among Talon agents, who often made their pit stop in the town, only to never make it to their next destination. More than once, someone had come knocking on his door with questions about their disappearance, and he’d just tell them that he never left his house. Not entirely a lie, not entirely the truth.
The gunslinger peered back at his reflection, face as young as it was the day he’d died, though years and years had passed. Jesse squinted back at himself, letting out a heavy sigh before turning away and trudging down to the kitchen. Cracking the fridge door open, he took inventory on how much blood he had stored away, just to ensure that he wasn’t in danger of starving.
Once he’d sat on the couch, the man let his thoughts wander, eyes closed and head leaned back against the cushions. He thought of Talon, of the things they’d done to him, to Gabriel. He thought of Overwatch, of his friends that he missed, yet didn’t have the strength to return to. Not when he hadn’t aged a day, not when coffee colored eyes had changed to a brilliant ruby red, when fangs pointed down from his upper teeth, and up from his lower.
Especially not when he had to feast on the living just to stay alive. A weapon built for destruction, a lab experiment, a monster. All things he’d called himself and been called when his teeth were ripping open the throats of the people who had done him wrong.
Jesse sighed, flicking on the television and simply listening to the drone of chatter in the background.
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