Go to a bar down in Santa Fe and ask every single one of the patrons there who Jesse McCree is. They'll each say something different, something true, but they'll never have every piece of the puzzle and they'll never think to put their pieces together.

For a lot of people, Jesse McCree's just a name on a poster or flashing on various signs and billboards of one of the world's most wanted criminals. He's a dangerous man, a gunslinger, armed and loaded with a six-shooter and no wits about him. People won't refute that logic when faced with a 6'1" hulking man decked out like wild west cowboy. Criminal insanity, they'd say. And yet, how does a man with such an intimidating reputation charm the boots off of every ma'am and sir in any bar he runs through.

All of this, this building of a persona that people whisper over crowded subways and inside the many bullet trains that wrap around the world is exactly what Jesse McCree wants. The more people don't actually know about him, the better, and giving them scraps to hang onto and build something out of nothing is the best way to keep things that way. The real Jesse McCree certainly isn't any of the things the many governments of the world want him to be, hell even the people he fools on the daily don't know a lick about him. Except for the fact that he's devilishly handsome and could rock anyone's socks, if given the chance.

No, the people McCree found family in are dead and gone, and he might as well have went with them. But, if they could tell you about Jesse, they'd have a hell of a lot to say.

First off, don't believe a thing that comes out of his mouth. Chances are, he's exaggerating everything just to get a reaction. The kid's all spitfire and cocky arrogance, or at least he used to be. Now, perhaps, he's broken into his bones, let his adulthood grow into him. What used to be charming, if a bit insulting, cat calls have turned into a lazy drawl, hooded eyes, and smile only tainted by the dozens of cigars he smokes on a daily. McCree talks smooth, a buttered tone to butter up with the intention of getting something for himself - most of the time.

But, even as amicable as McCree tends to be, he's still cautious of what he shares. He left Overwatch for a reason, which meant he left a lot of his trust behind him. Being taught to rely on yourself and actually having to rely on yourself are two different things entirely. For a people person like McCree is, keeping everyone and everything at a distance is hard. But, as the years roll by, he's found it easier and easier to give someone a smile from a far. It brings him to the same destination, so why not go the extra mile for security.

Now, it's hard to get out of that mindset, so much so that anyone trying to dig under the walls he's put up sparks a flame in him that he thought he'd tamped down on long ago. As McCree ventures on, he realizes more and more that he's not progressing in his personality, he's regressing into the seventeen year old hotshot that Reyes found all those years ago. He desperately wants to claw himself out of the hole he's falling back in, but the familiar comfort of old habits are all too alluring for a man who just wants to run away from everything.

Everyone's got something they're running from. At the age of 16, in all of his teenage desperation, Jesse ran from his father. As soon as his sickly mother passed away, McCree dropped everything and ran. Early on in his life, McCree figured out how to live as a vagrant - or rather, he was forced to. Running from the only home he had meant McCree had to quickly find a way to survive on his own. He dropped his name, stole some shitty close, took an old man's revolver in the middle of the night (woke up his dog and nearly got himself killed), and took to the streets to make a name for himself. A regular 'Billie the Kid', but this time Billie actually was a kid.

Lucky for McCree, the kid was a good shot. He ran a muck through Santa Fe's surrounding towns, stealing food and occasionally convincing people to give him some dirty work. It quickly caught the eye of the gang stationed nearby, the dreaded Deadlocks. Whether fortunate or unfortunate, the Deadlocks were looking to bolster their ranks with every fresh meatshield they could find. They figured a 16 year old deadbeat would do just fine and took McCree in the hopes that the next showdown would see him gone. If not, they may have a worthy member yet.

A win-win scenario.

For all his worth, McCree wasn't ready for just how big these operations were. Deadlock didn't bother with the drug cartel; money currently found itself swimming in the weapons market, and so Deadlock made a name for trafficking illicit weapons throughout America's southwest. That meant things were a lot more dangerous than just the average roughhousing gang. It meant McCree had an even bigger chance of dying in any of these skirmishes they found themselves in.

But a year. An entire year passed by and not only did McCree live through it, but he became a notorious member of the Deadlock Gang. He wove his way up through the ranks faster than any of the members to date and that earned the ire of many longtime veterans. In a sting that involved the largest deal they'd ever had come their way, the group McCree was assigned to lead for his first (and likely final) time, he found himself completely overwhelmed.

It ended with the operation coming to a startling failure, with the majority of the gang making it out. However, Overwatch took a number of important figures into custody, including seventeen year old Jesse McCree. It introduced him first hand to Gabriel Reyes. He felt at odds, then; in some kind of eternal conflict. A McCree versus Them situation. He was all rage and spitfire, cocky arrogance that he knew got on Reyes' nerve. But somehow, despite being a complete ass and a fool, he found himself with an offer.

Either reform under Gabriel Reyes' tutelage or find himself tried as an adult, and locked up in federal prison for life.

McCree may be a fool, but he's no idiot. He took the deal, signed himself away, and was put on a probationary period in which Ana Amari and Reinhardt Wilhelm watched over him for the period of three months. Not only did he grow in those three months, but he excelled under Gabriel's guidance. It was tough love, and grueling work, but McCree found himself happiest in these times than he ever had. His time in Overwatch was one he treasured through even the worst of days because even those days held higher than the ones he spent in the desert, with barely any food to eat, and a group of people who hated his guts. Here, he actually felt a part of a family.

And, as they years grew darker, that thought scared the living hell out of him.

In the culmination of Overwatch's fall, and with Ana Amari's death on the head of it, Gabriel reached out to Jesse in his grieving state. He wanted him to join the ranks of Talon with him, find a better way to protect the world. Some bullshit. And, even if he didn't want to admit it, he saw Reyes lose his way over the years, saw the downhill turn, and the subsequent fall into oblivion. McCree's instincts kicked up. They begged him to flee and when he got the opportunity, McCree packed his bags and left. And he left for good.

For years he spent on the rails and the roads once more. Ten solid years of being a vagrant, being hunted, having his bounty bid higher and higher the longer he remained a threat to the welfare of the people. They wanted him dead and gone with the rest of Blackwatch. The UN just wanted to sweep everything under the PETRAS act and if it meant killed a few blackened members of Overwatch, then they'd do it.

And he was just on the verge of finally slipping up when the recall happened. McCree avoided it for as long as he possibly could. He didn't want to see their faces, the ones who didn't really know him, as they rejected his offer and turned him over. But, even if his gut told him otherwise, it didn't happen. They accepted him with open arms. They brought him in. They fed him, clothed him, let him bathe, and sleep.

But even in their hospitality, he keeps looking to the horizon, just waiting for the moment where it begs him to leave.

Something McCree is possibly most known for: his ability to unload a revolver that should be slow to fire. He can unload all six of his rounds in just about a second, if not a little under, with the trained and quick press of his palm against the cock of the gun. Doing this not only unloads all of his bullets, but also throws off his aim as even his mechanical arm isn't used to the combined wait of six immediate recoils from such a heavy pistol.

A supposedly harmless ability, McCree rolls in any direction he wants. On the surface, it's a great method to dodge various attacks and reposition himself in a quick motion. However, there's more than he lets on - during his roll, McCree unloads and reload his six-shooter and once he falls out of the roll, he's all set and read to start unloading bullets a second time.

A six-shooter revolver, entrusted to McCree early in his Overwatch days. He's since kept it in pristine condition. Despite its low-rate of fire, it compensates for packing a heavy punch. Of course, that's in the hands of a regular shooter. Anyone with have a mind, his wits about him, and a quick wrist can empty Peacekeeper before even the first shot hits its mark. McCree can attest to the pistol's durability for how much he practices his quickdraw abilities with it.

Ain't nothin' wrong with a bit of dirty fighting. Jokingly referred to as Jesse's "pocket sand," his flashbang grenades pack a stunning wallop, giving McCree ample time to finish off anyone who dares get close. He keeps at least three to four of these on his belt.

The mechanical prosthetic's has to be good for something. For McCree, it's perfect for engaging in fisticuffs when he's had one too many to drink. Of course, in the heat of actual battle, if he needs to resort to hand-to-hand combat, he's got the grit and the experience to give up a good fight.

Something McCree only pulls out in moments of desperation, for how hefty the side effect is on him. His vision hones in on the heads of each target within his line of sight, marking every individual he's looking to down in six-shots (and with how quickly he reloads, sometimes more). The less they move and the clearer vision he has on their hearts or their heads, the quicker and easier it is for McCree to line up a shot. For every unfortunate soul marked, Jesse shoots to kill - one bullet, one body. The secrets of such a nasty, brutal ability are under lock and key for good reason. Only one person in Overwatch used and knew of the ability and who taught McCree such.

Jack then and Jack now; it's not so much a difference as it is an evolution of character. Changed, simply put - Jack doesn't mince his words. People knew Jack as the Golden Boy of Overwatch, the leader, the man at the head of an organization with a bright future. That's what the UN splashed the media with and he's tempted to agree with many of the crowd crying in the lower corners of internet: that a blonde, blue-eyed, All-American, white bred boy was just the easiest thing to deal with. Easy to get people to like him, to get them to want him as the face of an organization entrusted with worldwide security.

Despite what many people thought, Jack had no say in that decision or whether or not they made the right one. The Jack now would say it doesn't matter, in the scheme of things. That the world wouldn't care about intent when it comes to the past. Jack's crassness was only a development from the reserved nature he kept himself in. But, they wanted an exuberant man at the head of Overwatch, ready to dole out the interviews and smile for the cameras - they wanted him to live up to a glorified name. And he just wanted to sleep. To slough off the blood, the dirt, and horrors of war like his deep, sky blue overcoat - like another layer of clothing.

That Jack and this Jack have that in common. Both were tired. But, exhausted or not Jack then wasn't as stony faced as he currently presents himself. Jack is a man faced with betrayal and circumstance. It's still hard looking back and focusing on all of the mistakes he's made, or witnessed. That's not what Jack wants today. It's all about moving forward in order to get to his destination, no matter how much his bones ache and how much he yearns for some permanence to his respite. But, Jack sees the world for what it is, knows there's only one way to cure it of its diseases. Perhaps, Jack, presently, would look back at Blackwatch and consider it the best idea they'd ever had, despite the fact that Reyes came from his underworld throne to tear everything down. Despite how it all bit him in the ass, in the end. Perhaps they should have switched places, swapped roles. Maybe he has taken the time to evaluate it all, despite his staunch reservations that Overwatch fell for a reason.

The world needs a certain approach, one that only Jack thinks he can see. That, in itself, makes him wary of help in any form, either out of distrust (likely) or his regular condescending need to be the one sacrificing himself for the good of the people. Or both, which seems the most possible. People tend to get in the way of things; it'd be better if he could do it himself, by himself. A staunch reason why he roams alone, carrying scar upon scar upon scar, a new one for every skirmish he finds himself in and every gang member or terrorist agent he dispatches. Jack wears his own burdens. He makes his excuse that he doesn't need the added weight of other's on his back. Sharing isn't a concept Jack understands.

Even back then, Jack always thought people were too convoluted and complicated to deal with. They didn't understand things when he explained it to them. They came to him for everything. Wanted everything of him. He was constantly torn between two realities, between people wanting a poster boy and people wanting a leader; an idol or a protector. They didn't realize that they couldn't have both, nor did they realize the pressure they pushed him down with.

Only one person understood the man between the people and his soldiers and that's all dust, now.

White bred. White bread? Nah, Jack was more like cornbread, no matter how much he hated the joke. Bloomington, Indiana, however, didn't really follow in line with most of the state. It's University allowed for a more broader range of views and cultures, something Jack learned quickly at his young age. But, even then, the town's population without all of its college students was practically dismal and comprised of mostly farmers. Jack, and a few of his siblings, were raised a few miles outside of the small town, on crops and farmland with a leather skinned father and a floral patterned mother. Everything came farm bred, with a pinch of good old Midwestern ideals and expectations of family and personal life.

Jack quickly learned how stubborn his parents were in their vision for their kids. They wanted Jack, the eldest, to take care of the farm, find a nice lady to settle down with, and take care of them in their old age. So, when he fled to the military in light of the growing tensions settling in the world around them, they dropped all connections. They practically disowned him. Jack knew only his loneliness in his entire military career, all the way to becoming a Super Soldier, meeting Gabriel Reyes, and everything afterwards.

The two grew close in the coming years, finding solace in the competitiveness of their friendship. They'd fell in love, early and immediate. Jack hadn't known the fire Gabriel showed him. The only downside to the heated passion they'd cultivated was that the hotter it grew, the wilder it got.

Their relationship grew, as the world crumbled around them. The Omnic War bonded more than just them and it also tied them to many of the founding members of Overwatch, bringing them together in more than blood. Until their flames grew so hot that it finally split them a part. Cruel irony is finding someone you connect so well with, only to understand that the universe prefers you a part, rather than together.

At the end of the war, Jack became the poster boy the UN so desperately wanted and Gabriel, with all of his exploits and medals and achievements, was swept under. The years flew by then, with Jack at the head of an organization bent on shielding the world from all forms of terror. They were the UN's army of soldiers, under their jurisdiction, and doing exactly their bidding. But, with the advancements in technology came less need for protection. Security was all automated. Police work was quick and painless with how powerful computer processes were. Despite the sinister edge that crept up behind Jack, the people thought they didn't need Overwatch anymore and the UN began eyeing them warily, caring more about Blackwatch and their dealings than what Jack could do for them.

Overwatch tore a rift between Jack and Gabriel. Their pride kept them from ever coming to each other, from ever talking this out. They never reconciled the arguments that raged between them, just took to spiting each other or expending all of their energy on both violent and less than savory methods of distraction. Jack often spent more time screaming at Gabriel or shutting him up, than he did attending meetings or focusing on mission plans. They cared more about the feud and the love that swelled between them than they did for the organization they were supposed to take care of.

Eventually, the UN sought to end their relationship by forcing Jack to marry. They didn't realize the mistake in their move until the two used those methods against each other. Their publicity stunt backfired and threw kids into the mix for petty, uncouth reasons. It caused more stir than necessary and Overwatch had to quickly pick up the pieces that the two left in their wake.

In culminating fury of resentment or jealousy or something, Gabriel Reyes took Overwatch down and Jack with him. Perhaps Jack read the situation wrong, or maybe the universe felt it necessary to shred everything down beyond redemption. Musing the inner workings of the universe was never Jack's strong suit. Letting out all of his pent up frustration and anger and hatred, however, was more in line with how Jack Morrison thought. Well, trying to, at least. Being stuck under a grinding wheel for his entire career as Commander of Overwatch tired Jack out, and the hope that everything would end seemed far too real, then.

So, Jack left. He left everything. Overwatch was doomed from the start, he'd determined, and so leaving it to the dirt and the rubble was the best decision he'd ever made. Damned his life, his friends, his family. He didn't want it anymore.

He wanted so bad to completely fade from existence, but Jack Morrison is nothing if not stubborn. Talon, a loose organization of criminals in remote parts of the world, always gave Jack a terrible, terrible feeling. For an entire year, Jack devoted himself to figuring out exactly what happened in Europe that allowed himself and everyone else to be caught off guard. His answer, however, stared him in the face: Gabriel's stint wasn't just his own doing, he took Talon by the hair and used everything he could to tear Overwatch down. With the recent rise in terror strike around the world, it all made sense.

With Gabe dead and gone, they shouldn't be so well organized anymore, but that didn't matter, at the moment. Overwatch couldn't protect the world, it never could, but Jack could and all he needed was a goddamned gun and a leather jacket.

What makes the Pulse Rifle so special is what it packs beneath the barrel of the gun. Should Jack need a bit more firepower than the gun offers, he can resort to firing off a trio round of small missiles that explode on impact. They pack a punch, and should they not completely knock a fully armored individual down, they'll definitely bring them to their knees.

Angela's not the only individual who's taken advantage of her medical research. Jack's own manufactured biotic field is the prototype of a project to replace field medkits, and that has lead to prototype biotic grenades that use the same technology. Jack's version allows him to throw down a field that heals and repairs various wounds acquired, allowing individuals to continue through a fight until they can seek proper medical attention.

A prototype rifle stolen by Helix Security, it offers little recoil and can unload a full clip (25 rounds) with minimal spread compared to most automatic assault rifles. It's currently ahead of most firearm technology, though he's had some issues with cleaning it, meaning the gun itself tends to jam on occasion. It's his main choice of weapon, though Jack has experience with various other firearms, as well as explosives, but why change from the best possible choice?

On the surface, Jack's tactical visor allows him to simply lock onto an enemy and shoot until his clip runs out. However, the program Jack uses allows him much more than that. The visor itself tags possible hostiles within his line of sight, pointing out weaknesses and allowing Jack to assess a situation as fast as he can read the data. As well, it scans within his sight range in order to give Jack any important data of the area he might need during a battle. All Jack needs to do is aim and fire beyond that.