There was a hard slap of the hammer, watching the gun spread
bullets across the wall. Only two made purchase on the neon
thugs, but their persistence was a little left to be underestimated.
But considering the odds of a good fifteen to two, McCree was
smart enough to catch wind that the fight wasn’t looking to
their favour.
Hell, the partnership was even a stretch.
Jesse rolled back, just enough to hear the croak of his partner
and watch his face slap asphalt, wincing nearly at his tumble before
rolling his eyes.
“Aw, hell!” He groaned, turning tail and running after the Junker,
yanking him up by his belt strap.
"Of all times to be bendin’ leg! Quit foolin’, we gotta get outta
before we get smoked! We can’t rush ‘em!”
Describing the kind of noise Junkrat made as he was roughly pulled up wasn’t easy, halfway between a grunt and an ungodly screech. If anything was certain, it was that that noise was a Junkrat noise. Sure, his face kind of hurt, the familiar warmth of blood filling his nose, but beside that? It seemed as if the junker failed to realize that hey... maybe being outnumbered by dangerous angry gang members was actually a really dangerous situation. Instead of panicking like any sane human would, he just shot an angry glare at the cowboy, his arms flailing wildly as he tried to reach the massive tire on his back.
❝No NO ya don’t get it you DIPSTICK!❞
A hand landed on McCree, Junkrat pushing himself up, unwillingly following the older one, a deep frown still deforming his features, his free hand pulling on the chains holding his rip tire together. God he hated being stuck with such a PESSIMIST. Couldn’t a guy blow up a dozen of blokes in peace??
❝I can take care of ‘em alroight! I WANT to.❞