Chapter Text
Loud hoverbikes roared over the expanse of the Arizona, beckoning the fauna to hide in fear of the unruly beasts. Heated sand dusted the coats of the riders as they bolted from impending pursuit.
“Keep the cargo safe boys, ‘Don’t want a scratch on that thing unless you wanna lose a buck.”
At lead of a flock of bikers was a silver headed woman, clad in expensive leathers and light metal armor. Under her wide brim hat raged red fire in her eyes, fueled by the hot, cocky determination she emanated naturally. She hollered this over heavy gunfire and loud, clanky hotrods with booming bravado.
Men dressed with blackened, soot heavy rags chased for them feverishly on their own rides. Bullets banged from their guns in continuous string. They yelled to each other in anger and frustration, various phrases escaping just from the thick sound.
Get them! Shoot her! Take the Cargo!
The chased bikers had weaved in all ways to avoid the gunfire, still keeping somewhat of a formation. At the simple hand signals of the silver crowned woman, they tucked themselves through small rock archways and turned the lengths of their bikes away from their pursuers, so they had less to hit. And as the chase neared what seemed like a half hour, the woman motioned to follow her into a thin canyon. The soot stained men rode at their tails, their curses heard a little more clearly over the rumbling. The bikers zeroed in on a red stain on the ground, and with swiftness, the woman took a piece of dynamite from a frontwards compartment in on her bike, lit it, and threw it to the air. She then took a small coach gun from a holster at her side belt, and shot at the stick, blowing it from the sky. She and her companions sped up a little, and from the higher edges of the canyon appeared small figures, notably bearing the same skull insignia somewhere on them. With no time wasted, they enrapture the black figures with bullets, blowing up some of their bikes and washing the rock below with bloody viscera. And the woman, named just as the ash that covered her from the explosions, sped off into the upper parts of the canyon with her lackeys.
The heavy metal door of the bunker opened for the flock. The screech sent rustles down the metal of the interior, further accentuated by the weighted thuds of their boots. Their menagerie of metals clanged around their belts and vests and armors. Inside, other members had been skitting about, hopping about assorted tasks, and stopped and sort of bowed in a way of respect for the arrivals. The woman of silver had led the group to a small room at the side, filled with warm lighting and cluttered with haphazardly stuffed cabinets and dartboards pinned to high heaven with darts aimed at numerous pictures. The four occupants filled the room, the woman at the desk chair, and the three boys in their chosen spots.
"Ms. Ashe, I thought we didn't have no other gangs against us". The boy sitting on an offset chair, clad in white armors and goggles lifted to his cackle-faced helmet spoke first.
"Didn't we have some kinda treaty?"
"We do have a treaty," Ashe fiddled with her coach gun, checking it over near obsessively, "But I'm guessing we got newcomers who didn't get the memo. Don't recognize their clothes either."
"If they didn't get the memo before, they've sure got it now," the boy squatting next to the previous chortled, scratchy voice muffled by his bandana. He clanged his spiked helmet on to the ground, and rubbed his hand over it for dents. His clothes were like the previous boy’s, but he had his in black.
The last occupant sauntered over to the desk, clad in black apparel like the previous, his helmet a plain hardhat. He distinguished himself from his similarly clad occupants with jeweled, emerald eyes. The desk wobbled a bit as he leaned over.
“So what's me and the boys gonna do to ‘em, Ms. Ashe? Bomb their base? Steal their weapons? Rig all their bikes?” he spoke with a low husk, controlled and methodical.
“We don’t do anything, not anything more, atleast.”
“...huh?”
All the boys in the room looked to Ashe, confusion and slight disappointment welded on their faces.
Again, the husky voiced boy spoke, “Ms. Ashe, you gotta understand. Me, Terran, ‘n P.T. are more than happy to do it for ya. You trust us, right boss? We’re capable, just give us-”
“I don’t doubt you boys one bit, if that's what you’re thinkin’," Ashe had finished checking over her gun. She bought a small round container and a rag from the drawer in her desk. Opening it, she dipped the cloth in it gingerly and rubbed the liquid inside on the gun.
“You understand, we’re Deadlock. We don’t go shooting at rabbits when we’re already hunting lions. Sooner or later, those young tramps are gonna get the picture, or get more than their ass handed to them. They won't come for us again, not unless their heads are hollow."
The boys turned to each other, speaking to each other in expression. They turned to Ashe and nodded, looking to the floor. She paused to examine them, and waved a hand dismissively. “Since you boys seem to have a bit of energy left, go on and make sure our cargo’s clean, then do some heavy lifting for Frankie. Do I make myself clear?”
The boys all groaned and bit.
“Go on, git.’
As they left, a massive silver robot walked inside with a tray. He wore a leather jacket, unzipped and showing his hard, metal chassis. Hints of neon green light shown through his eyes and crevices in his body. When the boys passed him, he tipped his dwarf bowler hat in politeness, his joints squealing in disapproval. His thick boots gave heavy footsteps that echoed thuds in the room and creaked the floorboards. He made his way to Ashe's desk, and placed the tray in front of her. By adept hands, there came neatly arranged silverware in front of her, napkin included. After a moment to see if he set it to satisfaction, he scooted a chair in front of her and sat, with it slightly giving way from his weight.
“B.O.B, just the bot I wanted to see. Listen, I got something. Big business, yeah?”
B.O.B said nothing, but leaned in closer to display his attention.
“I got word from those suits you see on the news. Talon's' what they call 'em. Did Overwatch a real number back in the day,”
Ashe finishes polishing her gun and returns the container and rag to her desk. She brings a sanitizer bottle from top of her desk and cleans her hands.
“They're offering real good money, B.O.B.. Big bucks, just to do some odd jobs here and there.”
Ashe picks up her utensils, and gingerly cuts through a lavishly made steak bathed in such aromatic spices and generously lathered in peppercorn sauce, accompanied by garlic seasoned mashed potatoes and hot collard greens.
“Thing is, they said they’d send somebody to make sure we do things right. I understand, I’m not arguing, but I'm not trusting either. Suits're always ready to put people who get their hands dirty under the bus, or worse, in front of the gun.”
B.O.B nods tentatively. He takes off his hat and dusts it on his knee, putting it back on with care. After a while, he looks up and lets out a series of spaced and methodical beeps.
“ -.. --- -. .----. - / .- --. .-. . . / --- -. / .- -. -.-- - .... .. -. --. / ..- -. - .. .-.. / - .... . -.-- / ... . -. -.. / --- ...- . .-. / .- / .-- .-. .. - - . -. / -.-. --- -. - .-. .- -.-. - .-.-.- / .. - .----. .-.. .-.. / - .- -.- . / -- . / .- / -.. .- -.-- / - --- / .-.. --- --- -.- / .. - / --- ...- . .-. --..-- / .- ... -.- / ..-. --- .-. / .- / .-- . . -.- .-.-.- ”
Ashe takes a bit to interpret his message, wiping off her hands and mouth. She sets her dishes gingerly to the side.
“I’ll get to it, give me some time to prepare."
B.O.B nods and gets up with surprisingly grace. He gathers up the items atop the desk and leaves, turning and bowing at the doorway. Ashe is left to her thoughts in the warm, cluttered room.