@mawatt
Jesse was a man to wander. If given the time for leisure, the man tended to look around where he was staying- take in city or town sights, or if remote, simply the surrounding area, regardless if it was populated or not. He was no different on missions- even if there was an emphasis on laying low. Remaining still for extended periods of time was not an ability Jesse possessed.
He, along with a small group of others, had been sent across the world from Jesse’s home to investigate a person of interest who had recently gone silent. Communications between Overwatch and the POI, determined to keep underground and out of sight of authorities, had been sparse to begin with, but strictly scheduled. The most recent one had been missed. Being across the world from home did not help his habit of strolling to who-knows-where, and Jesse was well aware he was more the brawn of the mission than the brain. It allowed him the luxury of indulging in that habit on days investigation was slow.
It had been such a day, and Jesse, with no real clear goal of where he was going, simply wandered through town. Through sun-baked streets and shaded alleys, Jesse watched the dust pick up with his every step, listened to quiet streets turn to bustle as narrow walkways widened, opened up to a square. Stalls lined corners, and a small crowd perused from one to one. A market- it seemed, and it was enough of a sight for the outlaw to allow himself a moment to marvel. Jesse adjusted his hat as he stepped over towards one of the stalls, letting curiosity getting the best of him as he looked over the contents, lined out and ready to be sold.
A woman spoke, near him, and while usually a voice would have blended in with the rest of the market, a part of the crowd as much as any other, Jesse felt blood run cold when recognition hit- recognition of a voice belonging to someone who’d been long dead. His head snapped up, turning his gaze to look to his left, the direction where the voice had come. The owner was a woman, fully clothed in niqab, features hidden from view as she listened to one of the stall owners- no doubt answering whatever question she had had. None of this was an unusual sight- and Jesse almost dismissed himself. What he had heard was impossible, no voice belonged to a dead woman’s. Jesse looked away, brought his gaze back forward, though a frown graced his features. The voice picked back up- and Jesse could not ignore the resemblance. Though it only could’ve been one, and nothing more.
He did not want to look back- it was a waste to hope on nothing- but he felt himself doing so anyways. He tilted his head, slightly, enough to catch a glimpse as the woman turned her head, and if he had felt a chill before, it was nothing compared to now. A tattoo- familiar- coloured the skin underneath her left eye, striking and impossible to ignore. Jesse’s head jerked up fully now, almost a double take as his eyes widened- taking in the sight as though if he blinked it’d disappear. If they had made eye contact- he did not notice. He felt his left hand grip the wood of the stall’s edge, metal digging into timber. He tightened his grip more in response. Before him was standing a dead woman- a dead ally and friend.
Ana Amari. ...Ana.