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- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
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- Whenever I can get on.
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- Male
- Female
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Fantasy, Comedy, Medieval, Romance, Sci-Fi, Modern
Those townsfolk had said that a gang had settled into this little warehouse complex just outside of Santa Fe, and these guys had been causing all sorts of trouble. The kind of trouble that warranted a certain cowboy moseying in and breaking it up.
Of course, nothing was ever really that simple. They’d gotten the drop on him. He was severely outnumbered. If his prosthetic was in anything resembling functional condition, then things would have been over and done with a while ago, but unfortunately it had been damaged at the start of this little skirmish. Every time he tried to move his prosthetic hand he got a nasty little shock that strongly suggested that something wasn’t working the way it should be. It had happened maybe once back when he was in Blackwatch. Everything turned out fine in the end, sure Moira had to patch him up a bit and Torb nearly threw a wrench at him due to how fidgety he’d been while the guy re-wired some things, but everything had been fine. He wasn’t too sure he’d be able to find someone out here in the middle of nowhere to fix up the damn thing.
He popped out from behind the stack of crates he’d taken shelter behind and squeezed off a few more shots, downing three targets. Seven left. “Shit!” He hissed and ducked back behind the crates when they opened fire once again. There was a stinging burn in his side, one of them had hit a soft spot in his armor and the shot had penetrated. It wasn’t bleeding too bad, not right now at least.
His dark brown gaze widened slightly when he heard a lighter flick. The crates he’d been hiding behind exploded with force, sending the cowboy flying into the concrete masonry wall. He slumped there on the floor. Dazed and breathless, McCree stared at nothing for a few seconds. Head, hand, feet, everything in between, it was all still there. Surprisingly. It hurt like a bitch when he took in a deep breath, gaze refocusing.
Five targets, two had been downed from the explosion too. Fortunate. Didn’t have time to think too much. He staggered up onto his feet, moving to more cover, hopefully something that wasn’t highly explosive. He squeezed off his last three shots, forcing the five to head for their own cover. Two had been picked off. Good.
He carefully reloaded his peacekeeper with a single, noticeably shaking hand. “C’mon, adrenaline. Ya ain’t helping me none here.” He growled softly, aware that it was probably masking plenty of problems. With his peacekeeper reloaded, he gave the barrel a spin and peeked out, finding his targets. Another deep breath, he was sure that his ribs were bruised from his impact with the wall. He was starting to get that lightheaded feeling again, definitely not good. His side was probably bleeding a bit more than before. Probably hit his head, too. He’ll deal with it in a minute.
He popped out, fired off two shots, heard two thuds as the bodies hit the floor. A sigh dragged out of him and he holstered his peacekeeper. He ran his hand through his long hair, flinching and pulling it back when he hit a painful damp spot. Blood was on a few of his fingers when he checked, causing a grimace to form on his face.
Where’d his hat go, anyways?
A quick scan of the area, and he found it under some broken crate pieces. He bent down to to pick it up, and his vision nearly whited out as he did so. He decidedly sat down then and there, not wanting to risk taking a bad fall. He put his hat back on his head, exhaustion tainting his features for a brief second as he allowed his eyes to close, another deep breath keeping him grounded. He heard footsteps and his eyes flashed open, squinting when things appeared to be getting a bit fuzzy around the edges. He drew his peacekeeper and aimed in the direction he heard the footsteps approaching from. “Who’s there?” He growled out, sounding as fierce as he could. Maybe he’d scare ‘em off. Hopefully.
@Lady White
Of course, nothing was ever really that simple. They’d gotten the drop on him. He was severely outnumbered. If his prosthetic was in anything resembling functional condition, then things would have been over and done with a while ago, but unfortunately it had been damaged at the start of this little skirmish. Every time he tried to move his prosthetic hand he got a nasty little shock that strongly suggested that something wasn’t working the way it should be. It had happened maybe once back when he was in Blackwatch. Everything turned out fine in the end, sure Moira had to patch him up a bit and Torb nearly threw a wrench at him due to how fidgety he’d been while the guy re-wired some things, but everything had been fine. He wasn’t too sure he’d be able to find someone out here in the middle of nowhere to fix up the damn thing.
He popped out from behind the stack of crates he’d taken shelter behind and squeezed off a few more shots, downing three targets. Seven left. “Shit!” He hissed and ducked back behind the crates when they opened fire once again. There was a stinging burn in his side, one of them had hit a soft spot in his armor and the shot had penetrated. It wasn’t bleeding too bad, not right now at least.
His dark brown gaze widened slightly when he heard a lighter flick. The crates he’d been hiding behind exploded with force, sending the cowboy flying into the concrete masonry wall. He slumped there on the floor. Dazed and breathless, McCree stared at nothing for a few seconds. Head, hand, feet, everything in between, it was all still there. Surprisingly. It hurt like a bitch when he took in a deep breath, gaze refocusing.
Five targets, two had been downed from the explosion too. Fortunate. Didn’t have time to think too much. He staggered up onto his feet, moving to more cover, hopefully something that wasn’t highly explosive. He squeezed off his last three shots, forcing the five to head for their own cover. Two had been picked off. Good.
He carefully reloaded his peacekeeper with a single, noticeably shaking hand. “C’mon, adrenaline. Ya ain’t helping me none here.” He growled softly, aware that it was probably masking plenty of problems. With his peacekeeper reloaded, he gave the barrel a spin and peeked out, finding his targets. Another deep breath, he was sure that his ribs were bruised from his impact with the wall. He was starting to get that lightheaded feeling again, definitely not good. His side was probably bleeding a bit more than before. Probably hit his head, too. He’ll deal with it in a minute.
He popped out, fired off two shots, heard two thuds as the bodies hit the floor. A sigh dragged out of him and he holstered his peacekeeper. He ran his hand through his long hair, flinching and pulling it back when he hit a painful damp spot. Blood was on a few of his fingers when he checked, causing a grimace to form on his face.
Where’d his hat go, anyways?
A quick scan of the area, and he found it under some broken crate pieces. He bent down to to pick it up, and his vision nearly whited out as he did so. He decidedly sat down then and there, not wanting to risk taking a bad fall. He put his hat back on his head, exhaustion tainting his features for a brief second as he allowed his eyes to close, another deep breath keeping him grounded. He heard footsteps and his eyes flashed open, squinting when things appeared to be getting a bit fuzzy around the edges. He drew his peacekeeper and aimed in the direction he heard the footsteps approaching from. “Who’s there?” He growled out, sounding as fierce as he could. Maybe he’d scare ‘em off. Hopefully.
@Lady White