aperture_high | LET'S HIT THE ROAD I WAS SO CLOSE TO PERSONAL GROWTH

LET'S HIT THE ROAD I WAS SO CLOSE TO PERSONAL GROWTH

[ONCE UPON A TIME IN MEXICO...

Are you caught up? Good. We find our heroes having recently embarked upon a two thousand-mile road trip to San Diego (a real place) from Dorado (not really a real place), in search of experimental government technology. The plan is simple--horseback to the nearest hypertrain station. Sneak across the border, then commandeer a vehicle or perhaps another horse to complete the rest of the journey. Bust into an old Overwatch outpost, steal all of their shit, acquire a new tactical visor or something similar, and then part ways and he can go back to vengeance or whatever it is he's doing.

There is, unfortunately, only one horse, and Jesse McCree and his vaguely unhinged ex-commander are not exactly light or small (they are both tall and also kind of heavy). 76 is also more uncomfortable with the animal than he lets on, but that might just be because he's riding shotgun. Is that what you call it when you're not actually driving the horse, but are sort of behind the person driving the horse, in constant danger of slipping off the horse unless you hold onto the person driving the horse (which is unpleasant because 76 doesn't like sharing personal space and McCree is an unwashed hobo who still thinks cowboys are relevant)? Do you call it driving the horse?

Either way, this is uncomfortable--but not so uncomfortable that 76 doesn't eventually succumb to the fact that he stayed up the whole night before just in case McCree decided to bail on this operation. He nods off upright for a little, jarred awake every time they hit some kind of bump (which is often). Eventually, he slumps forward, conking out right against McCree. Probably the only reason he's not drooling on McCree is because he's put the face mask back on. The visor, however, is still totally busted.

Let dad rest.]

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[Wow, it's almost like McCree isn't taking this seriously at all. Why does it have to be a sombrero? Why can't it be a wide-brimmed hat like the one he's got? 76 scans the little shop for some kind of alternative, but if there is something different, he can't see it. He knows that's a distinct possibility.]

You want me to wipe that smirk off your face?

[76 punctuates that by all but tearing the sombrero off his head. If they weren't getting looks before (and they were getting looks before), they certainly are now.]

Easy, easy. [McCree holds his hands up placatingly.]

It's just temporary. [The easy going tone never wavers from his voice but he does grit his teeth at 76 in warning, a subtle reminder of where they are and what they came here to do, and that didn't involving making a fuss about things.] It's a good hat. Buy it or buy another hat, that's all I'm suggesting.

[Hell, McCree would offer to pay for it considering he probably has more spending money than the two of them at the moment but he's not going to do so if 76 is going a grumpy jerk about this.

To emphasis the point McCree casually shrugs and leaves 76 be to do his own shopping, the sound of spurs becoming more or less distant as he peruses the rest of the shop for his own needs. (Small amount of dry-consumables for the road and cigars, pretty much. Cigars are very important.) Occasionally he'll break into spanish, asking the shop-keeper about the price of something he's not planning on buying anyway (or more earnestly, about the cigars--they are very important); he's just trying to dispel the tension/take the attention off the really weird bemuscled gringo with a jacked up face.]

Edited 2016-06-20 16:33 (UTC)

[76 knows he probably should follow after McCree, but is just angry and stubborn enough to not. He lets the cowboy wander off and get whatever it is he needs to while he makes his own selections. There's more squinting involved, but hopefully McCree is too busy buying cigars to notice.

Eventually, 76 finds his way back to the checkout where he plunks his supplies right down next to McCree's. There is no sombrero, but there is a hat involved ~~maybe it's a bucket hat, you know, like dads wear~~, more to placate his present company than anything else. He raises an eyebrow expectantly.

GUESS WHO'S PAYING, JESSE]

[The cigars save 76 from any ocular-related inquiries. For now. Once they're at the counter with all their adventuring swag of course McCree is going to raise an eyebrow back at 76.

There's probably an exchange of this, eyebrows up and down, up and up, along with extremely obvious eye pointing, head tilting which eventually results in McCree flaring his nostrils and shaking his head. You son of a bitch you're making him pay anyway. Fine. Fine!

So he pays for all of it, ugly as sin bucket hat included, and helps himself to the store's only (very very tiny) restroom to change. He's out in his new attire which really isn't unlike his old attire (currently rolled up under his arm)... only clean. It helps when the nearest shower is still at least a few days away.]

[That's right. Fuck you Jesse.

76 figures he's already overstayed his welcome, so instead of waiting for McCree to leave the (very very tiny) restroom and change in the (very very tiny) restroom, he heads back out to the horse, where he proceeds to un-bury all of their things.

He keeps the jacket off due to the heat, but puts his mask and the rest of his gear (and sunscreen, and his brand new hat) back on, already a little antsy from being separated from it. The rest of the time is spent bonding with the horse, he guesses. Maybe McCree will find him petting her when he gets back.]

Edited 2016-06-21 06:23 (UTC)

[It's mighty hard to sneak around in spurs which is fine because McCree isn't a sneaking around kind of guy. You hear the pleasant little jingle on those bootsteps and you better git unless you ain't guilty of anything. As such, 76 will probably hear him coming a while away. McCree's a little miffed he just up and left without letting him know (shoot, between his half-sleeping on the horse and buying his goods, now he feels like he's babysitting him. How the hell did that happen...). For a split second he wonders if he'd just do the asshole thing and take the horse and run off on his own (McCree would highly consider it). McCree reminds himself 76 wouldn't be going through all this fuss if he didn't need his cowboy expertise in crossing the border.

So here is the cowboy expertise, frowning, while Betty Sue looks well-rested and maybe a little happier than usual. As happy as a borrowed horse can look, anyway.]

Hat looks like shit.

[Well at least he's gone and done the favor of digging everything up. McCree re-collects his belongings and shakes out his serape. With 76 being so antsy to get back to the horse they didn't really kill much time. It's hot as hell out here.]

How long you wanna' rest before we get moving again?

The other one was worse.

[He hears McCree coming, of course, but he seems fairly occupied with getting to know Betty Sue (once he determines that yes, that is in fact McCree approaching). 76 did not, perhaps amazingly, have any thoughts about stealing the horse and ditching, and seems to be ready and waiting to go when McCree gets back.

He'll also maintain that a bucket hat is better than a sombrero, if only marginally.

But there are more important things to worry about, like whether or not they're actually going to rest, or just keep going. 76 is perhaps more than a little paranoid, tiling his head back in the direction of town.]

They had eyes on you back there.

[Probably had eyes on him, too, but he wants to hope that without the mask and gear, he's just some weird gringo with a jacked-up-face.]

Don't know if we should stick around.

Did they now? [McCree doesn't even try to fake surprise, he caught some of the lingering stares, the moves for the cellphones, the covered whispers; the subtle gestures he's long since learned to be hyper-aware of. He'd hope a town like this would pass him by but, well, that's life. He was pretty sure this was his fault and now 76 was going to be at risk as some weird gringo with a jacked-up-face accomplice to the outlawed cowboy.]

Guess it's time we make tracks then.

[Figuratively. Ideally they would literally leave no tracks but there's only so much they can do abut that on horseback. McCree makes a mental note-to-self to switch to sleek looking hovering motorcycle once they're in the states if it's any easy to come by; a real steel horse they'll ride. That'd be the way to go.]

I figure we can put some distance now that Betty Sue's had some rest. See how far and fast she can take us.

[McCree expects objections to his nonchalant attitude about things, but 76 can bite him. They'll be fiiiiiiine.]

Come on, let's saddle up.

Edited (the horse done died) 2016-06-24 05:23 (UTC)

Don't tell me you didn't notice.

[Of course McCree noticed, but 76 isn't exactly a fan of screwing around. Now they need to get all the head start they can, before calls start being made and they're either caught up with or intercepted. He's felt uncomfortably vulnerable since his visor was broken, but now there's a creeping paranoia in the forefront of his consciousness that he knows he won't be able to shake. Having to fully trust McCree to pick up on what he (quite literally) can't see coming sets him on edge.

But he saddles up without complaint, even if he still isn't very happy about riding horse-shotgun. With everything packed up and loaded on, they head off, and 76 is quick to voice his concerns.]

You know the terrain better than I do. Anyplace they might try and cut us off at the pass?

Well... [Frankly the current terrain wasn't much in their favor; once they gallop away from the palm trees and vibrance of the beach town, desert starts to reclaim the scenery, and at best they're somewhere between this and that.]

Not much coverage out here, but the same can be applied to them.

[So they'll be easy to spot and on such short notice McCree is willing to bet they will either rush in unprepared, or they'll track 'em and wait until they're tired from hoofin' it.]

Station's still about a day's ride north. Unlike us, they probably won't be on horseback. [So maybe trying to do double time to the station is a bad idea, he tries to imply; that would be there they might try to cut them off, and compromising their fastest ride out of this country would be a real pain in the ass.]

There's some ruins a little west of here. [He's half making it up--this was Mexico, there were god damn ruins everywhere. Things that withstood the test of time, the test of omnics and dilapidated stone buildings that somehow managed to look better than what LumériCo was plainly trying to imitate. Except when they didn't, but, hey, beggers couldn't be choosers now, could they.]

[Well, a day isn't so terrible, really, but a lot can happen in that amount of time. 76 is caught in an unfortunate position where he really should admit that he won't be as effective in seeing any potential obstacles coming without his visor, but there's a very proud part of him that doesn't want McCree to know. He hates the feeling of having to rely on someone, especially someone he's not entirely sure will be completely trustworthy.

So of course, he says nothing.

It seems like they'll have to take a detour, at least to shake anyone who might try to follow them out of town. West to the ruins it is.]

Keep an eye out. Let me know if you see anything.

[We'll all ignore the terrible irony in 76's phrasing. The duo make haste for their new destination. The sun is insufferably hot and McCree shares his water and rations while as they ride. By the time they make it to ruins (he was right! there's totally ruins around here) and get off the horse she's visibly fatigued. There's a few scant trees around (which the horse is tied under one of them), shrubs and grass but it's still mostly open desert, aside from the haphazard stone ruins which provide some better cover. Not the best but they'll have to make due. McCree's not going to bother with his stupid sandpit trap again when he's really not sure what they'll be up against. Not likely a single target.

Now they wait. Maybe they'll come at night, or maybe they'll brave the shitty desert sun too. McCree isn't keen on being in it any more regardless and also takes up a shady spot to rest under a tree.]

[To 76's credit, he weathers the journey to the ruins without complaint. He's already thinking ahead--who might come after them, where they might come from, what they might be packing. How they're going to deal with them between McCree's peacekeeper and 76 being secretly half-useless. He's pretty sure he can still point and shoot, but he knows he won't be nearly as effective.

The smart thing to do, of course, is to just come clean about the potential hindrance, but wary as he is, he just kind of keeps his mouth shut.

This continues as they get to the ruins and make camp, finding a relatively defensible position (or at least one where they can hopefully see people coming). 76 ~~pets the horse a little~~ helps, to his credit, gathering brush and wood for a campfire, and re-organizing their supplies (more squinting) before finally settling down to clean his rifle. Probably while McCree makes food.]

I'll take first watch.

[Maybe there will be more light for first watch.]

[McCree's making food! He's had to learn being on his own for so long. He's not uncivilized. That said, it's not exactly the lap of luxury out here; dry foods he had on hand along with whatever he picked up at their beachside pitstop. It's somewhere between soup and beans and ramen. Easy to cook on a fire and any extra water they can put into their bodies out here, the better. Now that the sun is setting it's starting to get more tolerable temperature-wise.]

Sounds fair. [He pauses. He's caught 76 squinting at stuff every so often and he wasn't really put much thought into and after a moment's hesitation shrugs and decides 76 wouldn't volunteer on risky business if he wasn't up to the task.]

You just give a holler if you have any problems.

[McCree's fine with resting. He's going to get cozy against a sleeping Betty Sue and put his hat on his face.]

[As the temperature drops, he puts his jacket back on, more than aware of how cold it can get in the desert at night. That's the only reason he even allows a campfire, but he does try to keep it small. When he's satisfied with the state of his rifle and sidearm and the rest of his equipment, he wordlessly joins McCree to eat, nodding in silent thanks as he takes the bowl. 76 slurps down noodles like someone who's mostly been eating nothing but caloriemates. Otherwise he says little else, making note of the spot where McCree goes to sleep.

He has no trouble staying away, but when it gets dark, 76 loses the benefit of a light source to help him make sense of smears of shape and color. He doesn't expect company right away (most likely they'll wait until they think everyone's asleep before making a move), but he knows it's coming eventually.

With the fire, he can make sense of the immediate campsite, but everything beyond that dissolves into blackness. He's used to it, by now, and though he spends most of the time in his visor, he still knows how to listen--which is what he does.

It's easy to zone out with limited vision and the dark quiet of the ruins, but soon enough he hears what he expects to. 76 can't see them, but he knows the direction of the footsteps. Slowly, quietly, he sits up and slinks his way over to the sleeping cowboy.]

Get up. Company.

[He speaks in little more than a low growl, nudging McCree roughly.]

[McCree, despite the looming danger, finally hit that sweet spot of actual resting sleep and doesn't immediately react beyond a disorientated groan and roll of his head. He swats 76's hand away and mumbles something unintelligible. He's not hard to rouse with further nudging, suddenly snapping awake and sliding the hat up over his head. He blinks the vision in his eyes awake proper and belatedly registers 76's words.

Company. Of course. He hears them too--footsteps that went silent at his rousing but still given away by the shuffling of feet on stone ground. Little hard to tell exactly where they were other than they were uncomfortably close--shoot, did 76 just wait for the lot of them to wander in?--so McCree gets to his haunches and gives 76 a nod.

All it takes is for a careless mook to break an old dried up twig to give himself away through the dark and shrubs, and that's plenty enough of a signal for McCree to leap to the side and place a bullet right through said mook's head. From there all hell breaks loose--but that's just fine with him.]

[The visual impairment has been degenerative. When he'd pulled himself out of the rubble, he'd known that the explosion had fucked up his eyes (among other things), but it hadn't been so bad that he couldn't function, initially. That changed far too quickly for his liking, and he only expects it to get worse. There had been some time before he managed to acquire the visor, and he'd needed to adapt. It's not ideal, but he's still capable in a fight without it. He's had no other choice but to find ways to work around it.

He can't see details, and he can't see past the glow of the campfire into the darkness that surrounds them, but he can see movement against the flickering orange glow. 76 uses that to launch into action, the crunch of boots and the contrast of shadows tipping him off to where the mooks are coming from. With that, he launches into action.

He dispatches the man with all the brutality he's come to be known for. Whereas McCree starts firing, he doesn't even touch his rifle, grappling with the first unfortunate interloper who tries to jump him. McCree will certainly recognize the inhuman strength and speed, the efficiency of advanced military training, but there's a feral, ruthless quality to it now as he all but beats the man into the dirt before wheeling around to tackle the next one.]

[It'd be nice if maybe this scuffle didn't erupt the way it did but this was very much a shoot first ask later kind of scuffle. There was no doubt these men were after their blood when the return of gunfire is immediate. Pistols and rifles from the sound of it, nothing proportional to the number of bodies moving around and nothing more fancy or advanced than that to indicate this was anything more organized than a greedy local gang. Fine with him. It's their funeral.

Still trouble if they'd let it be.

McCree moves back towards the ruins, his boot spurs drawing distance and splitting the group up as intended. Here he uses moonlight and the flat walls for cover and waits for rounds of bullets to stop before peaking out behind a corner and firing twice. Two dull thuds follow.]

I'll give you and your friends a chance to back off, and might I suggest you should take it.

[One of the more armored mooks yells back in Spanish something like, "You killed two of my men--that just makes it two times easier to split your rewards."]

Not too good at math, are you?

[For his quip, McCree gets a bullet hole put through his hat and a reminder he should be ducking maybe an inch or two lower behind his wall. He pulls the hat off his head and whines--that's the second damn bullet in this hat this trip. Terrible. Just terrible. He hears the crack-punch of what sounded like a jaw being broken closer by the fireplace and elongated shadows play out on the adjacent ruin walls of 76 throwing one of the mooks to the ground. His fists follow and the wet pulp of flesh being broken is as distinct as any gunshot, and it's enough of a distraction for the armored mook to turn his head. McCree leaps out from his cover and comes out of his tumble fanning his hammer, unloading a volley of shots into the mook. It stuns him but doesn't put him down, and it's all McCree can do to get behind cover again before the ruin walls are peppered with bullets.]

Edited 2016-07-08 07:06 (UTC)

[He hears gunfire but that doesn't deter him, even if he can't at all see who is shooting and who is facing what direction while doing so. As loath as he is to admit it, he needs to rely on McCree to keep the thugs with guns off him before they turn one his way 76 is more than occupied with the few that have decided it's a great idea to go hand-to-hand and toe-to-toe with him.

It's not a great idea. It's a terrible idea.

76 loses himself to the survival instincts--the automatic response to the possibility of being apprehended. It goes deeper than that, of course. There's too much at stake to allow himself to be compromised at all, and it sends him into overdrive, punching one goon to make sure he's down and then spinning back around on the other, all but slamming him into some nearby rocks. He's vaguely aware of the guns, but isn't about to stop, not when he hears McCree try to give them a warning and certainly not when everyone starts shooting again.

To the cowboy's credit, he manages to draw fire away from his little campfire throwdown, but eventually someone picks up on that and 76 feels a stray bullet tear through the sleeve of his jacket. His response is immediate and almost animal, an outright snarl as he swings a punch right into the face of the mook who thought it was a good idea to get this close to him.]

[The barrage of bullets cease momentarily and McCree chances sticking his head out from behind cover. Some men are reloading, other's are only now noticing the immediate threat 76 is. He's certainly a force to be reckoned with and provides an easy distraction as McCree sneaks around to the other side. He starts thinking it might not be a bad idea to leave at least one of these mooks alive to grill for intel. McCree targets the scrawny looking kid hanging near the back and off to the side--he's waiting for a good opportunity to strike on 76/staring vaguely in horror at 76 rethinking any opportunity will come at all but will soon find his knee all but erupting in pain with a bullet from McCree's Peacekeeper. Down he goes, screaming in pain. All that's left now is the big armored guy and two mooks still tussling with 76.

The armored guy starts looking for McCree again now that he's fired a shot and unleashes another round of bullets at the wall. Stone starts to crumble and McCree casually reloads his gun. He can't risk letting this big guy carry on and once he stops firing McCree lobs a flashbang blindly over the wall, jumps out and finishes him off before he even realizes what's happened. Down he goes with nary a sound.

An unseen third mook joins the other two and tackles 76 at the back. It's not a smart idea at all and he's flung off by the raw fury of the old solider. The other two that have taken a beating don't need to take much more before they stay down, and 76 makes very short work of this third combatant. He hits the ground still conscious and cowers, probably regretting every life decision he's ever made in that moment. It's only when 76 continues to wail on the downed guy and starts producing gobs of blood that fly this way and that that McCree feels his chest tighten with disgust and something else he can't quite identify. He's done some shitty things for certain but that was in the past, and this kind of brutality was something else entirely.

Yeah. That thing he can't identify--that's because he realizes not looking at Jack right now.]

Hey--Hey! [He barks louder and after taking a furtive glance at the kid with the broken knee (nope, definitely not going anywhere) he bounds over and tries to pull 76 off the mangled body that was an unfortunate and foolish mook.] Easy now! You got him! That's enough!

Edited (redundancy dept of redundancy and weltgobs) 2016-07-11 04:35 (UTC)

[Once, perhaps a very long time ago, when he was a different person, he'd understood that his augmentations came with a certain amount of responsibility. They'd been tools of the military at the time, but he'd been lucky-slash-talented enough to escape, if one can call his involvement in the crisis lucky. When it was over, however, Overwatch had afforded him some degree of autonomy, as far as that was concerned. But he's always known the cost of war and had been acutely aware of his own destructive power. How hard he can punch. How difficult he is to take down. How completely lethal he can be in a fight if he put his mind to it. Something important to keep in the back of his mind during any combat engagement, lest he end up doing something he'd later regret.

Then Jack Morrison died and he stopped caring about any of that.

He apparently doesn't care now, beating a thug into a literal pulp against the desert ground, blood streaming down his arm from the stinging wound in his shoulder. 76 almost wheels around on McCree, thinking he's another assailant (and certainly unable to distinguish him visually), but eventually his voice gets through, all but freezing him mid wind-up as McCree struggles to pull him off.

It works, but only when 76 realizes what's happening and takes a step backwards, gloves dripping with blood. When he seems to come back to himself, he wrenches his arms out of McCree's grasp with another growl.

Then, after another moment, he seems to realize he's injured, pressing his palm against his arm and inspecting the blood on his hand when he pulls it away.]

[McCree was half expecting to get clocked in his handsome mug for his efforts though the deed was well already done, dead, and half-buried in the sand at this point. He's at least relieved to rouse 76 out of his battle high lest he lose himself in it. He fully expects no thank-yous for it either. McCree pulls his hand away from 76's shoulder, unable to feel the warm wet of blood but able to see it clear as day in the fire light's glow. It stains the palm of his glove. His lip curls and he wipes it non-nonchalantly off on his pant leg.]

Can't tell if that's his or yours.

[To see calm composed former leader Morrison--the boyscout, Overwatch's proverbial poster boy, blonde-haired blue-eyed wanna-punch-him-in-his-perfect-teeth upright do-good guy, an advocate of justice and righteousness--lose control like this was a little jarring to say the least. McCree doesn't dwell on it more than a second, since there was still unfinished business whining and clutching his bloody knee on the ground over there. Right.

McCree gives 76 a once-over and deems the bullet graze as open and bleeding, yes, but something that can wait a few minutes.]

Hold that thought. [He mostly says to himself as he starts to close the distance, re-cocking his peacekeeper as he went.]

[76 takes a moment to find the source of the bleeding, clapping his hand back over it and squeezing once he realizes where the graze is. Nothing they can't bandage up with basic field medical supplies, but annoying nonetheless. Not that his jacket isn't already covered in dirt and old blood, simply by nature of the things he's been doing.]

Doesn't matter.

[He appears more coherent after another moment, nudging the bodies on the ground, checking them for any sign of movement. When he's reasonably sure there will not, in fact, be any movement, he starts to follow after McCree. 76 can't see, exactly, but he can hear there's someone still alive and incapacitated. For a moment he wonders why, but then he realizes that it might be prudent to question at least one of them.

He picks up his rifle and lets McCree do the talking, hovering threateningly close behind.]

Edited 2016-07-12 05:26 (UTC)

[McCree kicks away a small pistol that was already well out of the kid's reach, just to be safe and remind him he's in no position to do anything right now. The kid squirms on the ground and hisses in Spanish at the cowboy.]

You piece of shit. My fucking knee...!

[McCree shrugs with a crooked smirk, not terribly sympathetic. He even eyes the wound with a vague sense of pride he hit that little thing dead on from his distance, half in the dark.] Yeah it's pretty broken I'd say. [Broken knee was painful as hell but not the worst he could have done.]

What are you waiting for then? [The kid hisses again, sand sticking to the side of his face for how badly he was sweating out of misery.] Do it. End it. You and your psychopath friend. [76 gets a particularly nasty glare before his eyes wildly dart back to McCree and his Peacekeeper.] Do it fast.

[Begging for death? Not McCree's style. He raises his hand placatingly, as placatingly as a robotic hand can look while the other is still holding a revolver.] Hold your horses there, kid. Ain't got but a few questions for you first.

[Sure would be nice to put a name to this little gang out here, just for information's sake. McCree starts looking for tattoos and finds one on the kid's ankle. He rolls said ankle with the tip of his boot to get a better look at a stylized goat-sucker monster as a gang symbol, complete with matching label.] Chupacabras? [McCree snorts, points the gun at the kid as if it were a 6th finger.] This the whole ensemble or is this going to end with you?

No... I have two brothers. They didn't want to come. They weren't ready. Weren't strong enough.

[To which McCree asks in a low, slow drawl.] Are they going to come?

If I die, they will. They will kill you.

[McCree shrugs again and looks to 76 as additional consult. Or if maybe he had any questions on his mind before they figure out what to do with the kid. McCree wasn't a fan of unnecessary killing these days, no more than he was leaving blatant and dangerous loose ends.]

[Ah. Spanish. 76 has picked up a little from running around in Mexico, and from some people who spoke it once upon a time in another life. He's never been good at holding a conversation, but he can pick up a few choice words here and there. Enough to understand the gist of what's being said. He can't tell if the threat of brothers is a bluff or not, but if they're dealing with a gang, he doesn't want to chance it.

Not that he thinks the two of them aren't capable of wiping the floor with more mooks, but he'd rather not. They have a train to catch, and the more people they run into, the harder it will be for them to stay under the radar.]

Knock him out.

[He sort of wonders if McCree expects him to say they should kill the kid.]

Tie him up. We'll take turns keeping an eye on him tonight and dump him in the closest town.

[While he says this, however, he hefts his rifle in the event the kid doesn't speak English--scare him a little more.]

Take the weapons. Check him for anything that might alert someone to our position. [A phone, a GPS. Despite himself, he says it like he's giving orders. It still comes far too naturally to him.] Tell him if he tries anything funny, I'll kill him. [Here, look, he's going to point at this unfortunate soul.] Voy a matarte. Comprende, niño?

[He knows how to say that much. 76 is that after his current display, he should want a quick death by McCree's peacekeeper in comparison. Hopefully that will deter him from trying anything funny.]

Edited (finding typos...so much later...) 2016-07-13 08:32 (UTC)

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5_rUdNENrQ

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